“Emily Waldorf?” Georgia arched her brows. “I had no idea the Bureau knew about her.”
“When your maiden name is Waldorf, as in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, we take an interest.”
Georgia tapped a few keys on her laptop. Wikileaks provided. William or “Willy” Waldorf Astor. Millionaire businessman, lawyer, philanthropist. A member of the even wealthier Astor family. Moved to Britain where he eventually was named a viscount. Emily and Evelyn were his great-great-granddaughters. Which meant Ellie’s best friend Susan Siler was a direct descendant, too. Good to know Ellie ran with the best. It also meant that Susan’s mother could afford to pay Georgia well.
Still, Emily’s background hadn’t saved her life. “I didn’t know.” She gazed at LeJeune. “Even so, why would you—I mean the FBI—be interested?”
“Because, as you undoubtedly know, she died in—how should we say it—unusual circumstances.” He gazed back. “How did you get involved?”
“Her sister’s daughter, Susan, is Ellie Foreman’s closest friend. After Emily died, they asked me to see what I could find out.” She copied the information about “Willy” Waldorf into her “Emily” file. “Does this mean you suspect foul play?”
“Hold on. I’m asking the questions. What were you doing in Kalamazoo?”
“Trying to get the lot number and anything I could on the chain of custody from the time the vials came off the conveyor belt until those poor souls lost their lives.”
“Souls like Emily Waldorf.” He put the mug down. “And you found out what?”
Georgia folded her arms. “You mean you don’t know? You seem to know everything else I’ve done in the past few days.”
“Come on, Davis. Don’t play cat and mouse. We know each other better than that.”
“No. You know Ellie better than that.”
The Cajun smile came across his face like molasses oozing out of a glass jar. “Well, I’d sure like to know you better.” This guy didn’t miss a beat.
“And I’d sure like an FBI source on my side,” she replied smoothly. “But my boyfriend probably wouldn’t like it.”
LeJeune shrugged. “Hey. In negotiations a good G-man covers all the bases.”
“Oh, so we’re negotiating now?” Georgia unfolded her arms. “What about? You want me to be your confidential source?”
“Something like that.”
Georgia paused. She was surprised. And flattered. But she suppressed her emotions. This was, as he said, a negotiation. “You want me to help you. To share my hand with you. I get it. What’s in it for me?”
“Protection. The Bureau will have your back.”
Georgia looked out her window. They could promise, but could they deliver? She imagined defending herself against an adversary aiming a weapon at her. Forced to make a split-second decision. What good would FBI ‘protection’ be in that circumstance?
As if reading her mind, LeJeune answered. “We’ll keep in close touch. You never go anywhere without letting me know. We’ll provide backup if necessary.”
Unless they didn’t. Still, the Bureau’s resources were the best in the world. If they couldn’t suss out what was really going on, no one could. She, on the other hand, kept burrowing into rabbit holes. It would be foolish to decline their support and expertise. It might even mean something good for her career once this was wrapped up.
So Georgia told LeJeune how she went to the plant and pieced together some of the story. How she learned the vaccine could be contaminated, the extraordinary measures manufacturers and distributors were taking to preserve its purity, and the extent of adverse reactions that weren’t reported to the CDC or FDA. She told him about the contacts she’d talked to and the woman bartender’s hostility at the tavern.
When she finished, he said, “Impressive. You did this on your own?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t let myself believe the deaths might have been intentional. Not with so much data pointing the other way.”
“You come up with a reason why Blackstone did a runner?”
“You know about him?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Working on it.” LeJeune rubbed his nose, a habit she’d learned meant he wasn’t telling her the full story. “Aside from him, I assume you’re in touch with other contacts.”
Georgia narrowed her eyes.
“Not to worry. I’m not gonna steal them. What’s your assessment so far? We’re leaning toward the idea that a few vials seem to have been tampered with. Any idea how or where?”
Georgia straightened up. He was actually letting her in on the FBI’s perspective. That was almost unheard of. The FBI normally kept its information confidential, even to other law enforcement organizations. Either he really was following through on his earlier promise to share what they had, or the Feds were so far behind the curve that he was pumping her for anything he could get. She suppressed her surprise.
“I’m speculating, but it could have happened during transit. Or onsite once the lot was delivered. I doubt it happened during manufacturing.”
“Because…”
“With Jefferson Medical using FedEx and UPS, the chain of custody is pretty tight. But there might be some gaps when they subcontract to a third party for end-user delivery. That’s what I’m starting to look into.”
She told him about the interview scam she and Ellie had come up with and that she was waiting for Hofstader to get approval from corporate to proceed. “I want to find out about any third-party distributors they might use.”
He stared past her. “They’ll expect to see the article published, won’t they?”
“I hope we’ll get to the bottom of this before that happens.”
“And if not?”
“Ellie Foreman said she’d write it up and submit it to the Trib. She says it’s a legitimate human-interest story.”
Lejeune nodded. “Not our protocol, but I’ll look the other way. Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”
She nodded and leaned back. “So, what about you? Where are you focusing?”
“We were lucky as hell in one way. We got the actual vials used to vaccinate the three dead people from the paramedics. They’re down at Quantico being analyzed.”
“Mass spectrometry?”
“Among other tests.”
“And I suppose your people have interviewed everyone who was at the Church on the days the three people died?”
“Of course.” LeJeune grinned.
“How many people were there?”
“You know I can’t tell you. At least not right now.”
“What does that mean, ‘at least not right now’? I thought we were working together.”
He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Georgia was glad the Feds had already interviewed the people scheduled for the vaccine at the church. It would have been a tedious job: a bunch of people making the most of their fifteen minutes. She knew she was being uncharitable, but unless the FBI had discovered a smoking hot lead, which, from LeJeune’s tone, didn’t seem like it, she was relieved she didn’t have to go through it.
“Get any new leads?”
He shook his head. “But, like you, we want to find out who handled those vials.”
“Which means you think it’s not simply contamination or degradation of the vaccine. That it was intentional.”
“Nothing is off the table.”
“Oh come on, LeJeune. If we’re gonna be working together, you’ve got to stop these cryptic answers.”
“Understood.” Georgia raised her brows at his direct reply. “But I have marching orders.” He folded his arms. “Never underestimate the FBI, Peaches. We might not talk much, but we’re working our asses off.”
She sighed. What kind of an answer was that? And how did he know her mother called her “Peaches”? Was this his way of telling her the FBI was tapping her phone? She wouldn’t put it past him or the FBI—court order or not. She’d have to be more careful on the phone. That was LeJeune. Good cop, bad cop, all rolled up in one.