Page 11 of Quiet Protector
Have you ever woken up feeling like you’ve swallowed an entire beach worth of sand? That’s what replicates the dryness in my mouth when the shrill of a cell phone wakes me. Don’t ask me what the time is, much less what day it is, as I wouldn’t have the faintest clue. I must have nodded off a few hours ago with my mouth hanging open and my backside willing to accept the hardness of my couch just for the chance of a few hours of shut-eye.
Phillipa was right, my couch is as hard as a rock.
After blinking three times in a row to lube up my eyes, I glance down at my phone to see who’s calling me. I’m hoping it’s Melody, but I am not disappointed when I discover it’s Isabelle.
“Miss me already?” I jest down the line, cringing when my voice comes out super groggy.
The sleep in my eyes scratches my eyeballs when my cheeks incline over Isabelle’s playful reply, “I do… but I also need a favor.”
“Another one.” The chuckle that follows my witty comment exposes I haven’t napped for long. I’m still on the cusp of insanity.
I sit up straighter when Isabelle discloses, “Megan Shroud was just seen leaving on a bus to New York. Can you please check if she purchased a one-way or a round-trip ticket?”
“Yeah, hold on.” I drag my laptop across the coffee table before logging into the local bus company’s web-hosting provider. I use the warrant my team was granted to track Isaac’s movements as an excuse to access their servers. It only takes three strokes to unearth an answer to Isabelle’s query. “It’s a one-way ticket.”
Isabelle’s voice is sickly sweet when she asks, “Can you add Megan’s name to the travel database? I want to know if she purchases a return ticket.”
Papers crinkle under my backside when I add Megan’s name to the alert field next to Isaac’s. A heavy typing hand isn’t responsible for my sudden wish to stand. It’s the digits on the credit card Megan used to purchase her bus ticket. I’ve seen them before. Recently.
I stop ruffling through a pile of wire transfer receipts when Izzy mumbles, “Brandon?” Her tone is more questioning than her one word.
“Oh yeah, sorry, I was nodding,” I force out, giving the first excuse that pops into my head.
Izzy giggles before replying, “Thanks, Brandon.”
I exhale sharply when I find the document I’m chasing. The account number corresponds with a wire transfer that occurred almost thirty years ago. It’s the first exact match I’ve found, and it wasn’t anywhere I had considered looking. If it weren’t for Isabelle, I would have never found it.
Happy for her to interrupt my naps anytime she likes, I say down the line, “Anytime, Izzy.”
After bidding her farewell, I dive in for another twenty-plus-hour shift.
* * *
“I don’t know whether to be impressed by your gall or disappointed.” When I crack open my apartment door, Phillipa saunters inside. “I figured you’d last a day at most. I hadn’t factored a week into the equation…” Her words stop before she playfully swipes at her nose. “Have you showered since I left?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes… I just lost my deodorant somewhere in this mess.”
By mess, I mean a huge web of conspiracy that stretches from my living room to the attached bathroom of the master suite. Although I’m working this angle for a completely different reason than Alex, he allowed me to work at home the past week with the hope I’d make a breakthrough on the sequence of numbers he handed me the afternoon before Isaac’s arrest. I’mthisclose. I just have one final hurdle to jump first—hence my extend of the olive branch to Phillipa.
“This is crazy, Brandon,” Phillipa mutters as she takes in the workflow of criminal activity covering every inch of my apartment walls. “Are you sure each wire transfer was for an individual purchase?”
I lift my chin. “It started well over three decades ago. From Christina Smite to Isaac’s down payment last week, each wire transfer has been linked some way to the Popovs. A small pile of unmatched receipts remain, but for the most part, they correspond with sales that never went past the deposit stage.”
Phillipa’s pitch rises as quickly as her hope. “Did you find a match for Melody?”
My teeth grit, but I manage to push out a reply. It’s short and to the point. “No.”
When I pace to the stack of unmatched payments on my coffee table, Phillipa follows me. “The wire transfer identification digits in the Greggs’ file revealed it came from the same bank and branch as the payment Isaac made last week, but the account numbers were different.” I twist to face Phillipa. “Do you remember the massive payout the Petrettis were awarded when Col’s wife was killed during a sting?”
She nods. “How could I forget it? It was the largest payment the state had seen. It certainly changed the way agents handle raids from thereon out.”
I smirk, loving her eagerness even with this case being decades old. “Did you ever wonder where that money went?”
Phillipa shakes her head. “I was only a kid at the time so I didn’t think much of it. Do you know what happened to it?”
Smiling, I hit her with the big stuff. “Most of it was squandered.” Phillipa gags. She’s not surprised nor shocked by my revelation. Col has never been good with money. “But a decent chunk of it was donated to a rival association.”
“Col gave it away?” Her high tone reveals she thinks I’m full of shit. I wish I were.
