40

NEW YORK CITY

“Maybe it was the unnamed birth father who wanted to keep Rebecca Eliot off the grid,” Darcy suggested. “He or his parents wanted it to remain a secretive affair. The girl refused to have abortion be an option, so they bribed her with paying her doctor and the hospital expenses for the birth, gave her cash to buy a house, and provided enough cash to pay the taxes and essentials for a certain amount of years until her child was old enough to be in school, so she could get a job. Was there any record of Rebecca having a job?”

“Nope,” Jon said. “She disappeared from the grid for almost four years, until she bought the house. No record of a job between that and her death either.”

“How else would a 17-year-old single mother with no resources save enough for a house by the time she turns 21? And have enough so she wouldn’t have to work for the rest of her life?” Sarah asked the questions as she moved toward the door. The intercom had just announced the bagel and coffee delivery. “Hold that thought.”

After paying the delivery boy, Sarah began removing the breakfast items from their bags and cup holders. Jon and Darcy reached to help.

“Justin’s mother was the one who supported him,” Sarah said. “Nobody else in the picture. She dies, and he can’t handle it. Between the recreational drugs and his meds, he goes haywire. Doesn’t pay the taxes, the bills, etc. The behind-the-scenes cash flow disappears with her death. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of it, or if he was, he didn’t know who was specifically behind it.”

“Like a magical Wizard of Oz behind the curtain,” Darcy threw in.

“He comes home one day, and his mother’s house is foreclosed. He must have hit the streets then or found somewhere else to live.”

“The IRS says he didn’t pay taxes himself either before or after his mother died,” Jon reported. “No 1099s either. House was solely in the mother’s name. She paid the taxes.”

“So either he wasn’t paid over $600 by anyone reputable, or he was paid in cash for any gigs.” Sarah lifted a brow. “No reputable agent would do a cash deal. There would always be a record for the agency.”

“No record of a bank account either,” Darcy pointed out. “Which means he relied on his mother for funding, except for the odd jobs he did. Everything he counted on went out the door with her death.”

“Which could swing a mentally unstable man off-kilter,” Jon reasoned.

Sarah gestured to the last entry on the whiteboard.

*Age 26. Made sure he was noticed outside AF. Dropped off backpack with just enough C4 to blow a chunk off storehouse. Stuffed polar bear suit in garbage bin behind ecological office complex. Wrote suicide note. Jumped off 30-story building.

There the trail ended, except for the fact that startled bystanders had seen the body plummeting from the top of the 30-story building and landing amid the traffic below. It didn’t take long for NYPD to identify the body as that of Justin Eliot. There was no driver’s license, only a state-issued ID. There was only one other item in his wallet—a hand-laminated card that was a miniature of an outdated agency comp card. On it, scribbled in black permanent marker, was a note: I believe in you, Justin. Love, Mama.

“It doesn’t add up,” Sarah declared. “What happened to those lost years between 23 and 26?”

Jon shrugged. “A few odd jobs here or there cropped up on the grid. Nothing enough to support carrying a lease on an apartment, though.”

“Or his drug habits,” Darcy added. “So what else was he doing?”

“The only thing that’s reasonable,” Jon said. “The kind of work you do for cash, when you’re down and out and desperate. Basically anything, whether it’s legal or illegal. You hit up friends to stay at their places, even a few days at a time.”

“All we know is that the suicide note was discovered at a little Brooklyn flat that wasn’t his.”

Jon checked his notes. “Belongs to a Michael Vara.”

“So how did Michael and Justin know each other?” Darcy asked. “Is Michael’s name on the Green Justice activist list? Could Justin have been doing a favor for an extremist ecological friend in exchange for staying at his apartment?”

“Or did Justin, since he was homeless, just crash at someone’s apartment who was out of town?” Jon took a bite of his bagel.

“I could ask Kirk Baldwin if Michael Vara is on the Green Justice activist list,” Sarah said. “He’s always been a straight shooter. He’d check and keep things hush-hush.”

“Where would a guy like Justin get the money to buy C4? Did he and his mom have cash stashed in a mattress somewhere? And how would he have the knowledge to put a bomb together—C4, a plastic binder, detonator?” Darcy shook her head. “Doesn’t seem the type. Nothing in the records shows that he was a techie. The bit of bomb-making residue and leftover parts in that Brooklyn flat means nada. Could have been planted. No, I think somebody gave him that bomb.”

