“I get the sense that things are fraying. The plan is fragmenting.”
“That’s why you have people like me on speed dial. I deal with this sort of mess all the time.”
“This seems different. It’s turning into a monster. And I’m worried this monster is going to consume us all.”
Twenty-Three
Three days passed, and McNeal had still not heard back from Ryan Bone. He called Peter, who was home in New Jersey.
“I expected to hear from him by now,” Jack said.
“You know how it is. Backload of cases. Probably waiting to hear back from DC.”
“I guess.”
“Why don’t you give him a call?”
McNeal didn’t want to appear to be interfering with an FBI investigation. “I don’t want to, you know, throw my weight around. It’s early yet.”
“You’re not interfering. You’re just asking if he has any news on the material you passed to them.”
McNeal wondered if he shouldn’t just let Bone get back to him. But, at the same time, he wanted answers. His wife was dead. He had passed on documents that he thought pointed to doubts about the suspicious death of Sophie Meyer.
Peter prodded. “This isn’t some little bodega robbery.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Way more important than that. I say give him a call, Jack. He’s a stand-up guy. Staten Island boy.”
“Think I’ll do that.”
“And get back to me as soon as you hear something.”
“Got it.”
McNeal ended the call to his brother and called Special Agent Bone’s office number. Jack looked out the window as he stood in his kitchen. There wasn’t a soul on Compo Beach. No dog walkers. Nothing.
Clouds hung low in the sky.
The phone rang five times before it was finally answered.
“Special Agent Woods. How can I help?”
“I’m sorry, I was looking to speak to Special Agent Ryan Bone.”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah, Special Agent Ryan Bone. Spoke to him three days ago.”
“He no longer works here.”
McNeal was taken aback. “You know where I can reach him?”
“I believe he’s in DC. That’s all we’re authorized to share at this time. Can I take a message?”
“No. I’ve got his cell number.”
McNeal ended the conversation. Ryan hadn’t mentioned he was being transferred down to Washington. But then again, maybe the news was not something he had been able to share.
He called Bone’s cell number. It rang seven times before it was finally answered.
“Special Agent Ryan Bone speaking.”
“Hey, Ryan. It’s Jack McNeal.”
A pause. “Jack . . . right. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.”
“I was wondering if there was an update on those documents.”
“I’m not at liberty to talk about that.”
McNeal thought his tone sounded defensive. “I just wanted to follow up. That’s it.”
“We’re disseminating the information. I’ve passed it on.”
“Okay, I appreciate that. So, who have you passed this information on to? Within the FBI?”
“We’ve got a couple of guys looking at this. But it’ll take some time.”
McNeal exhaled, deflated by the standoffish response. “Do you mind me asking who is responsible for what I’ve passed to you, so I know who to contact?”
“I can’t say.”
“Ryan, am I missing something? . . . I sense you’re not telling me the full story.”
“We have ways of doing things.”
“Sure, I understand that. But what’s happening? You’ve been transferred down to headquarters since our visit? That seems pretty sudden.”
“I can’t talk about operational matters. I’m really tied up now with a case. I appreciate you reaching out.”
“All I want to know is who is dealing with this.”
“I’ve said enough. We’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
Twenty-Four
McNeal called his brother right away.
“He’s being leaned on,” Peter determined. “He said he was sending it to headquarters. And now he’s suddenly working at the Hoover Building. It’s bullshit. I’m telling you, the fix is in. Something is seriously wrong. What do you think?”
“The whole thing seemed off. Didn’t sound like Ryan. Not the Ryan I knew. The conversation was stilted.”