“We need you, Mr. Serrat.”
“I’m sorry, but I reviewed the case and I don’t think there’s a good faith post-conviction motion here. All I told your son was that I’d take a look.”
“Your daughter thought his case had merit, that we could get the DNA tested.”
Sean sighed. “My daughter was a law student. She just didn’t have the experience yet to make that call.” His stomach turned at debasing Abby’s abilities.
Ms. Chadwick fixed her gaze on Sean. “You’ve lost a child,” she said. Her voice quivered now. “You know how it feels. Imagine you could get her back, imagine it. You can do this for me. I’ve lost everything else. My marriage. My home. You could at least get my Johnny back.”
Sean swallowed, but he tried to show no emotion. The photo of the bloodied steel rod that probably had Ryan’s prints or DNA on it flew through his head along with the echo of Senator James’s voice: Let it go, Serrat.
Sean steadied himself and said, “I sympathize, I do. But I can’t take this on. Has John sought out other counsel? If not, I can make some referrals.”
“Johnny hasn’t been able to do anything since you visited him.”
“If they’re restricting his phone access, I’m sure you can—”
“It’s not his phone access,” she said bitterly. “Johnny was attacked the day after your visit. He’s in the prison infirmary.”
CHAPTER 61
Sean looked about the restaurant and saw Emily at a cramped two-seater along the wall. Her gaze was empty. Sean walked over and slipped into the chair across from her. After sweeping the area for eavesdroppers or reporters, he filled in Emily on the visit from John Chadwick’s mother.
Emily leaned in and whispered, “So we’re just going to do nothing? You know he’s in the hospital because of Mason James. You have to know that, Sean.”
“What am I supposed to do, Em? As long as James has the—” He stopped and twisted around to confirm again that no one was close enough to hear. “As long as he has the evidence on Ryan, we can’t risk it.”
“What if we got the steel bar and photos back?” Emily said. Her long lashes didn’t flutter as she held his gaze.
“How would you propose we do that? Break in to his Senate office?”
Emily gave the slight arch of a brow.
He gave her a what the fuck expression: hands held up, eyes wide.
“I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to get mad,” Emily said.
He held her gaze, not responding.
“Promise?” she repeated, her green eyes steady.
Sean pursed his lips and gave a clipped nod.
“I think I know where James keeps the file on Ryan. And I think we can get it.”
At this, Sean opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He took a gulp of water, his eyes not drifting from Emily’s.
“I’ve been following him.”
Sean nearly choked on the water. “Following who? Tell me you’re not referring to Mason James?”
“No, he’s too risky. Since his nomination I can’t get near him—too many reporters staking him out, and I think he has extra security now. I’ve been following his henchman. Mole Face.” The man’s name was Sebastian Finkle, but they still referred to him by the nickname Abby had given him. The guy just didn’t look like a Sebastian Finkle. It was a strange name that reminded Sean of a line from a C. S. Lewis novel: There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.
It had started out innocuously enough, Emily explained. She’d gone to Abby’s apartment on the Hill to sort through their daughter’s things and afterward strolled to the Capitol. She wandered about the building to see if she could get near the hideaway office where Senator James had shown Sean the file on their son. She couldn’t. She’d then found herself outside the Hart building. She didn’t have a plan, but was there when the senator and Mole Face walked out of the building. When the two parted ways, she’d trailed Mole Face to the subway station.
“He took the train to Dupont Circle, and I followed him to a condo building. It was the middle of the afternoon so I just hung out in the circle for a little while and, sure enough, he came out. He was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, like he was trying to hide his face. And he was carrying a large envelope. I followed him as he took the subway to Cleveland Park and he pushed the envelope through the mail slot of a house near the Metro station there.”
“So he delivered some mail, I don’t see the—”
“You don’t understand,” Emily said. “I came back to Hart the next day. He followed the same routine. Mole Face left Hart, got to his condo building at around three o’clock, changed from a suit into the ball cap and glasses, and left with an envelope. This time, though, he got on a motorcycle so I couldn’t follow.”