“You’re reaching.”
“Am I?”
“She’s a workaholic, same as me. Her work comes first.”
“How did that make you feel?”
McNeal rubbed his eyes. “You think I’m involved in this, don’t you?”
“We’re just trying to establish the whereabouts of your wife, Jack.”
“You’re trying to establish motivation. I get it. But spare me the phony line of questioning.”
“Jack, we’re going to need to check your cell phone records. You know the drill. Do we have your permission to scan those?”
“No, you don’t have permission. I have sensitive information and numbers on my cell phone and laptop.”
“In your West Third Street apartment?”
“Yeah.”
Finks handed McNeal a search warrant.
“Are you kidding me? You had this the whole time?”
“We want to get to the truth. That’s all. So, we—just so you know—we’ll be accessing your cell phone records too.”
“You believe I’m involved in her disappearance, don’t you?”
“We’re just trying to establish the facts, Jack.”
McNeal leaned back in his seat. “You’re trying to set me up.”
“That’s not the case.”
Finks looked at his watch. “What do you say we have a breather. I’ll bring you some coffee. Wait here.”
Six
The breather lasted three hours, long enough for the Secret Service to gain access to his tiny Greenwich Village apartment as well as his home in Westport and find whatever the hell they thought they would find.
Finks returned with a coffee just after five a.m.
McNeal sat sullenly, staring at a wall.
“Black okay?”
“Fine, thanks. You find anything?”
Finks slumped in a seat opposite. “We’re not enjoying this any more than you.”
McNeal nodded.
“We’ll give you a list of the items we removed.”
McNeal gulped some hot coffee. “It’s not a problem.”
“My colleague, who you spoke to earlier, is speaking with our superiors in DC. Just so you know, forensics have now copied all the data from your electronic devices found here in New York and in Westport. They’ll be analyzing everything over the next day or two, including your cell phone records. You know the drill.”
“Could take a while.”
Finks nodded. “Probably.”
McNeal rubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake himself up. It was like a bad dream. “I don’t understand Caroline’s disappearance. It’s so out of character. What’s freaking me out is her valuables—her cell phone, laptop, and notebooks, all taken.”
Finks leaned back in his seat. “I’m guessing there’s a possibility she might’ve just wanted some space from her high-pressure job. Maybe disappear for a while. Catch up on some reading. Writing. Can you think of any place where she might have gone? A retreat, that kind of thing? Second home?”
McNeal racked his brain. He remembered a place her family owned. “She has a place in Catoctin Mountain Park. If she needed peace and quiet or had a deadline for a book, she’d head there.”
“Where’s that?”
“Not far from Camp David. Her father had a cabin there. I don’t have the address.”
Finks scribbled in his notepad. “The parents are dead, I believe.”
McNeal nodded.
“So, she has no living family or relatives?”
“None. Apart from me. She was an only child.”
“I appreciate the heads-up about the cabin.”
“Don’t know if Caroline uses it much these days.”
Finks stared at McNeal. “I’ve got a sensitive question to raise with you. And I apologize if it sounds uncaring. Harsh, even.”
“Shoot.”
“So far, we’ve taken notes but have no taped recording. None of this is on the record. We thought it important to win your trust in difficult circumstances.”
McNeal had thought it strange they hadn’t recorded their talk. He let it slide. “What’s on your mind?”
“We checked your estranged wife’s finances. We found her will at her house in Georgetown. It leaves everything in her estate to one person.”
McNeal shrugged. “No idea.”
“The sole beneficiary. You.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, she has three and a half million dollars in her bank account from the sales of her last two books and also stocks and shares valued at fifteen million dollars in today’s prices, inherited from her father. It means you’re rich.”