The Match

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Katherine Frole.

When Chris Taylor Googled the name, the information that came up was worse than he imagined.

First off, Katherine Frole — Panther — was with the FBI. Chris Taylor wasn’t sure what to make of that. He had always worried that law enforcement might try to infiltrate his group, but at the same time, Chris had suspected that at least one member of the Boomerang menagerie would be in law enforcement, someone who saw the limitations in the traditional criminal justice system and realized that the law had not yet caught up with these aggressors. You didn’t have to be a vigilante to see the holes in the system and want to correct them. Plus, from what he could see, Katherine Frole did not work out in the field, meaning she probably had a job that required tech know-how. That was, Chris figured, something the entire group shared. You didn’t join Boomerang without being able to understand and navigate the blackest corners of the dark web.

But of course, this was, to use a journalistic term, burying the lede:

Katherine Frole had been murdered.

When Chris saw that, when he realized how big this really was, he did something that would probably shock Polar Bear, Alpaca, Kitten, and Giraffe — the remaining members of Boomerang.

He deleted Boomerang.

All of it. Every file. Every correspondence. Every connection between members.

Did he still trust the other animals? He was not sure. But it was irrelevant. One had been murdered. Any road that could possibly lead to another member had to be severed.

Could one of the other Boomerang members be the killer?

It was horrifying, but Chris had to consider the possibility.

What was certain, however, was that the FBI would be on this case fast and with their best people. Assuming that they had Katherine Frole’s computer, the feds would comb through it with all of the resources at their disposal. Chris had put in a lot of safeguards. All the members followed a strict protocol. But obviously that hadn’t worked out. Either Panther had broken protocol or someone had found a way in. That meant, of course, Boomerang could be exposed.

In short, severing all ties was mandatory.

Now that Chris was alone, what was his next step?

He realized that he might know more than the FBI. Would they have already tied Panther’s murder to Henry McAndrews’s or Martin Spirow’s? Doubtful. The news and the internet had nothing about links amongst the three, but there was no way to know for certain.

That was another big complication.

Even with stakes this high, Chris couldn’t go to law enforcement. That would be breaking protocol in the worst way. If the FBI got their hands on anyone involved in Boomerang, that member would end up in federal prison or worse. No doubt. And if Boomerang’s victims found out who was behind the group, they would demand revenge in violent ways.

There was danger everywhere. But that didn’t mean Chris would let a killer walk free.

He would have to handle it himself.

The question was, How?

After Betz and Kissell left and they were alone again in her law office, Hester said, “What the hell, Wilde?”

Wilde said nothing. He looked up the number on his phone and hit the call button.

“Your father?”

Wilde put the phone to his ear and heard the ring.

“Peter Bennett is related to you on your mother’s side, right?”

Wilde nodded. The phone still rang. No one answered.

“So how does your father fit into this?”

Wilde hung up. “No one is answering at his place of business.”

“Whose place of business?”

“My father’s. Daniel Carter’s. DC Dream House Construction.”

“Do you have his mobile?”

“No.”

“His home?”

Wilde shook his head. “I’ll ask Rola to track him down.”

“Any clue why the feds would be interested in him?”

“None.”

“Or why they’d find your visit to him suspicious?”

“Only one possibility,” Wilde said.

“And that is?”

“Daniel Carter lied to me.”

“About?”

Wilde had no idea. He called Rola and filled her in. In his mind’s eye, Wilde could see young Rola, the serious student, taking notes in that room she shared with three other rotating foster girls. Rola was detail-oriented and industrious and dogged. It was what made her such a great investigator. You wanted Rola in your corner.

When he finished, she said, “Holy shit, Wilde.”

“I know.”

“I got someone in Vegas. I’ll report back what I find.”

Wilde hung up. Hester had moved to the window. She stared out at the awe-inspiring view of the Manhattan skyline. “Two people murdered,” she said.

“I know.”

“The FBI seemed convinced that your cousin is dead too,” Hester said. She turned away from the window. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your gut isn’t telling you anything?”

“I never go by my gut,” Wilde said.

“Not even in the woods?”

“That’s survival instinct. That’s climbing out of the primordial muck and learning to stay alive. That, yes, I listen to. But if you are deluded and narcissistic enough to believe you should obey your gut rather than looking coldly at the facts, that’s your bias, not your gut.”

“Interesting.”

“And right now, like you said with Sherlock, we don’t know enough to theorize.”

“Agree, but we really can’t investigate the murders. The FBI will be digging into these cases with everything they have. But right now, only you and I know that Marnie Cassidy lied about what Peter Bennett did to her. That gives us one distinct advantage.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“You up for rocking the boat?”

“I am. How do we start?”

Hester was already heading to the door. “We tell Jenn what her sister did.”