Instead of going to the alcove to join Bradley, who was no doubt already typing the password into Darby McCormick’s phone and laptop to see if her story added up, Noel decided to take a moment to use the john at the end of the hall. Let her stew in it, he thought.
Only he knew she wasn’t going to change her mind.
The cheaply framed sign above the crapper and the one hanging to the right of the small mirror held the same message: DON’T BE A PIG. WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS. Noel took a long time washing his hands, thinking about Darby, how calm she had acted back there, how she’d refused to be intimidated – which was about what he had expected. Everything that he had expected to happen with her had, in fact, happened.
He had been warned she was smart and cunning and exceedingly stubborn. She didn’t back down from a fight. Cooper had put it to him more succinctly: Nothing seems to scare her. She never backs down. Then, almost as an afterthought: I’ve never met anyone who loves fighting as much as she does. I think she gets off on putting men in the hospital.
What was really bothering him was the feeling he’d had after leaving the room – the feeling that she hadn’t been looking at him but inside him. Like she was rooting around the locked rooms inside his head, searching for things that were none of her goddamn business. You’re imagining things, a voice cautioned. Maybe. But that had been his experience with shrinks – and women. Especially women. They were always looking for you to tell them your secrets, and when you didn’t they would push you, wanting you to get angry and spill everything. They did that far too much and far too often, in his humble opinion.
As a kid and then a teenager, he’d been forced by the state of Connecticut to meet with social workers and state-appointed therapists, most of them young women with newly minted degrees in psychology, to discuss his impulse control and anger-management issues. They all wore bad clothes and smelled of fast food and cigarettes, which they’d chain-smoked during his therapy sessions. They all seemed to carry the same air of desperation, as if they had suddenly realized that everything they had sacrificed, worked so hard for and believed in was a monumental waste of their time and energy.
Later, after completing two successful tours in Iraq, he had been ordered to attend twice-a-week mandated sessions with a military therapist. The sum of those visits resulted in something he’d already known about himself: he could turn his emotions on and off with the simplicity and ease of flicking a light switch, a trait that had come in especially handy when he had to make the initial approach to an IED some shit-stinking, turban-wearing kook had planted inside the ground or left inside a junked car parked alongside a road.
Cooper was the sort of man who knew how to keep a secret – which was why Noel (and Vivian, she had played a major part in this decision) had selected him to come to Montana and look into Karen Decker. Yes, Cooper had called Darby, but that didn’t mean he had shared details with her, no matter how close they were. Cooper was a professional. Noel had vetted him thoroughly. Trusted him.
So why had Cooper called and asked her to come to Bozeman?
Noel splashed cold water on his face, then dried his hands meticulously with rough paper towels. He used them to turn the doorknob, to prevent any viruses from attaching themselves to his clean hands. The last thing he needed right now was to catch the flu. It would knock him flat on his ass.
Actually, that wasn’t true, he thought. The good doctor had already knocked him flat on his ass, if what she’d said about the video and pictures were true.
If so, game over.
He couldn’t wait to tell Vivian. Noel smiled at the thought.
When he returned to the alcove behind the two-way, he found Phil Bradley leaning far back in a padded leather desk chair and staring through the glass while rubbing a Dentastix, the fancy brand name for what was nothing more than a glorified toothpick, in between his bottom teeth. Noel had known the guy for a little more than forty-eight hours and thought Bradley had some sort of OCD thing when it came to oral hygiene. If Bradley wasn’t picking at his teeth, he was excusing himself to brush them or use mouthwash. He was always chewing mint gum.
‘I found the thermostat for the interrogation room and cranked up the heat,’ Bradley said.
Dumb move, Noel thought. The textbook interrogation trick screamed amateur hour. ‘Good,’ he said, wanting to keep Bradley feeling satisfied, like he had some skin in the game.
Noel shut the door. McCormick’s password protected iPhone and MacBook sat on the small table in front of him.
‘The video and the pictures?’
‘It’s all true,’ Bradley replied. ‘McCormick sent everything to Rosemary Shapiro, a Boston-based lawyer.’
‘Let me see it.’
‘Can’t show you the video. She had her MacBook set up to stream directly to the lawyer’s office computer and cell phone. The pictures are on her iPhone.’
There were four: two of Kevin Fields, unconscious and bleeding and tied up; one a close-up of his fake credentials; and the last a picture of his opened toolkit, its contents exposed.
Christ, Noel thought. ‘Phone calls?’
‘Two,’ Bradley replied. ‘First one was this morning at around 10.30 our time. They spoke for roughly fourteen minutes. If I had to guess, I’d say McCormick was guiding Shapiro through the technical aspects of having video streamed and downloaded on to the company computer – firewall issues and all that.
‘The second time they spoke was this evening, about two minutes after McCormick called 911. That call lasted less than a minute. After McCormick hung up, she emailed the pictures she took of Kevin Fields to the lawyer’s phone and company email.’
Bradley rolled his head to him, moving the Dentastix back and forth between his teeth. ‘Your girl really screwed the pooch,’ he said.
Sparks of anger flew through Noel’s bloodstream. It wasn’t targeted solely on McCormick. In fact, the majority of it was directed at Vivian, who had insisted on using the TacOps agents.
‘What’s the status of the search?’ Noel asked.
‘Helicopters just packed it in. Still no sign of Cooper’s rental,’ Bradley said, turning his attention back to the two-way. ‘The last time you spoke with Cooper was, what, Wednesday?’
‘Wednesday night.’
‘Northern part of the state got about eighteen inches of fresh powder since Thursday. If his Ford Explorer veered off the road and got stuck somewhere or if he was in an accident, then the SUV is buried, which means we’re not going to find it.
‘Before you go … You gonna tell me what Cooper was really doing here?’
‘Vacation.’
‘Right.’ Bradley shot him a look that practically screamed bullshit.
Noel opened the door. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ he said.
‘No problem there.’