kid, brown eyes.” She pointed at her neck. “The scar.”
“So agitators like
Roger, organize the true believers after Epstein works them up into a frenzy.
They find foot soldiers to do the dirty work and useful idiots like Ken to
finance the operation, but they manage to keep their own hands clean.”
“That's what we think.”
She picked up a potato chip. “Can't prove it, though. Can't even tell you who
he is.”
“Well,” I said, “perhaps
Mr. Epstein can.”
Karen leaned forward.
“Why would he tell you anything?”
“I don't know. Let's say
I'm a cockeyed optimist and he'll believe I'm only looking for a missing kid.”
“Who you suspect is out
doing his bidding.”
“Possibly.” I put my
fork down. “But, it doesn't feel right.”
“Why?”
“Mainly, it's that so
much time has gone by and nothing's happened.”
“I’m not entirely sure
nothing has.”
“What do you mean?”
“The place you
mentioned. In Colorado. There was a fire there back in October.”
“I know, I read about
it. Some welder got careless.”
“So they say.”
“You don't buy it?”
She shook her head. “Not
really. Some of the original eyewitness reports made it sound a lot bigger than
their description. Some people saw explosions and a ton of flame.”
“Are you investigating?”
“Not in this lifetime.
FBI only investigates if it's terrorism. Owner said it was an accident, local
authorities confirmed. No damage to any facilities or buildings. End of story.
We've got enough on our plate.” She leaned forward. “But, it’s a little odd,
don’t you think, considering the connection to your missing boy?”
“I agree. I don’t like coincidences.
One more thing to ask Mr. Epstein.”
She sighed, and toyed
with the remains of her dinner.
“Karen, what's wrong?”
“You talking to Epstein.
It’s a problem.” She looked up at me. “I told Roma I was meeting you.”
I whistled. John Roma
was the no nonsense son of a bitch in charge of the New York office of the FBI,
which made him Assistant Director level. I'd met him once, briefly, at my
wife’s memorial service, but I didn’t remember anything he said.
“That was kind of you.”
“Come on, Nick. It's more
than just me; I've got to think about Tom, too. Epstein is an open
investigation. You shouldn't be messing around in it.”
“Are you ordering me to
back off?”
She grinned at me.
“Would it do any good?” When I shook my head, she said, “Well, then consider it
a suggestion.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Then, looking
down at her plate, she said, “Guy eating alone, by the entrance. Came in a few
minutes after you.”
“Describe him.”
She continued to look at
her dinner plate. “Dark grey sweater, dark slacks, medium build, dark blonde
hair, average features.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.
Why him?”
“Whole time, he’s
glanced everywhere in this room but at us. Just has an appetizer and a cup of
coffee. Cash already on the table.”
“Okay.” I did nothing
until our waiter passed behind me, then turned and called for him, raising my
hand and snapping my fingers loudly. Every other patron looked up, except the
guy Karen had described.
“Yes, sir,” said the
waiter.
“Dessert menu, when you
get a chance, please.”
“Yes, sir.” He moved off
and I turned back to Karen.
“See,” she said.
“I think I've seen him
before.”
“Where?”
“Security line at
Newark. He was on the flight out to Sea-Tac with me.”
“Did you see him on the
flight back?”
“No, I didn't. I was in
first class, so I would have noticed him get on.” I paused. Suddenly, the
reason for the phone call in Sea-Tac was clear.
“What is it?”
“Someone kept me from
boarding early. Maybe so he could get on first. And someone was following me in
Seattle.”
“Sounds a little
complicated for a simple missing persons case.”
“Let’s find out.”
I took out my wallet,
retrieved a business card, and handed it across
“So agitators like
Roger, organize the true believers after Epstein works them up into a frenzy.
They find foot soldiers to do the dirty work and useful idiots like Ken to
finance the operation, but they manage to keep their own hands clean.”
“That's what we think.”
She picked up a potato chip. “Can't prove it, though. Can't even tell you who
he is.”
“Well,” I said, “perhaps
Mr. Epstein can.”
Karen leaned forward.
“Why would he tell you anything?”
“I don't know. Let's say
I'm a cockeyed optimist and he'll believe I'm only looking for a missing kid.”
“Who you suspect is out
doing his bidding.”
“Possibly.” I put my
fork down. “But, it doesn't feel right.”
“Why?”
“Mainly, it's that so
much time has gone by and nothing's happened.”
“I’m not entirely sure
nothing has.”
“What do you mean?”
“The place you
mentioned. In Colorado. There was a fire there back in October.”
“I know, I read about
it. Some welder got careless.”
“So they say.”
“You don't buy it?”
She shook her head. “Not
really. Some of the original eyewitness reports made it sound a lot bigger than
their description. Some people saw explosions and a ton of flame.”
“Are you investigating?”
“Not in this lifetime.
FBI only investigates if it's terrorism. Owner said it was an accident, local
authorities confirmed. No damage to any facilities or buildings. End of story.
We've got enough on our plate.” She leaned forward. “But, it’s a little odd,
don’t you think, considering the connection to your missing boy?”
“I agree. I don’t like coincidences.
One more thing to ask Mr. Epstein.”
She sighed, and toyed
with the remains of her dinner.
“Karen, what's wrong?”
“You talking to Epstein.
It’s a problem.” She looked up at me. “I told Roma I was meeting you.”
I whistled. John Roma
was the no nonsense son of a bitch in charge of the New York office of the FBI,
which made him Assistant Director level. I'd met him once, briefly, at my
wife’s memorial service, but I didn’t remember anything he said.
“That was kind of you.”
“Come on, Nick. It's more
than just me; I've got to think about Tom, too. Epstein is an open
investigation. You shouldn't be messing around in it.”
“Are you ordering me to
back off?”
She grinned at me.
“Would it do any good?” When I shook my head, she said, “Well, then consider it
a suggestion.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Then, looking
down at her plate, she said, “Guy eating alone, by the entrance. Came in a few
minutes after you.”
“Describe him.”
She continued to look at
her dinner plate. “Dark grey sweater, dark slacks, medium build, dark blonde
hair, average features.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.
Why him?”
“Whole time, he’s
glanced everywhere in this room but at us. Just has an appetizer and a cup of
coffee. Cash already on the table.”
“Okay.” I did nothing
until our waiter passed behind me, then turned and called for him, raising my
hand and snapping my fingers loudly. Every other patron looked up, except the
guy Karen had described.
“Yes, sir,” said the
waiter.
“Dessert menu, when you
get a chance, please.”
“Yes, sir.” He moved off
and I turned back to Karen.
“See,” she said.
“I think I've seen him
before.”
“Where?”
“Security line at
Newark. He was on the flight out to Sea-Tac with me.”
“Did you see him on the
flight back?”
“No, I didn't. I was in
first class, so I would have noticed him get on.” I paused. Suddenly, the
reason for the phone call in Sea-Tac was clear.
“What is it?”
“Someone kept me from
boarding early. Maybe so he could get on first. And someone was following me in
Seattle.”
“Sounds a little
complicated for a simple missing persons case.”
“Let’s find out.”
I took out my wallet,
retrieved a business card, and handed it across
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