Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(19)
“I didn’t ask to speak to him. His dispatcher sounded bored. Give me a minute.” Savich typed Wilde’s particulars into MAX. When he looked up, he was silent a moment. “Matthew Carlton Wilde, age thirty-three. He was a detective in the Philadelphia Police Department for three years, resigned three and a half years ago after one of his team members and his best friend was shot when Wilde was in Cleveland bringing a prisoner back to Philadelphia. To date the murderer has not been identified.”
Pippa shuddered. “Imagine carrying that memory around with you. I bet he investigated his team member’s killing, couldn’t solve it, and ended up leaving. I wonder how that works, teams rather than partners? No matter. How long has he been chief of police in St. Lumis?”
Savich looked down, read. “About three years.”
“Talk about making a big change, not only his responsibilities, but the atmosphere, the people, the smallness of St. Lumis compared to Philadelphia.” She paused, then, “Like I told you, when I left, St. Lumis was a quiet town. Seemed like half the people there were visitors during the summer months, but they caused few problems.” She shook her head. “I imagine nothing’s changed. St. Lumis is about as different from Philadelphia as Paris is from Bermuda.”
She was so hyped, she was very nearly vibrating. Savich could practically see her nerves firing. He said, “Pippa, I want you to go in as a civilian there for Halloween, a short holiday. You can make up your own cover story. See if you can find out why that particular town is part of this bizarre message aimed at me.”
“You don’t even want me to introduce myself to Chief Wilde? Give him my creds? Tell him to keep it under wraps?”
He tapped his fingers on the desktop. “Not right away. You need to get to know him, assess his value to you if you get into trouble, then maybe yes.”
Pippa said, “All right, Dillon, I’ll become his new best friend. Luckily, I’ve never done much social media, well, at least since high school. But people could look me up, see I’m an FBI agent. Shouldn’t I use an alias if I want to stay unnoticed?”
Savich shook his head. “Too much risk someone could recognize you. Since you haven’t advertised you were at Quantico, you should be good for a while. You should be well in place before the person sending the red boxes gets to the point of this puzzle. Email me photos of all the players, and call me with daily updates. And, Pippa, be careful. With all the work this person is doing to set the scene, he could be seriously disturbed. And dangerous.”
He watched Pippa Cinelli stride out of his office, stop by Sherlock’s station, and give her a light punch on the shoulder. He heard Sherlock laugh, saw them speak for a few moments. He had a gut feeling Cinelli was the right agent for this job. He thought about adding a partner but decided to let Pippa go in alone. From the gleam in her eyes, she wanted to do this, bad.
He called Jessie Tenley back to get her assessment of Pippa. Tenley said, “It’s early yet, but I have a feeling Pippa’s got the nose, Dillon. She’s a lawyer with an accounting minor from NYU. She can read a financial document and tell you there’s a sentence in paragraph four that could point to the whole scam. She reads people, too, adapts well to the different roles she has to play. From the short time she’s been in my unit, I already know she’s a bulldog. She gets her teeth into something and gnaws away. She knows how to handle herself. I wish she would give more thought to some situations before rushing in, but she’ll learn.
“A week, Dillon, you’ve got her for a week. That’s the deal. I’ll need her back. The Calypso case is heating up, banking fraud, of course. The bankers involved are funneling money in and out of accounts in the Caymans. I hope Griffin can handle an infatuated eighteen-year-old at her birthday party who very well might puddle at his feet. Or faint. And all her eighteen-year-old friends as well.” Jessie sighed. “Was I ever eighteen?”
“Don’t worry, Jessie, Griffin’s fast on his feet.”
“Then maybe he’ll have a chance. A pleasure doing a deal with you. Happy Halloween, Dillon.”
12
ST. LUMIS, MARYLAND
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
HALLOWEEN
Pippa Cinelli pulled her small black-and-white Mini Cooper into the rear gravel lot of Major Trumbo’s B&B on Flounder Court. She’d forgotten how many streets in St. Lumis had fish names. It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, the drive from Washington longer than she’d expected with weekend traffic. She had only a couple of hours before it was dark.
She lifted her go bag and a single carry-on from the skinny back seat and made her way up the flagstone walkway to a large Victorian house, once owned, she remembered, by the Calder family, and now, evidently, by the Trumbos. It looked prosperous and well-maintained, painted white with blue, green, and yellow trim. A large skeleton hung in a downstairs window, and jack-’o-lanterns lined the sidewalk. She’d snagged the last room available, the honeymoon suite on the third floor. Half the nightly rate was coming out of her own pocket, but she wanted to stay in the very center of town. She was so excited, she was nearly bursting through her skin. This wasn’t about pulling crooks off golf courses, this was about a maniac with a flashy preamble, obviously proud of himself for his originality, proud of the alarm and fear his puzzle would cause. Dead birds? Bones? He was showing off, matching wits with Savich, and now with her. He had set the game in motion with no one watching, no one chancing to see. It was up to her to find out who and why.