FBI AGENT ALEX GARCIA WAS leaning against the wall outside a curtained-off alcove in the emergency room. He was still wearing the aviator sunglasses, but the loud plaid shorts had been replaced by staid khaki pants and a navy polo shirt.
“Joe, meet Agent Garcia,” Vikki Hill said.
“Good job out there today,” Garcia said, shaking Joe’s outstretched hand. He nodded at Vikki and jerked his thumb in the direction of the alcove. “He’s all yours. I’m gonna take off now.”
Evan Wingfield was handcuffed to a gurney in a curtained-off alcove in the emergency room. His left foot was heavily wrapped and bandaged and his eyes were closed.
“Looks like he’s asleep.” Joe leaned over the bed, and with his thumb, opened the suspect’s eye.
“Wake up, asshole,” he said loudly.
Wingfield turned his head slightly. “Enjoy the joke while you can. I’m suing both of you for wrongful arrest and assault. And that’s just for starters.”
“Boo-hoo,” Joe said.
“Maybe you’ll become a jailhouse lawyer while you’re locked up in prison for the rest of your life,” Vikki mused. “I mean, from what I hear, you only get paid for billable hours in packs of cigarettes and commissary Hot Pockets, but it’s probably a rewarding way to fill all those empty hours.”
“Yeah. Sadly, I think his days as a dance instructor are probably over,” Joe added.
Wingfield sighed heavily. “You’re wasting your time here. I’m not talking to you.”
Vikki nudged Joe. “Waste of time? When is it a waste of time to see a murdering piece of shit chained to a hospital bed?”
“With a bullet hole in his foot,” Joe agreed. “It’s a beautiful thing. Day. Made.”
“Anyway, since we were in the neighborhood, we just stopped by to fill you in on the news,” Vikki said. “I just got off a call with Cheryl Shapiro. She’s the assistant US attorney in New York who’s been heading up the investigation into your illegal Airbnb enterprise. Did I mention you’ve been the subject of a nearly-two-years-long grand jury investigation?”
Wingfield shrugged. “Fishing expedition. My real estate investments are entirely legal.”
Vikki wagged her finger in his face. “You’ve turned whole apartment and co-op buildings into illegal hotels, which is illegal in itself. And then, to keep the city from shutting you down, you bribed corrupt city council members and two city housing inspectors to look the other way. I’m sure you must remember my quote ‘predecessor’? Not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, that one. Or the most discreet. Bought himself a BMW convertible with the cash you slipped him at that diner you love so much. And yeah, we’ve got that on video. Along with all the meetings that you and I conducted there.”
Evan Wingfield stared at her, but said nothing.
“It’s called racketeering, slick, and you can look forward to being prosecuted under the RICO Act.”
“He might not know what ‘RICO’ stands for,” Joe reminded her.
“Oh yeah. It’s the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act,” Agent Hill said.
“Anywho, according to Ms. Shapiro, those indictments are scheduled to be unsealed next week. In addition to the original charges, by the way, you’ll be charged with solicitation for murder, in connection with trying to hire a hit man to kill Letty Carnahan.”
“Dog and pony show,” Wingfield said.
Joe glanced at Vikki Hill. “Did you deliberately save the best for last? I’ve been waiting for you to tell him about the murder charge.”
The FBI agent’s tone changed in an instant.
“Earlier today, when she spotted you limping off the beach, Maya was really, really upset.”
“You put her there to see that on purpose,” Evan said angrily. “What kid wouldn’t be upset at seeing their father wounded? That was damned cruel. You had no right to expose Maya to that kind of trauma.”
“Actually, that was an accident. Maya wandered away from her babysitter because she was looking for some kittens on the property,” Joe said.
He flexed and unflexed his fingers. “Did you hear what she said when she saw you? ‘No Daddy’? Maya was terrified because she knows what you are. A murderer. She saw you kill her mother. Yeah. She saw the whole thing. She told us how you showed up at Tanya’s house. She woke up when she heard the two of you fighting downstairs.”
Wingfield’s eyes flickered for just a moment with a hint of emotion. “Never happened.”
