The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [130]
“Travel records, plane tickets, hotel stays?”
“Checked with his credit cards—nothing. Checked with the local airport, nothing. Of course, there are roughly half a dozen airports within a three-hour drive of here. He could’ve left from any one of those, paying cash and/or using an assumed name.” Glenda smiled. “Welcome to the convenience of the Eastern Corridor.”
“And even if he lacks focus, seventy-two hours provides plenty of time for misdeeds.” He grimaced, then caught himself and said more crisply, “What about financial resources?”
“Albert is currently proud owner of nine hundred dollars in his bank account, so while he’s had time to run around the country, financially I’m not sure how he could’ve pulled it off. On the other hand, if he has been traveling he’s been paying in cash, so it’s possible a second person has funded his venture with a briefcase of money. Without access to the second person’s accounts, it’s impossible to know.”
“Smart, but lazy. Poor, but possibly funded by vengeful deviants-R-us. Wonderful.”
“At the very least,” Glenda said, “we know Albert has been actively involved in positioning you as a suspect. He called Everett Friday night, saying that he’s convinced you killed your ex-wife. Then he made a point of visiting me first thing Saturday morning to let me know all his doubts about the Philadelphia crime scene.”
“Poisoning the well.”
“He was extremely persuasive,” Glenda said quietly. “Everett was strongly considering calling you in. In fact, the only reason he didn’t is that Albert’s credibility is an issue. That wouldn’t have mattered much longer, however. Albert got me wondering, which is what he intended. I found the stationery in your desk, messengered a sheet over to the lab . . . That report should come back any time now, confirming the original ad was sent on your stationery. Once that report arrived, Everett would have no choice but to ask you to turn yourself in. Plus, Albert’s accusation and the subsequent finding of your stationery made me seriously doubt you, which set everything up for act two.”
“You turning up dead.”
“In your home, protected by a state-of-the-art security system to which you have access. And, if that wasn’t damning enough, the casings from the two shots Albert fired both bear your fingerprints. It would appear Albert helped himself to your ammo during one of his visits to the house.”
“What?” He was so startled, he momentarily forgot himself and exclaimed, “Son of a bitch!”
Glenda frowned. “You can’t say that,” she said sternly.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
“Stop fidgeting.”
The button was getting to him again. He forced his hand away, then caught his reflection in the room’s long mirror and felt even more discouraged. He looked tense and uncomfortable, not at all like a ruthlessly competent federal agent. When word came down that he could finally interview Montgomery, he needed to walk into that room appearing 100 percent calm and in control. You messed with us, Montgomery, now let me mess with you.
He did not look calm and in control. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept. He looked like someone who was deeply worried. He looked like someone who was, for the first time in his life, out of his league.
Albert Montgomery is nothing, he reminded himself firmly. Not even the real deal. Just a hired hand.
“He wants to talk,” Glenda said softly, as if reading his mind. “Don’t forget, Albert is driven by his need to prove himself smarter than you. All you have to do is sound skeptical, and he’ll hand you the keys to the city simply to prove he can. You hate him. You want to lean