Unsolved (Invisible #2) - James Patterson Page 0,95

Ashland.”

“This is good,” I say, scrambling for my phone.

“This,” he says, “is probable cause.”

95

BOOKS PATS the steering wheel, practically buzzing. It’s now just past nine. We are down the street from 407 Morningside Lane, within sight of it but keeping our distance. Three other cars of local FBI agents have joined us, but they are keeping their distance as well and are spread out on all sides, trying not to stand out too much. There is still a chance that Lieutenant Martin Wagner will return home from wherever he is, and if he does, we don’t want to scare him off.

Once we get the search warrant, we’ll swoop back on that apartment like bees to honey. Until then, we wait.

We wait for a call from Elizabeth Ashland, who amended the application for a search warrant, grabbed a lawyer from Justice, and rushed it in front of a federal magistrate.

“Elizabeth did it herself?” I ask. “She wouldn’t delegate that part to someone lower down on the chain?”

Books makes a face. “Well, in fairness to her, there really isn’t a chain on this one. This case was never staffed with agents.” He shakes his head. “Because nobody believed you.”

“They do now.”

“But mostly,” he says, “I think Elizabeth wants in on this. Trying to steal some glory.”

“Well, she did go to bat for me. She convinced Dwight Ross to let me pursue this. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t be here.”

Books turns to me. “People have more than one face.” It’s a saying he often used to describe the criminals he chased. The duality of man, so to speak. How good and evil can coexist inside a person. The example he frequently cited was a local city bureaucrat he once busted who was taking thousand-dollar bribes to fix liquor licenses and who also devoted his free time to starting up a battered-women’s shelter. “Elizabeth does the right thing on this case. But on the flip side, she tips off Citizen David in exchange for gigantic cash payments.”

“You don’t know she’s David’s mole. You suspect it.”

“All that cash?” he says. “I’ll prove it. I just have to figure out how.”

I look at the Garfield the Cat watch, which is resting on the console between us in an evidence bag. “You think Lieutenant Wagner’s in the wind?”

He shrugs. “It’s odd for someone not to be home at dawn. But who knows? Maybe he has a lady friend and he stays at her place. Or maybe he has some morning routine. We don’t know much about him.” He looks at me. “But, yeah, if I’m putting money down—I think he’s gone.”

“Shit,” I mumble. I suppose I spooked him. It’s always one step forward, two steps back with this guy. “But you have alerts out for his van?”

“Everywhere,” he says. “Local cops, state troopers. Every county road, every highway. If he took off, we’ll catch him.”

His phone rings. He punches the button for the speakerphone.

“We got the warrant,” Elizabeth Ashland says. “I’m on my way.”

96

ALL FIVE vehicles converge at once on 407 Morningside Lane. Five male and three female agents, all wearing blue windbreakers with FBI on the back, plus Books and me.

And Elizabeth Ashland and Dwight Ross, who arrived with the search warrant. Everyone wants in now that my search has borne fruit, now that it’s no longer a wild-goose chase.

One of the local agents picks the locks on the front door in less than a minute, and we enter. Books calls out, “Lieutenant Martin Wagner! FBI! We have a warrant to search these premises!”

It doesn’t take long to confirm he’s not here. The place isn’t that big. A living room in front connected to a kitchen in the rear. To the left, a door to the garage, a small powder room, and the one and only bedroom.

I watch my step and don’t touch anything. I follow Books. Elizabeth and Dwight, I note, waited until the place was confirmed empty before they walked in.

In the bedroom, the bed is unmade. A small bedside lamp is on the floor. There’s a low dresser with the drawers pulled out to varying degrees. The top drawers are empty. The others are mostly empty. Hangers are spilled across the carpet.

The closet, which has a low bar for a disabled owner, is nearly empty, just a couple of shirts and a pair of pants in a bundle on the hardwood floor. In one corner of the closet are two large dust outlines, one a square, the other a rectangle. Boxes