“You thought Maya was with Letty for their usual Sunday-morning playdate, right?” Joe asked. “But Tanya put her off, because Maya hadn’t slept well. Nightmares. Your four-year-old was already having nightmares over your custody battle,” he said. “Tanya texted Letty that you were coming over that morning, because you’d agreed to let her move to LA and take Maya with her.”
“Tanya was delusional. I never told her that,” Wingfield said.
“Delusional or not, she agreed to see you, alone, at home. Without her lawyer present. According to Letty, her sister was afraid of you. She wouldn’t have let you in the door otherwise.”
“Letty Carnahan is still bitter that I dropped her for her sister. She hated me, poisoned Tanya against me. She killed her sister and abducted my daughter. And probably, now, she’s poisoned my own kid against me.”
“No,” Vikki said, poking Wingfield’s chest. “You poisoned Maya against you. She heard you verbally abuse her mother on many occasions. And then, that Sunday, she heard the two of you yelling downstairs. She came out into the hallway just in time to see you hit Tanya and knock her to the floor, killing her. And then she went and hid under her bed, because she was afraid you would come after her.”
“I never raised a hand to my daughter,” Wingfield said. “I love Maya. I would never.”
“She told Letty and me that she hid under the bed and didn’t come out until Letty arrived and found Tanya’s body,” Joe said. “Seeing you—today? That was the first time Maya told Letty what happened that day. You must have triggered something powerful in that poor little kid.”
Wingfield’s face paled. “Maya has a vivid imagination. None of that happened. I never abused or hit her mother. She’s four. Kids make up stuff like that.”
“Yeah,” Vikki Hill said, nodding thoughtfully. “We might have believed that. Except that we’ve seen video that proves otherwise.”
“You’re nuts,” Wingfield said. “What video?”
“Tanya was no dumb bimbo, despite what you think,” the FBI agent said. “You know that stuffed elephant your daughter carries with her everywhere?”
“Ellie. So what?”
“So Tanya hid a teeny-tiny little nanny cam in that elephant. So she could spy on you when you had custody of Maya.”
Wingfield pressed his lips together and stared at the ceiling.
“We watched a video clip of you and Tanya fighting in her car on a day she was dropping Maya off at your place for visitation,” Vikki said. “There’s lots of that stuff, over hours and hours of video. Maya was crying because she didn’t want to get out of Tanya’s car. She was so upset she wet her pants. Sound familiar?”
“On advice of my attorney, I’m not speaking to you,” Wingfield said.
“Here’s my advice,” Vikki said. “Rest up now, because as soon as the hospital releases you, you’re headed to jail, where it’s almost never quiet. But you shouldn’t get too comfortable there, because you’ll be headed back to New York just as soon as the homicide charges and extradition papers are filed.”
“He’s a lucky guy, facing murder charges there instead of down here,” Joe said, addressing the FBI agent. “Being as Florida is a death penalty state and all.”
They walked out to the parking lot together, pausing beside DeCurtis’s pickup truck. “Are you headed back to the motel?” Joe asked. Vikki pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “No. I gotta drive back over to Tampa. The SAC is coming into the office, and Garcia and I are gonna brief him before we get started writing reports. Then I’ve gotta get on another call with Cheryl Shapiro. I think they’re setting up a press conference for midweek to announce the grand jury indictments.”
“Busy day,” Joe said. He pulled out his phone and looked at the call log. “My chief wants to be briefed on what all went down out at the beach this afternoon. Apparently, ‘concerned citizens’ have been calling in to report a police shooting. And I need to get back to that sheriff down in Immokalee and let him know we’ve got Rooney in custody.”
“I’ll see you around then,” Vikki said. She turned to go, but changed her mind. “One thing. Back there, in the ER? I kept waiting for you to break the news to Wingfield that he isn’t really Maya’s father. But you didn’t.”
“It’s not my story to tell,” Joe said. “I’m gonna let you feds make that call. Or Letty.”
Vikki Hill studied his face. “You feel sorry for him, don’t you? Even after everything you know about what a cold, murdering piece of shit he is, you feel sorry for Evan Wingfield, because he’s eventually going to find out that Maya isn’t his.”
“Me?” He unlocked the truck, opened the door, and climbed behind the wheel. “Nah.”
She watched him drive away. “Sure you do,” she said, under her breath.