Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [39]
Jack went cold. He’d smelled cover-ups before, but this one had a capital C. “So they can deny that Jamal was in a black site in Prague when McKenna was killed,” said Jack.
“But they can’t deny that he was locked up in Gitmo when McKenna’s mother was talking to McKenna’s killer.”
“Which, of course, leaves the big question,” said Jack. “Who was Shada Mays having those online communications with?”
“Answer that,” she said, “and I think you’ll know who killed McKenna Mays. And her mother.”
Jack was beginning to wonder if this could also explain the inexplicable, the thing that had puzzled him since his meeting with Chuck Mays. It was one thing for the victim’s family to question whether the police had the right man. It was another thing entirely for Chuck Mays to express those doubts to Jack, the lawyer for the man accused of murdering his daughter.
“Thank you,” said Jack. “This has been an eye-opener.”
“I didn’t come for ‘thanks.’ I want to know what you think.”
Jack walked around the desk to his phone, ready to speed-dial Neil Goderich. “If what you’re saying is true, I think your son has sat in jail long enough.”
Chapter Eighteen
Andie rode the Green Line into Washington for a status meeting with the supervisory agent in charge of her undercover operation. Her Metro stop was U-Street/Cardozo, near Howard University, and she took the escalator up to the Thirteenth Street exit. A cold front was pushing through that afternoon, and the temperature had dropped almost ten degrees since lunchtime. January was not her favorite time of year to visit the capital, and this latest trip north had confirmed that her Seattle roots had dissolved and that she was officially a thin-blooded Floridian.
Andie cinched up her coat and started toward the Hotel LaDroit. Her undercover role was a round-the-clock commitment, and meetings at FBI offices were out of the question. Andie wondered what Jack would have said about her meeting an ex-marine like Harley Abrams at a cheap hotel. Before she could even laugh at the thought, however, Harley stopped her on the sidewalk. He’d just walked out of Ben’s Chili Bowl—A WASHINGTON LANDMARK, the sign above the window said, famous for its place in civil rights history and its “Chili Smokes” hot dogs.
“Whoa, I don’t need to eat for a week,” said Harley. “Let’s talk while I walk this off.”
Andie was almost shivering. “Aren’t we meeting indoors?”
“This way,” he said. “Ten minutes, tops.”
“Let’s make it five,” said Andie. She set a brisk pace to the corner, where Harley led her up a side street.
“This wasn’t on my original agenda,” he said, “but I got another call this morning from Justice about your fiancé. To put it mildly, there are serious concerns about the direction his defense strategy is taking.”
They stopped at a traffic light. There was a dentist’s office on the corner, and it occurred to Andie that between the worsening weather and the continuing assault on Jack—this was not the first conversation with her supervisor about Jamal Wakefield—today’s status meeting was turning out to be about as pleasant as a root canal.
“How do they know what Jack’s defense strategy is?” she asked.
“Well, the lawyers at Justice are making certain assumptions.”
“They can assume all they want,” said Andie. “It’s like I told you before: If Jack wants to defend Jamal Wakefield, that’s his decision.”
The light turned green. Andie buried her hands in her coat pockets, and Harley matched her stride across the street.
“Don’t get defensive,” he said. “I’m sharing this with you only because I thought you should know. That’s all.”
Andie paused to consider the source. Harley was one of the good guys, and it was pointless to kill the messenger. “Okay, sorry. I appreciate the heads-up.”
Harley stopped midway down the block. Andie was eager to find warmth inside a comfortable lobby, but there wasn’t a hotel in sight. In fact, the neighborhood had turned questionable.