Found Money - James Grippando [97]
“Do I know you?”
He put down his soda and joined her at the table. He extended his hand, introducing himself. “Jack Forsyth. FBI.”
All she could say was “Oh.”
“I hate to interrupt your lunch, but I would like to talk to you.”
Amy froze. The warning outside the baseball stadium was all too fresh in her mind—how her daughter would pay if she talked to the police. But it was too late to get up and run. “Talk to me?” she asked innocently. “What about?”
“I think you know.”
“I think you’d better tell me.”
“We’ve been watching Ryan Duffy for several days now. And we’ve been monitoring his phone calls. We heard the message you left at his clinic. And we saw you meet with him last night in Denver.”
Amy tried not to flinch. Her message had been intentionally vague, she recalled, just in case someone other than Ryan had listened to it. “So?”
“So, we’ve checked you out as well. We understand you were robbed recently. We spoke to the detective from the Boulder police. Says you were acting strange during his interview, as if you were holding back something.”
“That’s his opinion.”
“Yes. It is a matter of opinion. But you know what? Just sitting here and watching your face for the last two minutes, I’ve formed the same opinion.”
Amy looked away. It was a curse, that expressive face of hers. It wasn’t just Gram who could read it.
The agent leaned closer. “Tell me. What are you doing with a guy like Ryan Duffy?”
She could sense his stare, but she didn’t look, couldn’t meet his eyes. She had too many reasons not to talk to him—the threat outside the stadium, and now Marilyn. She had promised Marilyn never to talk to anyone about the rape, and she knew that was where this would lead if she let the FBI in the door.
She gathered up her tray and rose, spilling her soft drink. “I have nothing to say to you,” she said, flustered.
“You will. Take my card,” he said, handing it to her. “Call me when you’re ready.”
Amy gave him a long look. She took the card without a word and walked away, never looking back.
45
Ryan went directly from K&G headquarters to Norm’s office. Norm was working alone in the conference room, preparing for tomorrow’s courtroom showdown. That Brent’s deposition had blossomed into a full-blown evidentiary hearing came as a surprise to Ryan. Norm wanted to talk strategy with his client. Ryan, however, unloaded a surprise of his own—the meeting with Kozelka, or at least with his right-hand man.
Norm listened without interruption, but Ryan could tell he was steaming.
“Big mistake,” said Norm. “I don’t see an upside to a stunt like that.”
“You got a better way to find out how my father committed rape and then turned it into blackmail?”
“You’ll never find that out. Not from Kozelka.”
“Had I already gone to the FBI, I would agree with you. But I made it very clear that I haven’t said anything to the FBI yet. Kozelka can keep the FBI out of this just by giving me the information I want.”
“Ryan, he’s not an idiot. If you don’t already know what information your father used to blackmail him, he’s not going to tell you. He’d be giving you carte blanche to pick up where your father left off and keep on blackmailing him. He’s probably back in his office doing cartwheels, delighted that your old man took the secret to the grave.”
Ryan fell silent. “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
“Of course you haven’t. You’re a brilliant guy, but you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since sometime before your father died. You’ve hardly slept at all in the last four days. Your wife’s divorcing you. Your blockheaded brother-in-law appears to have beaten the crap out of her lawyer. Your sister’s a pregnant squirrel. Your mother has her head in the sand. Your father’s a convicted rapist. You’ve been chased by the Panamanian police. The FBI and the IRS are breathing down your neck. Need I go on? You have too much to think about. That