“Donovan, look at this.”
He pulled his eyes from his plate and checked out the notebook GJ was sliding toward him.
They all sat in their designated conference room at the FBI branch office in Miami. Eleri had orchestrated a fantastic food delivery, claiming it had been a long day and they needed to eat well. It was still going to be a long haul.
She brought in steaks, stuffed baked potatoes, green vegetables, and even chocolate cake for dessert. Everything but wine.
When it was only himself and Eleri, they could often grab a table in the back of a restaurant and work quietly without worrying about letting the details of the case into the public. But the four of them would be far too conspicuous. Besides, Eleri wanted the papers out, and that meant they were back in the conference room.
So he sat there, not joining the conversation nearly as much as he should, and picked at his steak while Eleri frowned at him. He knew she expected him to make his food disappear before she had her third bite, but he didn’t have it in him tonight. Though his mouth salivated, his stomach turned. Instead of eating, he worked to aim his attention to the talk around him.
He was grateful to Eleri for letting him have the day to himself. Even so, it had not been enough time and—while he had no solid conclusions—what he’d learned was earth-shattering.
Still, his job was here in front of him now and he couldn't afford to lose it. It was no longer about the money, but rather about his identity. He was an FBI agent, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to be anything else. He needed the people at this table—okay, maybe not Kimball, but definitely Eleri and even GJ. It was also about his access to FBI databases, which he knew would find him what he needed faster than anything else.
So he tried to be useful. “I understand that Blake Langley was studying oysters and so was Allison Caldeira. . . but don't lots of people study oysters?”
Around the table, GJ, Eleri, and Noah Kimball all looked at each other. “I guess so,” Noah replied. “Maybe we need to find out.”
Donovan added, “I remember something from early bio classes about oysters being studied because they're an indicator species, like frogs. So if you want to find if something's wrong with the water, the oysters will be the first ones to show it. They'll have alterations from even low levels of change in the water composition.”
“What else?” Eleri asked.
For the first time all day, he laughed. “I don't know. We've just exhausted all of my knowledge about oysters.”
“Well,” Noah said with a grin, “except that they're delicious.”
Donovan shook his head. They were not. He didn't say it out loud. This was no time to get into his odd eating proclivities. He wasn’t about to tell how he favored red meat, nearly raw. Not in front of Noah Kimball.
GJ had figured out what he was on her own. Donovan was not going to have that happen again. Westerfield would never let him hear the end of it. So, while he had one job to solve the case, he had a second job now to find his brother. And he also maintained the job he’d had ever since he’d learned what he could do: He could never let them see what he could become.
“So,” Eleri replied, tapping out notes on her keyboard and seemingly unconcerned about spilling dinner on it, “one of us needs to learn everything we can about oyster research.” She looked around the table like an expectant teacher until her gaze landed on GJ.
GJ nodded reluctantly. “Of course, it's me. I'll do it.”
It was nice, Donovan thought, having underlings. He hadn't had any for several years, not since he'd been a medical examiner. And what he was learning from Eleri was that he'd not been good at utilizing subordinates.
“Then again,” GJ interrupted, “It's plausible that—even though oysters are an indicator species and might be highly studied—there’s still a connection between Allison Caldeira and Blake Langley. Because in a short period of time, during their oyster studies, both of them received letters with exorbitant offers by Miranda industries.” GJ paused. “I’ll still look into the research. I’m just suggesting there’s a likelihood of connection.”
Eleri was nodding along. Even Donovan was following GJ's reasoning.
Then Eleri took another bite of her own steak and Donovan realized she might have gotten it for him. Shit. He took another bite, chewing slowly as Eleri switched topics.
She looked to Noah Kimball. “How are we coming on Blake Langley?”
“Not good,” the young agent replied. Donovan knew now that Noah was not as young as he looked. So far, he seemed solid, but Donovan was still trying to figure out how to leverage that cute baby face in their favor.
“Not good how?” Donovan asked, wanting to stay in the conversation.
“I can't find anything. There's no death certificate, but there's no follow-up information, either. No proof of life or even recorded presence. Blake Langley disappears from all records. No social media. After he leaves for the Miranda job, he has no listing on any publications, no articles, no banking records. Nothing after that, except for one thing: His driver's license was renewed in his home state of Massachusetts three years later.”
Donovan frowned and watched a similar expression grow on Eleri and GJ’s faces. “Was he in Massachusetts?” Donovan pushed.
“There's no indication that he was,” Noah replied, lifting the edge of a page as though he was checking for info, but Donovan suspected Noah didn’t need the notes. “But there's no indication that he was anywhere else, either. Not even internationally.”
“Could the driver's license have been renewed by letter?” GJ asked. “Perhaps a family member signed for it, wanting to keep it current.”
This time, Noah nodded. “That happens a lot here in Florida. Dead people get their driver's licenses renewed because the spouse returns the paperwork. It’s plausible.” He made a note. Then Noah took a deep, telling breath—and Donovan became worried.
The Miami agent looked to the three of them for a moment, his eyes landing on Donovan’s still partially full plate. “I was waiting until you all finished your dinners. But I have more bad news.”
Well, shit, Donovan thought and pushed his plate away. That seemed to be an indicator to Noah to go ahead with his bad information.
“The dive buddy for Allison Caldeira on her last dive was one Neriah Jones. Neriah made it back to the boat and reported that she and Allison had become separated, but she said she was unworried. According to the initial report, and Neriah’s and Hannah’s claims, she and Allison were excellent dive buddies, because they didn't panic. And while they were generally good about staying together, they had become separated before and would simply surface and reconnect at the boat.”
Noah stopped for a moment like a teacher assessing his class. He still wasn’t looking at any notes. “So it was some period of time before Neriah and the others on the boat developed any real concern for Allison. Hannah, too, had apparently been trying not to worry. But then they mounted an all-out search, and eventually it got dark. And then they reported Allison missing.”
Aside from the addition of the name, Donovan couldn't tell where anything was different now. Then Noah dropped his bomb. “During her initial interview, the Marine Services Bureau reports that Neriah Jones seemed nervous and jumpy. And as of five days ago, no one has heard from her.”