The Match (Wilde, #2)(70)

“Or incapacitated,” Alpaca said.

“Or,” Giraffe said, “and let’s face it, this is becoming most likely, Panther has gone rogue and is meting out their own justice.”

“Either way,” Chris said, “we need to out Panther.”

“Agree,” Alpaca said.

“So do I,” Kitten said.

“Me too,” Giraffe said.

Polar Bear sighed. “It’s the right move, so yeah, I’m with you all. But as soon as we do, we disband, so I’d like to just say what an honor—”

“Not yet,” Chris said.

“But that—”

“If Panther is behind this, we need to stop them. Once we know Panther’s identity, we have to reach out.”

“Too dangerous,” Polar Bear said.

“We can’t just walk away,” Chris said.

“That’s what we all agreed to do,” Polar Bear said. “We aren’t cops. I’m not hunting down one of my own to stop them.”

“So Boomerang goes after people who bully and harass online,” Chris said, “but we don’t go after killers?”

“Yes,” Polar Bear said. “Our mission is very specific. Our protocols are to protect us. We aren’t here to solve climate change or war or even murder. Boomerang was just that—throwing karma back in the face of those who bully, harass, and abuse online.”

“We created this,” Chris said. “We can’t just walk away.”

“Lion?” It was Kitten.

“Yes?”

“Let’s get the identity. Then we can each choose to disband or not.”

“No,” Polar Bear said. “We don’t go off on tangents. That’s not what we agreed to in the beginning.”

“Things have changed,” Kitten said.

“Not for me,” Polar Bear countered.

“Fair enough,” Chris said. “Let’s get the identity and figure out what to do. We didn’t foresee this complication. That’s our bad. Let’s all get our codes ready to type in the prompt I’m sending now. Is everybody ready?”

They all replied that they were.

“Okay, we have ten seconds. When I say ‘three’ we all type in our codes and press Panther. On my count. One, two…three.”

It took very little time. The name came up on Lion’s screen. Chris hadn’t told them this, but he’d put them on seven-second delay, so he got the name first:

Katherine Frole.

Panther had been a woman. Or identified as a woman. Or had a woman’s name. Whatever. For some reason, probably sexism, Chris had always thought of Panther as a guy. Did it matter? Not in the least. He was already typing Katherine Frole’s name into the computer, and an article came up.

Chris opened the microphone back up to the whole group.

“Oh no.”





Chapter

Twenty-Eight



Before sitting down with the FBI, Hester made sure that Wilde had full immunity for breaking into the McAndrews residence and any subsequent crime other than the actual murder. Hester also insisted that the interview take place at her law office, not FBI headquarters, and that the entire interview would be recorded by her firm’s court videographer and stenographer, but the tapes and stenography would not be provided or available to the FBI.

It took a few hours to iron out the details, but in the end, the FBI agreed to Hester’s terms. Now Hester and Wilde sat in the same chairs as before while one FBI agent, a woman who’d introduced herself as Gail Betz, took the chair where Oren had sat, and the other, a man who introduced himself as George Kissell, stood and leaned against the wall.

Betz did the questioning while Kissell stayed silent and looked bored. Wilde didn’t see much reason to hold back in terms of his search for Peter Bennett and how it led him to Henry McAndrews’s house. Hester stopped him several times, especially when Betz pressed for details about his breakin. Betz then turned her focus to Katherine Frole. She asked whether Wilde knew Katherine Frole. The answer was no. Betz searched for possible connections. Frole worked in Trenton—had Wilde ever visited Trenton? Not since a class trip to the New Jersey capital when he was in seventh grade. Frole lived in Ewing, New Jersey. Wilde had never been. Her body was found in an office she rented out in Hopewell. Had Wilde ever been?

“What kind of office?” Wilde asked.

Gail Betz looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Katherine Frole was an FBI agent who worked out of Trenton, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why did she rent an office in Hopewell?”

Kissell spoke for the first time. “We’re asking the questions here.”

“Oh, look,” Hester said. “It speaks. I was about to applaud the FBI for hiring a mute.”

“You’re not funny,” Kissell said.

“Wow, that hurt my feelings. Really. But seriously, my client has been cooperative. He wants to see the murderer of Special Agent Frole brought to justice. So why not answer his question?”

Kissell sighed and peeled himself off the wall. He looked at Betz. “You finished, Special Agent Betz?”

Betz nodded. Kissell pulled out the chair next to her. He sat down heavily, as though he had the weight of the world on him, and wheeled the chair toward the table so that his belly pressed against it. He took his time folding his hands. Then he cleared his throat.