Papa Jack Chapter 96

From behind his desk, the director gazes over his glasses at Hunt. "Are you sure about this, Jack?"

Jack lets out a slow, deep breath. "Look, Porter, we've known each other for a lot of years. You know that I stepped away from the company for my son's safety. I returned for the same reason. But that's all finished now. Anatoly was the last of his cell and no longer a threat. We've rounded up the sleepers working with him. I'm not as fast as I used to be. If I spend too long in one position, every bone in my body lets me know about it. Let's face it. Younger men can execute the assignments I used to take, faster and more efficiently than I can. A fraction of a second can mean the difference between a successful mission and hundreds or thousands of deaths. I don't want to be responsible for those, and the company shouldn't take the risk. I want to spend whatever is left of my life as the normal person I've pretended so long to be. And as far as the company is concerned, it will be a win-win."

"I admit that you have a point, Jack," the director responds. "But you have knowledge and experience that may still be vital to this country."

"And if the agency wants to call on me as some kind of a mentor, it will know where to find me," Jack offers. "But my days as a field agent are over."

After a long elevator ride back up to the ground level of the agency's New York headquarters, Jack steps away from the building and pulls out his phone. "Martha, hello."

Surprise mingles with pleasure in Martha's alto response. "Jack! I was just thinking about you and Richard. I wanted to get him a little something as a thank you for all his hard work on the fundraiser, but I have no idea what he'd like. I imagine you know him better than anyone."

"To tell you the truth, Martha, sometimes what catches Richard's attention these days still surprises me. But I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me – when you don't have a performance. We could discuss it then."

Martha feels warmth rising in her face. I'd like that, Jack. My play is dark on Monday if you're free then."

"Monday will be fine," Jack replies, relieved that Martha can't see the grin taking over his face. "Seven o'clock? I can pick you up."

Martha smoothes an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. "Seven o'clock Monday will be perfect. See you then, Jack."

"See you then, Martha."

Joseph (Seppie) Parker Simmons III tugs at a multi-pocketed hunting vest that Richard suspects has never been far from the beaten path. "No, I haven't heard from Kyle," he insists. "After Aunt Celia cut him off, he disappeared into the woodwork."

"Really?" Kate presses. "We were given to understand that the two of you were best friends."

"We spent time together," Seppie admits, "but Aunt Celia put out the word that he was off limits. Disobeying her could mean losing the family stipend the way Kyle did. None of us wants to risk that."

"I don't suppose you've considered getting a job," Richard questions.

Seppie squares less than muscular shoulders. "So far, nothing's come along befitting my family's social status."

Richard smirks. "That's a shame. But that must give you plenty of time to consider family business. You must know that Kyle still had access to a trust fund outside Celia Drummond's control. So, as well as you know him, where do you think he'd go?"

"Keep in mind," Kate interjects, "that if you send us on a wild goose chase, word will get back to your Aunt Celia and her purse strings."

Seppie's Adam's apple bobs. "Um, we both really love wild animal stuff, you know? There's a safari park in Virginia. It's amazing! Has kangaroos and zebras. You can even ride an elephant there. Kyle got in good with Tom Nickerson, the guy who owns it. Tom gave him the run of the place any time he wanted it. Kyle might have gone there."

"Thank you, Mr. Simmons," Kate says. "The NYPD appreciates your cooperation. I'm sure your Aunt Celia will, too."

"So, back to the precinct?" Richard asks as Kate is about to start her unit.

"No. I want to go by the lab and see if they've matched Brett Fedmordrovski's DNA with the shoes that were on Louis Redmond's body."

"And if they haven't yet, goose them a little?" Richard queries.

Kate guns the engine. "You know it."

"Detective Beckett, we just finished the run," Criminalist II Sackmore announces. "The DNA from your suspect and the DNA from the inside of the shoes is a perfect match."

A smile curves Kate's lips. "I need to have another little talk with Brett Fedmordrovski. But first, I want to send a team to his apartment to see if Louis Redmond's original shoes are there. Maybe he kept the murder weapon. Either one would give us a slam dunk. And in the meantime, we can try to figure out who the man Tracy Stevens described is."

"That shouldn't be too tough," Richard opines. "We know he works for Lifestream Water. How many employees can they have fitting his description?"

"We'll find out," Kate says.

"If we're doing a deep dive into the Lifestream waters, might it not be more productive to use the computer system at the loft?" Richard suggests. "As far as I can tell right now, Lifestream is a startup. To raise money, they'd put out flattering PR on their principals. It should pop up pretty fast on a check of recent business promos."

"You could be right," Kate says. "I can drop you off to take a look while I stay on top of the search of Brett's apartment and request Kyle Drummond's financials from the Demerest Bank."

"Fine," Richard agrees, "but call me before you throw Brett on the barbie. That's one grilling I want to see."

"You'll have a front-row seat," Kate promises.

Richard sinks into his desk chair and fires up his computer. "Lifestream Water," he murmurs. "What pretty lies are you putting into your press releases?" A flurry of hits appears on the screen, touting the brilliance and credentials of the hardworking founders and first-rate staff. Photos accompany some of the postings, but none of them match Tracy's description of Connie Bellweather's probable killer. "It wouldn't be that easy," he mutters.

The writer continues scanning through the hard and soft sells of the company until a bio of the CFO grabs his interest. Unlike most finance executives dedicated to keeping their butts firmly in front of spreadsheets all day, Connor Davis is an athlete who runs several miles every morning and boxed in college. Richard grins at the screen. "So you boxed in college, Mr. Davis. What better way to end up with a broken nose?" Richard immediately starts an image search for Connor Davis. His grin widens as a picture of the Lifestream CFO pops onto his screen. Connor Davis is white, well-muscled, with dark blond hair and an ever-so-slightly crooked nose. The executive was photographed in eye-catching athletic wear, complete with the Lifestream logo. Richard punches the air. "Booyah!" Still grinning, he picks up his phone to call Kate.