was a long-winded yes.
“Thank you, sir.”
He smiled, the first genuine smile she’d seen from Harden since she’d been here. “If you need a partner to swim in the future, let me know. It’s obviously good for you.”
*
After her shower, she found a message on her cell phone from Tony Presidio.
“Lucy, call me. It’s important.”
He’d left the message nearly an hour ago, at three thirty. She quickly dressed and called him back.
“I just got your message.”
“Have you read the file I gave you?”
“Most of it. Is something wrong?”
“I need to see my notes. Something’s nagging me and I can’t remember what. I’m flying back tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’ll be at Quantico about nine thirty. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Did you learn something about Rosemary Weber?”
“All her research and notes from the Rachel McMahon investigation are gone. She’d archived them at the Columbia University library, but the file box has disappeared. They believe it was just misplaced, but I’m certain it was stolen.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea, but there’s something at the edge of my memory that I’m hoping my notes will jar loose.”
“Do you think Weber’s murder has something to do with a fifteen-year-old crime, and not her research into the Cinderella Strangler?”
“I thought she was killed because of something she had already written, not what she was researching; and with the McMahon files gone, all fingers point to that case as being important. If you can finish reading her books tonight and put together the list of people who may have a reason to kill her, send it to both Madeaux and me, but the McMahon case is the priority.”
“I will.” She’d eat in her room and finish the material before he returned tonight.
“For the time being, keep this between you and me. I’ll clear it with your supervisor when I get back.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
New York City
Rob Banker was seventy and, aside from wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, looked surprisingly fit for being a smoker. He agreed to meet with Tony and Suzanne provided they talk outside where he could light up.
Suzanne hated cigarette smoke. She’d smoked through high school and college, quitting only when she entered the FBI Academy. Being around cigarettes, even after ten years, always made her crave just one. But one would quickly turn into a pack and she’d be back to her old habits.
“Rosie was a good egg,” Rob said. “If I was twenty years younger.” He took a long drag on his Marlboro.
“This conversation is off-the-record, Banker,” Suzanne said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re writing articles for the damn paper and I don’t want my questions getting in print.”
He grinned. “And I don’t want to be decked.”
Suzanne glared at the reporter. “I’ll bring you to the Bureau and you’ll miss your deadline.”
“Fine, off-the-record.” He exhaled, and let out the smoke in a long, angled puff.
“She had a meeting scheduled with you the night she died,” Suzanne said. She didn’t know for certain that it was Banker, but he’d either confirm or deny.
“She canceled on me. We were supposed to meet at nine thirty at Gilly’s, the bar where we usually meet.”
“Any specific reason for the meeting?”
He shrugged. “To talk. Rosemary doesn’t trust a lot of people, but she and I go way back, and she bounced ideas off me. She called Monday morning and said she wanted to talk about the book—”
“The book she’s writing about the Cinderella Strangler,” Tony said to confirm.
Rob grinned. “I coined the phrase.”
Suzanne glared at him. “The victims were suffocated.”
He shrugged, puffed on his cigarette a couple times, took his time to answer. “I said as much in every article. It’s what sticks. And it gave the story legs, helped get the word out to potential victims to watch out.”
Suzanne wanted to argue with him, but Tony asked, “Did she tell you why she was canceling?”
“Not really. I wish I’d asked her.” He seemed sincere.
“What did she say?”
“Only that she was checking out a lead on an informant.”
“Informant? Like a criminal informant?”
“No—she meant someone in law enforcement who was willing to talk off the record.”
“Don’t you call those people sources?”
“Usually, but Rosie had a sense of humor. She liked to call cops informants.”
“So she was meeting with a cop?”
“Not necessarily—could have been a secretary, a dispatcher, even a janitor, anyone who worked for NYPD, really. Or maybe, because the case was federal, someone in your own house.”
Suzanne doubted that, but Tony looked like he believed it. “Anything else?” Tony asked. “Did she have any sense that she was being followed,