Chapter 37
Why did you leave me?”
Jeff winced as though the five words had formed a cocked fist. For some reason, Kat reached across the table and took his hand in hers. He welcomed it. There was no jolt when they touched, no huge spark or grandiose physical current. There was comfort. There was, oddly enough, familiarity. There was the feeling that despite everything, despite the years and heartache and lives lived, that this was somehow right.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I don’t want an apology.”
“I know.”
He threaded his fingers in hers. They sat there, holding hands. Kat didn’t press it. She let it happen. She didn’t fight it. She embraced the connection with this man who had shattered her heart, when she knew she should have pushed it away.
“It was a long time ago,” Jeff said.
“Eighteen years.”
“Right.”
Kat tilted her head. “It seem that long ago to you?”
“No,” he said.
They sat there some more. The skies had cleared. The sun shone down upon them. Kat almost asked if he remembered their weekend in Amagansett, but what was the point? This was dumb, sitting with this man who gave her a ring and then a pink slip, and yet for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the fool about him. She could be projecting. She could be deluding herself. She knew the dangers of trusting instinct over evidence.
But she felt loved.
“You’re in hiding,” she said.
He didn’t reply.
“Are you in the Witness Protection Program or something?”
“No.”
“So what, then?”
“I needed a change, Kat.”
“You got into a bar fight in Cincinnati,” she said.
A small smile came to his face. “You know about that, huh?”
“I do. It happened not long after we broke up.”
“The beginning of my self-destructive period.”
“And sometime after the fight, you changed your name.”
Jeff stared down, as though noticing for the first time that they were holding hands. “Why does this feel so natural?” he asked.
“What happened, Jeff?”
“Like I said, I needed a change.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” She felt herself start welling up. “So I, what, just get up and leave now? I drive back to New York City and we forget all this and never see each other again?”
He kept his eyes on her hands. “I love you, Kat.”
“I love you too.”
Foolish. Dumb. Crazy. Honest.
When he looked up at her, when their eyes met, Kat felt her world crash down on her once again.
“But we don’t get to go back,” he said. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Her cell phone buzzed yet again. Kat had been ignoring it, but now Jeff gently pulled his hand away from hers. The spell, if that was what you’d call it, broke. Coldness spread up her abandoned hand and up her arm.
She checked the caller ID. It was Chaz. She stepped away from the picnic table and brought the phone to her ear. She cleared her throat and said, “Hello?”
“Martha Paquet just sent her sister an e-mail.”
“What?”
“She said all is okay. She and her boyfriend ended up at another inn and they’re having a great time.”
“I’m with her supposed boyfriend right now. It’s all a catfish.”
“What?”
She explained about the use of the faux Ron Kochman. She left out the part about Ron being Jeff and her connection to him. It wasn’t so much embarrassment anymore as much as not wanting to muddy the water.
“So what the hell is going on, Kat?” Chaz asked.
“Something really, really bad. Have you spoken to the feds yet?”
“I did, but I mean, they just sort of go silent on me. Maybe this catfish thing will help move things along, but right now, there is almost no proof of a crime. People do this all the time.”
“Do what all the time?”
“Have you watched the Catfish TV show? People set up fake accounts on these websites all the time. They use photos from someone who is hotter-looking. To break the ice. Pisses me off, you know? Chicks are always talking about how all they care about is personality, but then, bam, they fall for the cutie too. That might be all this is, Kat.”
Kat frowned. “And what, Chaz—this ugly guy or girl ends up getting them to transfer hundreds of thousands of dollars to Swiss bank accounts?”
“Martha’s money hasn’t been touched.”
“Not yet anyway. Chaz, listen to me. I need you to look for any missing adults over the last few months. Maybe they were reported, maybe they just claimed to run off with a lover. There wouldn’t be major attention because there would be texts or e-mails or whatever, just like with these three. But cross-reference any kind of concern with singles websites.”
“You think there are more victims?”
“I do.”
“Okay, I get it,” he said. “But I don’t know if the feds will.”
Chaz had a point. “Maybe you can set up a meet,” Kat said. “Call Mike Keiser. He’s the ADIC in New York. We may be able to do better face-to-face.”
“So you’re coming back to the city now?”
Kat looked behind her. Jeff was standing. He wore denim jeans and a fitted black T-shirt. All of this—sights, sound, emotions, whatever—was almost too much to take in at once. The rush was overwhelming to the point of threatening.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll leave now.”
? ? ?
They didn’t bother with good-byes or promises or hugs. They had said what they wanted to say, Kat guessed. It felt like enough and yet more incomplete than ever. She had come here hoping for answers, and as is the way of the world, she was leaving with even more questions.
Jeff walked her to the car. He made a face when he saw the fly-yellow Ferrari, and despite everything, Kat actually laughed.
“This yours?” Jeff asked.
“What if I said yes?”
“I would wonder if you grew a very small penis since we were last together.”
She couldn’t help herself. She threw her arms around him hard. He stumbled back for a second, got his footing, and hugged her back. She put her face against his chest and sobbed. His big hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer. He squeezed his eyes shut. They both just held on, changing their grips, pulling each other closer and with more desperation, until finally Kat pushed away all at once and, without another word, got into the car and drove away. She didn’t look back. She didn’t check the rearview mirror.
Kat drove the next thirty miles in a fog, obeying the GPS as though she were the machine, not it. When she had her bearings, she made herself concentrate on the case, only the case. She thought about all she had learned—about the catfishing and the money transfers and the e-mails and the stolen license plate and the phone calls.
Panic began to harden in her chest.
This couldn’t wait for a face-to-face.
She started making pleading phone calls, working connections, until she reached Mike Keiser, the Assistant Director in Charge of the FBI. “What can I do for you, Detective? We’re working an incident that took place at LaGuardia Airport this morning. I also have two drugs busts going down. It’s a busy day.”
“I appreciate that, sir, but I have a case involving at least three missing people across at least three states. One is from Massachusetts, one from Connecticut, one from Pennsylvania. I think there may be many more victims that we don’t know about yet. Have you been briefed on any of this?”
“I have. In fact, I know your partner, Detective Faircloth, has been trying to set up a meeting with us, but we’re really crazed with this LaGuardia situation. It may involve national security.”
“If these people are being held against their will—”
“Which you have no proof of. In fact, hasn’t each of your supposed victims been in touch with family or friends?”