Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(62)

“I wish I could find him. Do you know any of his other friends?”

Father Paul thought for a few moments. “Well, there is one fellow. Simon Russell. He also plays in our league. Ben actually brought him on. We made an exception, since he’s not a member of the parish. From what I could tell, I think they worked together. Or at least they once did.”

“What does he do for a living?”

Father Paul smiled. “He seems to have the same bug that Ben does. He never reveals much about himself. But he can hit threes with the best of them.”

“Description?”

The priest looked surprised. “You sound like a cop.”

“No, but if I do run into him I want to make sure it’s the right guy.”

“Well, he’s a bit taller than me and very lean. Not much hair on top. He has a trim beard. He’s about Ben’s age, I would guess, or a bit older.”

“Do you have contact information for him?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I went to his house for a drink once with Ben and some of the other team members. We won the league championship last year, quite a comeback victory, actually, and Simon, on the spur of the moment, invited us all to celebrate. I thought it was quite nice. I mean, Ben lives nearby but he’d never had us to his place.”

“Ben is very private.”

“Exceedingly so.”

Father Paul wrote down an address and gave it to Pine. As he escorted her out he said, “If you find Ben, tell him to give me a call. I want to know he’s okay.”

“I’ll do that.” Pine looked around at the church’s interior. “This is a beautiful space.”

“It is. But that’s just trappings. The real strength of any church, I hope, are its parishioners. Jesus was a poor man. His faith was his pot of gold. Are you Catholic?”

“No. My parents didn’t take us to church. And I guess I just never got into the habit of going now that I’m an adult.”

“Well, it’s never too late.”

She gave him a sad look. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”





Chapter

33



P?INE PULLED THE MUSTANG to a stop at the curb across the street from Simon Russell’s large town house near Capitol Hill. Like Old Town Alexandria, the area was definitely high dollar. Pine had worked in DC for two years at the WFO. The only thing she’d been able to afford on her GS-13 salary was a one-bedroom roach motel apartment a ninety-minute commute from downtown.

Whatever Russell did for a living, it paid well. She wondered if his home inside was as Spartan as Priest’s. She might not find out tonight. While there were a lot of windows in the place, not a single light was on inside, at least that Pine could see.

She got out of the car, walked across the street, turned left, and then turned right at the next block. She reached an alleyway halfway along the block and walked down it. Another right and a short stroll brought her to the back of Russell’s home. There was also a one-car garage back here. This resembled an old-fashioned mews, like they had in England.

The wall around the rear of Russell’s home had a high brick wall and a tall wooden gate. She tried the gate, but it was locked.

She checked both directions, gripped the top of the wall, and hoisted herself up enough to where she could see over. This simple movement almost made her cry out in pain, as every injured body part she had screamed in protest.

As she clung to the rim of the wall she observed a small garden, with a stone wall water fountain emblazoned with the figure of a lion, some chairs and a matching wrought iron table, a few flower pots with well-tended plants, and a solid wood back door. Soothing, well-organized, and of no help to her whatsoever.

No lights in the house were visible back here, either.

She dropped back down to the pavement and retraced her steps, deciding along the way to take a direct approach.

She walked up to Russell’s front door and knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again, looking around to see if anyone was paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was also checking for the umbrella-carrying ninja.

She knocked again.

No one came to the door. She peered through the sidelights. It was too dark to see much.

Okay. What was Plan B?

She didn’t relish breaking into another home. Her luck had almost run out on the last one.

She walked back to her car and got in. She decided to perform that most tedious and sometimes most valuable of all police work.

The stakeout.

She settled down in her seat and kept her eyes peeled on the house.

At a bit after midnight, her vigilance paid off.

A tall man came walking down the street from the direction of the U.S. Capitol. He had on a trench coat and a felt cap, and he was carrying a leather briefcase.

He walked up the short stack of steps to the front door to his home, fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out his keys.

He was at his door inserting the key when Pine reached him.

“Mr. Russell?”

He whirled and looked down at her. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Okay, normal paranoia or something more?

She slipped out her shield. “I’m with the FBI. I’m here about your friend, Ben Priest.”

His features turned even more suspicious. “Ben? What’s going on with him? Why is the FBI interested in him?”