He promised me he would pay me the full amount once the job was done. I stopped worrying about the money then because I trusted MacCarthy.”
“MacCarthy knew what was in that envelope, didn’t he?”
Ferris didn’t hesitate. “Yes. The papers in the envelope he gave me were copies. He kept the originals, and he told me he was keeping them in a safe place just in case.”
“In case what?”
“He didn’t say.”
Sinclair looked up from the notepad. “Let’s move on. I want to talk about that day in Boston. Tell us what happened.”
“I want you to understand. I was never going to kill anyone. I couldn’t take another person’s life.
Jacoby was in charge. He decided I would drive the car and be the lookout. That’s all I was supposed to do, but after I parked, Jacoby wouldn’t let me leave. He insisted that I go with him and watch out for trouble.” Ferris looked anxiously from Michael to Sinclair. “I tell you, I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I was just supposed to give the information. It was Jacoby who made me go with him. He handed me a gun. I tried to get out of there, but Jacoby was mean, real mean. He could have killed me.
He promised he would take care of everything. All we had to do was follow her until she was alone, and that turned out to be easy because she walked from the hotel and kept on walking. She damn near
wore us out. She never noticed us following her because we kept to the shadows. Then the trouble started.”
Michael wasn’t so calm now. Once Ferris started talking in such a cold detached voice about Isabel, every muscle in Michael’s body tensed for a fight, and all he could think about was putting his fist through Ferris’s face.
Ferris went on. “She stopped, then turned around and started back. We had to scramble to stay hidden. Jacoby went ahead to find a spot, and I found what I thought was the perfect place, and all of a sudden this guy gets in my face.”
“That guy is Detective Craig Walsh,” Michael informed him.
“Which one of you shot him?” Sinclair asked. He already knew the answer but was curious to find out if Ferris would tell the truth.
“He shot himself,” Ferris said. “And that’s the honest truth. He grabbed my gun and shot himself while I was trying to get it out of his hands. I knew Jacoby wanted his gun back. I’d have to pay him if . . .”
“You were saying there was a struggle,” Sinclair stated, once again trying to bring him back on track.
“Yes, that’s right. There was a struggle, which he started. I didn’t want him to shoot me, but he got hold of my gun, and he wouldn’t give it back.”
“What would you have done if he had given it back to you?” Sinclair wanted to know.
“I would have run away. It all happened so fast. The guy—I mean the detective I was fighting with
—hit me hard and knocked me down. I don’t know if he knocked me out or not. It was a pretty hard hit for someone who had just shot himself. I could feel him pulling on me, but I couldn’t do anything about it because my head was spinning, and my eyes wouldn’t open. I think the detective was looking for another gun. My flash drive must have fallen out of my pocket and he picked it up.” Shaking his head, he looked down at the floor and exhaled a long slow breath as though telling his story was physically draining.
“When I got my wits about me and looked around, I was all alone. I thought Jacoby had taken off and left me, but then I heard gunshots. I knew it couldn’t be the detective who took my gun. There was so much blood on the ground, I figured he was on his way to dying. I got up and went to the corner, and I saw Jacoby on the ground, and that girl was still alive. He didn’t get it done.”
“？‘It’？” Sinclair asked. He wanted Ferris to spell it out.
Ferris began to squirm in his chair. “Look. I didn’t have anything against her. Handing over information about her was just a job, and I needed the money.”
Michael could feel his control slipping. Losing his temper in an interrogation had never happened before. When he worked, his focus and discipline were absolute. This was different, though, and he wasn’t even running it. He wanted to destroy the man sitting across the table. Ferris was talking about Isabel as though she had as much value as a speck of dust.
Sinclair glanced at Michael, saw his expression, and rushed to finish the questioning.
Ferris also noticed Michael’s expression. Tilting his head toward Michael, he lowered his voice and said, “The way he’s watching me . . . it’s . . .”