Page 87 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“That right?”

“Possible financial crimes. One of the agents involved in the investigation is a Charles Stimson. Works out of the Reston offices.”

“Stimson?” Mahoney said. He paused. “I knowofhim. Strong on the white-collar-crime stuff. Does undercover work. Likes to stay out of the limelight.”

“I’ll give him a call,” Bree said.

“If he doesn’t answer, call his supervisor. Vicky Thomas. Here’s her number. Tell her I sent you.”

Bree put the number in her phone and said, “Thanks, Ned. I owe you one.”

Yawning, Mahoney replied, “I’ll cash it in someday soon, I’m sure.”

They ended the call. Bree shut her door and dialed the FBI’s Reston offices. She got an operator and asked to be transferred to Agent Charles Stimson.

The line rang five times before a baritone voice said, “You have reached the desk of FBI special agent Charles Stimson ofthe financial crimes unit. I’m away from my desk for a few days. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you on my return.”

As Ned had advised her, she called his supervisor, Vicky Thomas, and to Bree’s surprise, even though it was a weekend, Thomas answered.

“Who is this? And how did you get this number?”

“Uh, this is Bree Stone. Ned Mahoney gave it to me.”

“Bree Stone.” Agent Thomas’s tone softened. “You’re Alex Cross’s wife?”

“I am and I’m hoping you can help me.” Bree explained about Leigh Anne Asher and Amalgam and the FBI investigating early investors in the company.

Thomas sounded quite a bit cooler when she replied, “You know I can neither confirm nor deny any investigations.”

“Granted,” Bree said. “Cards on the table? I’m not looking for anything that would be public. I’m trying to figure out what was happening on behalf of the Amalgam board members, who want to get to the bottom of this ASAP.”

“I bet they do if there actually is an investigation under way. Who was the agent who contacted your board member?”

“Stimson. Charles Stimson.”

There was a long pause before Thomas said, “Stimson. You’re sure?”

“Positive. Why?”

After another silence, Thomas said, “Because Agent Stimson has been out of contact with this office for ten days and with his wife for more than twelve.”

CHAPTER 76

THE WIDOW, KAREN MCCOY,stared at me and John Sampson, her chin quivering.

“No,” she said in a low, airy, terrified voice. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m afraid it is,” I said. “We found your husband’s identification in his pocket. His Toyota Tacoma was there as well.”

We were standing outside on her front porch. We could hear the television on inside the little Cape where this victim of the Dead Hours killer had lived.

McCoy’s wife stared off into the distance, then plopped down on a wooden bench, put her face in her hands, and started sobbing. Grief and sorrow racked her for a good four or five minutes. You could tell she’d loved her husband deeply.

“We are so sorry for your loss, Mrs. McCoy,” I said. “Is there someone we can call to come be with you?”

Before she answered, the front door opened. Mrs. McCoylooked over at the little boy, no more than three or four, standing there in his pajamas.

“Mommy, why are you crying?” he asked, looking at her and at us uncertainly.

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