She had left her office late, only to come home and resume her hunt for information about William Harrington. Her search was going nowhere. As Friday had turned into Saturday, she knew come morning she would have to make the call she had hoped not to make. It wasn’t an impetuous decision, nor was it one she came to lightly. But after wrestling with her options, getting answers trumped Angie’s other concerns. Bryce was a good man, and she regretted putting him in any sort of compromising position, but he was best-equipped to help.
Angie waited until eight o’clock Saturday morning, though her restraint didn’t come easy. She occupied herself with the local news. The lead story was about a house fire in McLean, not about Ivan Markovich. He wasn’t the first criminal to skip bail, and the story didn’t have legs. To the public, Markovich was a pimp who’d gone on the lam. They didn’t understand the implications of human trafficking and why that story should have trumped a fire. Stinger being MIA meant Bryce had probably pulled an all-nighter trying to find him.
Angie was going to add to his misery.
Bryce answered her call after two rings. “Hey there. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Always. I’ve been meaning to call, but we keep running into brick walls here and we’re not getting very far with our hunt. This Stinger guy, man, I dunno. He’s like a phantom or something.”
“Where are you?”
“DC.”
“That close? Can we meet up?”
“I would if I could. Believe me, I’d like to. How are things on your end?”
“Loaded question,” Angie said. “I’m not sure you want the answer.”
“Try me. Though I might have to interrupt you if the phone rings.”
Angie gave Bryce an information dump and he didn’t interrupt her once.
He fell silent for a time, and then said, “I’m reeling here, Angie. II don’t know what to say.”
“Say that you’ll help me,” Angie replied.
“Help you how?”
“Get into the records. I want to know everything about the DeRose identity. We’ve got to be in there someplace.”
“I’m sure you are,” Bryce said.
“I want to know who my father was, what he did, what kind of deal he struck with the Feds. There’s no mention of his big Ponzi scheme anywhere, or any of the mobsters he stole from for that matter, or how his information allegedly brought them down.”
“FYI, that’s a fast track to the unemployment line for me if I get caught.”
“I’d understand if you won’t help,” Angie said.
“It’s not a question of want to help. Of course I want to help. It’s more like, holy crap. Really?”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Look, maybe there aren’t any news reports because the information was used by the Feds, not for any trial, but just to get a sense of how these guys operated. That’s worth handing a low level Ponzi schemer a GET OUT OF JAIL FREE card. No disrespect to your dad.”
“None taken, and I like your theory.”
“Good. Then we’re all set.”
“Will you look for me, Bryce?”
He made a heavy sigh. “I have to check with my guy, but okay. No promises here. A lot depends on our pal Markovich. But I’ll do what I can. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I’m going to talk to someone who might be able to shed some light on my dad’s mysterious past.”
Angie had open-door privileges at the Odettes’ home, same as the Odettes had at her father’s place. She rang the doorbell anyway. It felt like the right thing to do because she hadn’t done a popover visit since her high school days.
Louise Odette opened the front door with a bright smile on her face. Her silver hair, cut just above her shoulders, wasn’t styled for public viewing. Even without the benefit of makeup, she had aged gracefully, and the striking woman Walter had married more than fifty years ago was easy to see.
At eleven o’clock in the morning, she was still draped in her floral patterned bathrobe—the perfect attire for a lazy Saturday morning. Angie wore her Lands End outfit—jeans and a white long-sleeved jersey with a fleece vest. She’d already had three cups of coffee, which in hindsight wasn’t wise given her level of agitation.
“Angie, sweetie, what brings you here?”
“I was hoping to speak with Walter if he’s at home.”
Louise stepped back and invited Angie inside. The Odettes’ home was tastefully furnished, bright and airy, very welcoming, but not at all extravagant. The color palette was whites and blues mostly, with plenty of collectables throughout—sea glass in mason jars, old watering cans, flea market treasures—all artfully arranged in wooden cases and displayed on wall-mounted shelves.
Walt was careful with his money (her dad’s influence perhaps) and spent it on experiences (and grandchildren), but not things. He enjoyed traveling and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be gone for months at time, sometimes with Louise, but sometimes without. The Odettes did retirement the right way, but given Angie’s tax returns, she was not on pace for such adventurousness. She had better odds chasing down adulterers at seventy-five then she did taking off for a few months to soak up the Bora Bora sunshine.
“Everything all right with your Dad?”