Chapter 35- Breakfast and a New Number
Brandi sat across from her father a week later, finishing the last bite of her eggs Benedict. Her father ate them often and had introduced Brandi to the dish. "I'm done, Dad," Brandi said. Dad looked up at her from his book, his blue eyes reflecting his love for her.
"Good. We just wait for Mr. Reese," Dad said, taking her hand in his large hand and kissing her palm gently. Reese then sat down next to Brandi.
"What's good here?" Reese asked conversationally.
Dad looked up, pinning Reese with a stern look. "That won't work, Mr. Reese," Dad said gravely.
"What won't?" Reese asked, sounding clueless.
"Your interrogation technique, Uncle John," Brandi said, swallowing the last of her orange juice.
"What's good here?" It's an innocent question, Brandi," Reese said with mock hurt.
"No question is ever innocent from you. You're trying to determine whether me and Brandi come here often. Armed with that knowledge, you'll try to figure out where we live," Dad said.
"You and the kid are paranoid, Finch," Reese said dryly.
"With good reason," Dad said cryptically.
"And it's not paranoia if someone is really out to get you," Brandi said.
"Maybe I just don't know what's good here, so I'm asking two regulars," Reese said, getting up so Brandi could get out as Dad put some money on the table, closed his book, and pointed to the menu.
"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Reese," Dad said, standing up, taking his book in one hand, gripping Brandi's hand in the other, and walking out of the restaurant.
"Do you think he'd find the picture I put in the menu, Daddy?" Brandi asked, gripping her father's large callused hand tightly.
"I'm positive he would, Brandilyn. You put it in plain sight," Dad said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
"I guess so. I just hope we can find out what trouble Judge Gates is in. I just wish the machine would tell us more, Dad," Brandi said. Dad chuckled lightly as he ran his fingers through her chin-length hair.
"I do too, my dear. But I intended for the machine to do this. Just give us the number and we figure it out," Dad said, as Brandi tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
"Dad, am I gonna be allowed to help Reese with the number or am I helping you at the library?" Brandi asked.
"After what happened with Dr. Tillman and Andrew Benton is there a good reason why I should let you help Mr. Reese? Every time you try to help him, it kills me. I didn't want you to start having a death wish when I asked if you'd like to help me with the machine," Dad said stiffly.
"Boy, you really don't know me, Uncle Harold. And you are worse than my mother," Brandi said, rolling her eyes.
"That may be true. And, Brandi, don't call me that. I'm your father, not your uncle any more," Dad said sharply.
"Whatever, Father," Brandi said sarcastically.
"Brandilyn, if you don't stop, I'm gonna spank you. I don't want to or ever had to, but you are pushing it," Dad said, turning to fix her with a stern look.
"Sorry, Finch," Brandi said in a teasing voice.
"You can't call me that either. You call me "Dad" or "Daddy," got it?" Dad asked, his mouth twitching as if he was trying not to laugh or smile.
"Dad, I was kidding," Brandi said.
"Hmmm-hmmm. Let's get back to the library. We need to look into our new number," Dad said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Okay," Brandi said, kissing her father's cheek.
Finch pulled up the pages on the computers and looked over at Brandi who was reading some collection of novellas by a Christian writer named Francine Rivers. As far as Finch knew it was Biblical romances. "Finch? Are you there, Finch?" Reese asked over the feed.
Brandi put her book down and sat down beside Finch, gripping his arm. Finch squeezed her hand gently with his other hand. "Me and Brandi are both here, Mr. Reese," Finch said.
"Samuel Gates, The next number on your list. So what do we have on him?" Reese asked.
"Born in South Boston. Law degree from NYU. He lives on the Upper West Side with his son, Sam," Finch said, typing furiously.
"Where's the wife?" Reese asked.
"She died last year," Finch said, pulling up an obituary.
"Any chance Gates was involved?" Reese asked.
"Not unless he found a way to give her cancer. Elizabeth Gates was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor last April. By November, she was gone," Brandi said, skimming over the obituary.
"So the son is all he has left. What do we know about the nanny?" Reese asked.
"Christina Rojas. Gates hired her when his wife fell ill," Finch said.
"The kid sure likes her," Reese commented.
"She spends a lot of time with him. Judging by the hours she's billing, I'd say Gates was putting in long days at the office," Brandi said as Finch pulled up Christina's bank account.
"He lost the woman he loved. Probably threw himself into his work to cope. Where's his office?" Reese asked.
"Criminal Court, city of New York. Which may explain why the machine has sent us his social," Finch said.
"So odds are, he's the victim, not the perpetrator," Reese said.
"Judges get plenty of death threats. My mom told me so when I found a death threat in our mailbox when I was nine and she was a cop," Brandi said.
"Gates gets more death threats than most. Word at the courthouse is he's waging a one-man war on crime. Tough, by the book, making lots of enemies," Reese said.
"Everyone has enemies. The machine identifies malice and an intent to harm. We need to determine which threat it saw, which threat is real," Finch said firmly.
"Until we know, my best bet is to stay close to Gates in case somebody makes a move. Finch, I'm at his office. Looks like he's got quite a collection of enemies," Reese said,
"I guess you found the death threats. Bring 'em here, Uncle John, Me and Dad can try to figure out who sent them," Brandi said.
"Brandi, this may take awhile," Finch said.
"I never said I didn't want to. The hard part will be if the death threats don't have names," Brandi said ruefully.
'That would present a problem, but my computers can trace handwriting," finch said, rubbing her wrist gently.
Brandi stood next to her father as they walked past some books, her father holding a file. "Mr. Reese, any sign of a threat?" Dad asked, turning on his earwig.
"Does cholesterol count?" Reese asked.
"We're nearly done analyzing the threatening letters. There are nine that we still can't source, but we've identified six possible suspects," Dad said.
"Any of them white guys with crew cuts?" Reese asked.
"Not that we're aware of. Why, Uncle John?" Brandi asked. Reese didn't answer for a few seconds.
"Finch, what's the son's name again?" Reese asked abruptly.
"Samuel Gates Jr. Why?" Dad asked as he and Brandi taped up the letters on the glass partition.
"I think we've been following the wrong Sam Gates," Reese said, a slight change in his voice alarming Brandi.
"Uh-oh. You'd better hurry, Uncle John. Me and Dad will try to figure out the letters," Brandi said.