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The 6:20 Man(66)

Author:David Baldacci

Tapshaw ran her eye down the page. “He was working in Chicago in a COVID ward near the beginning of the pandemic. He caught the virus and died. No wife and no kids.”

“Damn, when you think you’re having a bad day, think about people like that.”

She straightened and looked at him. “When I founded Hummingbird, I have to admit, I did it really for myself. It’s so hard to meet people and develop a relationship. But then I started thinking beyond myself.” She looked at the screen. “To people like them.”

“So, do you have a profile on Hummingbird?”

“I used to. And I got some matches. But none that really went anywhere. I think I’m resigned to building my business and then looking for someone.”

“Well, thanks for all this info,” he said. “You are a true artist with computers.”

“I got my first Apple MacBook when I was eight and never looked back.”

“I remember you telling me about your parents. Did they encourage you?”

“Oh yeah. My dad has a slew of patents he developed for companies like Microsoft and Intel. He also lectures all around the world. My mom teaches physics at Caltech.”

“Well, you clearly didn’t inherit any brains from them,” he joked. “You told me before that you had a brother?”

“Dennis. We’re twins. He’s a scholar-athlete, sort of the perfect sibling. It can be intimidating. But I love him to death.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the perfect-sibling thing going, too. It can be tough. But I don’t see how anyone can hold a candle to what you’ve accomplished.” He looked at the keyboard. “Hey, Jill, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

He pulled out his phone. “I got a weird email from someone who I think might be involved with Sara’s death.”

“What?” she gasped. “Have the police traced it?”

“That’s the thing. It seems to be untraceable. I’ve had people try, including Will, but no go.”

She looked intrigued. “Will is very good.”

“But you might be better.”

“Send me the email and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Jill.”

After she left, he forwarded her the email. Then Devine took the two remaining names from Ewes’s match list and found them online. The actor was indeed in London’s West End. He was an understudy in a play there, and had actually performed in the lead role on the night Sara had died, so he was obviously out. The businessman was employed at Fidelity in Boston. Devine accessed his Facebook page by using the same skullduggery he had with Christian Chilton.

On the night Sara had been killed, the businessman and his family had been in the Netherlands on vacation, with pictures to prove it.

A total dead end.

Devine grabbed a beer, walked outside, and sat on the front porch of the town house. The air had turned cool, the sky was threaded with stars, and the quiet of the night was immensely soothing.

He looked over as Helen Speers walked up to him, dressed in a dark jacket and matching skirt, a briefcase in hand.

“You’re getting in really late. And it’s not safe to walk from the station at this hour,” he admonished.

“You do it all the time,” she retorted.

“Yeah, well, I outweigh you by over a hundred pounds and I’m a badass Army Ranger. What were you doing?”

“Working at a firm in town. Part-time until I pass the bar.”

She sat next to him and took off her high heels, rubbing her stockinged feet. “Why the sad face?”

“Just a long, shitty day, no other reason.”

“Yeah, I had one of those, too.”

“Then you could use this.” He held up the beer.

Speers took two swigs and let them go down slow. She handed the bottle back. “Need that lawyer yet?”

“Getting really close, I think.”

“NYPD any closer to nailing whoever killed that woman?”

He took another drink and passed the bottle back and told Speers to finish it. “I don’t know about that. I do know that the guy here asking me questions lied about being with NYPD. There apparently is no Detective Karl Hancock, or at least that’s my take from the reactions of the real detectives who questioned me.”

“A fake detective? What the hell is that about?”

“I wish I knew. I seem to be right in the middle of a little conspiracy.”

She shot him a look. “Are any conspiracies actually little?”

He eyed her. “Not when you’re in the middle of one, actually. You gonna do your yoga?”

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