“You’re not going to give up on Emily’s investigation, are you?”
“No. Never. But it sounds like you’re getting ready to go back to New York.”
“My son is involved in a ceremony tomorrow afternoon. I can’t miss it.” I explained about the essay and a little about the family dynamics. Bobby seemed fascinated.
Bobby said, “It was just me and my sister at home. It allowed my parents to focus on us completely. Now my sister is a neurotic orthodontist in Dover, Delaware. I escaped some of the neurosis, but I know my parents’ constant attention warped me somehow.” He chuckled.
We chatted a while longer. I didn’t bother to tell Bobby I might be at his office in the morning with Mrs. Parker and Emily’s sister. Those were the tentative plans. I wanted to pick up Emily’s personal effects, then head to New York. I could already picture the look on Trent’s face when I showed up at the apartment.
I had a big family meal planned at Trent’s favorite restaurant. It was an interactive sports bar. Luckily, the boy was more interested in games than expensive food. Although with ten kids and your grandfather tagging along, no meal in New York is ever cheap.
I was surprised when Bobby gave me a little hug good-bye. He even threw in a “I still might make it to New York. We’ll have to work together.”
“I’d like that.” I meant it too.
Chapter 92
I woke early the next morning as the sun was creeping up in the east. I lay in bed, grappling with a feeling of finality that was veering toward guilt and depression. It was certain I had let Emily, a woman who had never failed me, down.
I ran the interview of Rhea Wellmy-Steinberg through my head over and over. At no point did I not believe her denial of killing Emily. The breaking news had been unrelenting. Virtually every channel ran specials about the arrest of the spouse of a sitting Supreme Court justice.
Even if it had been almost two years since Michelle Luna’s murder, the reporter interviewing her father took a far too aggressive tack toward a man who had lost his daughter. It brightened my mood to hear him say that he had found a sense of closure, and he and his family could move forward now. He placed a hand over his heart as he thanked the Baltimore police for never giving up. Though he may never know how lucky he was that Detective Stephanie Holly had been assigned to the case, I did.
I grabbed a quick hotel breakfast of stale English muffins and cereal. Mrs. Parker had said she and Laura would meet me at the FBI field office at eight o’clock. The thought of heading home after that lifted my spirits. All I could think was Home to my family. Home to Mary Catherine.
I’d been worrying about her even more than usual over the last few days. She sounded tired. Somewhere deep in my heart, I thought she might be pregnant. The thought was not upsetting at all. I know, I know, I already have enough kids. The other way to look at it is that one more kid can’t be much more effort. Either way, my first concern was Mary Catherine’s health and comfort.
At exactly eight in the morning, I rolled into the visitors’ area of the lot across from the FBI DC field office. My nondescript little Prius held a single suitcase and a big case folder. I was in the middle of deciding whether to give it to Bobby Patel or the DC homicide unit. If I saw Bobby this morning, I might try to feel him out on the subject.
I got a surprise hug from Mrs. Parker and Emily’s sister Laura. I understood Laura’s hug, but Mrs. Parker did not impress me as a fan of personal, physical contact. You live and you learn.
I’ll admit I was a little disappointed in our reception. I had assumed the special agent in charge or another high-ranking Bureau official would meet us. Instead, it was the personnel director. And I guessed she had never even met Emily.
The personnel director was about forty with neat blond hair and reflective glasses that looked like they could incinerate ants if she held them up to the sun. She was professional if somewhat curt as she ushered us into a conference room four doors down from the lobby. In the hallway, agents and analysts hustled back and forth.
Sitting on the table in the conference room was a box with all of Emily’s personal belongings from her desk. At least it was an official FBI evidence box and not a paper towel box from Costco.
I didn’t say a word. I was just there for support. As the FBI personnel director left us, she said, “Take all the time you need. When you’re done, just come out the door, turn left, and the lobby is straight ahead.”
I had to admit she had a very nice voice.
I watched as Mrs. Parker grimly poked around in the box. She pulled out a framed photo of her, Emily, and Emily’s two sisters. Another photo showed Emily on a treacherous mountain-bike trail.