a stretch. There was no proof that any of them were murdered, but Sean would bet his last dollar he was right.
Mead didn’t respond, but his body tensed. He was definitely interested.
“Last week, Rosemary Weber, who wrote the book about the McMahon family, was stabbed to death in Queens. All her files related to her research into the Rachel McMahon murder and trial are missing.”
“Why is a private investigator contacting me and not the feds? Or NYPD?”
“RCK consults for the federal government on many cases. If you need confirmation that I’m assisting the FBI in this matter, I can give you the name and number of my contact.”
“You still haven’t told me why you want to find McMahon.”
“He’s either a killer or a potential victim. We won’t know which until we talk to him.”
Mead seemed to assess what Sean said. He’d made a bold statement, but it was the truth.
Mead reached to the seat next to him and picked up a thin folder. He tossed it in front of Sean.
Sean opened it. Inside was a typed report, signed by Mead. Detailed in the report was a disturbing list of vandalism and violence. McMahon had found a dead animal in his bed, notes threatening his life, and there had been at least one attempt to kill him—his brake lines had been cut. Had he not thought quickly and veered up a slope in the road, he would have been seriously injured or killed.
“Do you know who did this?”
Mead shook his head. “It was a difficult investigation. At first no one in my department believed him. They wrote up reports, but nothing came of it. They dismissed it as college pranks. He stopped coming in, but the stalking didn’t stop.”
“You believed him.”
“He came in one last time, when a butchered pig had been left in his bed and his girlfriend found it. He was nineteen. He was concerned about her safety, so I took him to her house. Except that she’d lied to him. Forensics showed that someone had scrubbed Peter’s apartment and removed all traces of the girl who called herself Cami Jones. He stayed with me for a while and changed colleges. When he graduated she came after him again, only this time I was there. She ran, and we agreed that the only way he would be safe was if he changed his name and became someone else.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not telling you until I talk to Peter and check you out.”
“It’s critical, Detective.”
“You can keep that file. There’s a police sketch of the girl. She’d told Peter she was a year older than him, but I have my doubts. She could have been anywhere between twenty and thirty. I only saw her that one time, and it was briefly, but she had a distinctly different appearance from the last time he’d seen her—she may have had some work done. Nothing major, but enough that the sketch might be a bit off. When Peter knew her, she had long, dark blond hair. She had medium-length streaked hair when I saw her.
“I tried to run her, but there was no record. No record at all. No Cami Jones. She sat in on classes at SU, but was never registered. She used an elderly woman’s house for her drop spot, but told Peter her family issues were complicated. Turns out the woman didn’t know her. Peter, even after all he’s been through, was very trusting. He’d been on his own since he was sixteen.”
Sean looked at the drawing of a young, pretty girl. Not exceptional, but sweet. Girl next door.
He also knew that the FBI could get a warrant for Peter’s new identity and location, and he suspected Mead knew that as well, but Sean didn’t want to threaten the cop. He suspected he’d get the information faster if Mead volunteered it.
Mead leaned forward. “Peter is my brother now. I will do anything for him. He’s not a killer; I stake my life and reputation on that. Which means, if your theory is right, he’s in trouble only if his identity is exposed. I’m not putting him in the line of fire. Understand?”
Sean tapped his card. “See the small print? Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services. If you tell me where he is, I can guarantee his safely.”
Mead didn’t look like he believed him. He said, “Turn the page.”
Sean went back to the file. The last page was a photocopy of a typed note. A threat.