“Nothing in his background explains a growing hatred toward big oil companies either. No record of him even being eco-friendly. So the guy suddenly became an ecological extremist overnight? Not likely,” Sarah reasoned.

“Don’t forget where that polar bear suit was stashed. You’d have to be an ecological activist to even know where those buildings are. They aren’t on the normal grid for people to find,” Darcy added.

“Unless the same person or persons who gave him the backpack with the bomb also gave him instructions where to plant the evidence to frame ecological extremists for the crime,” Jon said. “And then arranged to kill him—forced him to jump off that building—to destroy the only person who could identify who had hired him and thus lead to the mastermind behind the whole thing.”

“Whoa!” Darcy exclaimed. “That’s a pretty big string of connections.”

He nodded. “Yes, but also very logical.”

Sometimes Sarah thought Jon was Spock from Star Trek, he was so maddeningly calm and reasonable. But, she had to admit, he was usually right. His thinking had proven clear and on target in everything they’d discovered thus far. “It’s a theory. A very solid one. Someone had to have seen him entering that building or climbing the stairs.”

“NYPD checked the traffic cams, including the helicopter ones of the Times Square area. None showed a man of his description entering the building or exiting onto the roof,” Darcy reported.

New York was a big place, but someone had to know what happened. Had he been “helped” to his death to hide what he’d done for Sandstrom?

Sarah flipped through notes from the coroner. “No marks on the body to show he was subdued or resisting anyone.”

That fact, coupled with his note, had led investigators to declare his death as a suicide. It didn’t hurt that the president himself was screaming for closure of the case.

“But why would the man commit suicide?” she asked. “A sudden bout of conscience over his actions?”

“Doubtful,” Darcy replied. “For dinging the corner of the building of an oil company he supposedly hated? He didn’t harm any person, only property.”

“If you were an eco-crazy and you’d just succeeded in getting your actions in the worldwide press, what’s the next thing you’d do?” Sarah asked.

“Capitalize on that press by planning something else to make a follow-up point,” Jon said. “I wouldn’t celebrate my success by writing a detailed suicide note and killing myself.”

“Exactly. Eco-activists are about making statements to turn others to their point of view. Instead, this guy goes to the top floor of a 30-story building and does a dive off the roof midafternoon. For what purpose?”

“Unless that was his ultimate purpose—do a dive in the middle of the day to attract as much attention as possible,” Darcy argued.

“But then why not make a big statement and get the press watching?” Sarah asked. “If it’s going to be your final hurrah, wouldn’t you make it a big one? Not just leave behind a suicide note for the NYPD to find? You’d want to see news helicopters circling, be able to proclaim your final message against the horrible big oil companies who are out to ruin the entire planet, then use the jump to the cement far below as shock value for your viewers.”

“So maybe Jon’s right. He was helped off the roof.” Darcy chewed on a fingernail. “Don’t you think it’s rather convenient that the building’s roof cameras malfunctioned during those hours? Has to make you wonder . . .”

“. . . how big this mess is?” Sarah finished.

All three exchanged a dubious glance.

“Okay,” Darcy said, “so what’s next?”

“I’ll call Kirk and ask if Michael Vara is connected with Green Justice,” Sarah replied. “And see if I can track down his phone.”

“St. Mark’s is on the way to work. I’ll leave now and stop by to see if I can track down the director of the program,” Darcy offered. “See if the school still exists and, if so, whether somebody there remembers anything helpful from the years Justin was there, including any friends he might have made.” She grabbed a bagel to go in a napkin and headed out the door.

“Let me see Justin’s agency card,” Jon said to Sarah. “I’ll track the agent down and ask about the last time he talked to Justin.” He smiled. “Between the three of us, we won’t give up until we figure it out.”

“You got that right!” Sarah laughed.

As he moved toward the door, she sobered. “Jon, have you heard from Sean?”

He swiveled toward her. “No, I haven’t.”

“I just hoped—”

“I know.” His blue eyes steadily met hers. He took a few steps back toward her. “I know,” he repeated.

A second later, he enfolded her in his arms as she started to cry.

It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in a long time.