Page 398 of Sticks and Stones
“No, I don’t conduct business in biker bars, Gentlemen. I conduct it here, or at one of my offices. I have one in England, one in New Orleans, one in California…”
Blackhawk kept trying to link the man to this. While they were looking at someone rich, this didn’t fit for Ethan. He was thinking more of someone who got rich from a life of poverty. That would be more in line with his profile of this killer.
Julian Mercer was born rich, and acted like it.
He wouldn’t slum it and do the dirty work. He wouldn’t be sitting in a car late at night to do a drop. He’d have someone do it for him.
Most importantly, he suspected that he wouldn’t leave a trail right to him if he was doing something illegal. Having consensual sex wasn’t illegal, even if the victims were nineteen to twenty-something.
Ethan went there, almost challenging him.
“Since you’re researched us, you’re going to know we’re thorough. Who told you that the men were dead, and we were working it? We’ll find out, regardless.”
He laughed.
“Gentlemen, I am in the business of knowing. That’s how my family made all of their money beforeThe BlackStone Groupwas created. Let’s just say that J. Edgar Hoover has nothing on the people who work for me.”
Ethan wasn’t buying it.
“So, a fellow rich person shared it with you. How is Stafford Townsend?” he asked.
The man showed nothing.
His face was blank.
“Who?” he asked.
Gene took back over, trying to keep him off of his toes on this one.
“What kind of cars do you own?” Gene asked.
The man stood.
“Would you like to look in my garage, Agent?” he asked. “I can give you a tour.”
Since they doubted they’d get a warrant to do this, if his name kept coming up, they opted to accept.
“Sure,” Gene said.
As they got up and followed him, he led them through a gorgeously decorated home. It screamed old wealth, just like Stafford Townsend’s home—but more modern.
“Do you live here alone?” Ethan asked.
The man shared again.
“Well, the staff lives here, and my assistant is always close by. He needs to be when I ask for his assistance on things. As for family members, my parents are dead, but my sister and I run this business. She runs the London office, and lives overseas. I handle the US part of the operations.”
Gene kept going.
“And her name?”
He walked backward so he could face them, and the smile on his face said he was enjoying this.
Too.
Much.
“Leta Mercer. Well, that’s what I call her. It’s Alleta. It was my grandmother’s name.”
