Chapter 6 - WHAT CHRISTINE KNEW
The silence on the phone lasted less than a second.
It told us everything.
Christine recovered quickly.
"Dad called me."
Detective Shaw mouthed one word.
Record.
Perez was already doing it.
I kept my voice calm.
"Raymond called you?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
"I don't know."
"What number?"
"Blocked."
"And he told you police found my gun in Brian's car?"
Another pause.
"He said something happened."
"That's not what I asked."
Christine's breathing sharpened.
"Why are you interrogating me?"
"Because our son is in a hospital bed."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Evelyn touched my arm once.
A warning.
Do not let anger take the wheel.
I changed direction.
"Christine, is Brian alive?"
The question landed hard.
"What?"
"Is your brother alive?"
"How would I know?"
"Because twenty minutes ago you knew where my gun was."
"I told you Dad called."
"Then tell the detective where he is."
Christine started crying again.
"I can't."
Shaw leaned closer to the phone.
"Mrs. Hale, this is Detective Laura Shaw."
Christine went silent.
"If Raymond Bell contacted you after leaving the scene of a felony assault, you need to tell me exactly what he said and where you believe he is."
"I don't know where he is."
"Do you believe your brother Brian is in danger?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know why Mr. Hale's stolen firearm was placed in Brian's vehicle?"
"No."
"Do you know Dennis Vargo?"
Christine's inhale was audible.
"No."
Shaw glanced at me.
There it was again.
Too fast.
"Mrs. Hale, I did not say where we obtained that name."
"You said it at the hospital."
"No, I didn't."
Christine stopped breathing for a second.
Shaw continued.
"I suggest you come to the station with an attorney."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not at this moment."
"Then stop threatening me."
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Evelyn broke the silence first.
"She's in deeper than I thought."
Shaw nodded.
"Me too."
"Can you trace the call?"
"We'll subpoena records."
"Tonight?"
"As fast as a judge allows."
Evelyn gathered the protective-order papers.
"And I am going to make sure the family court judge hears that conversation before breakfast."
The hospital hallway felt too bright again.
Everything had started with Jake.
But the case was expanding around him like a crack through glass.
At eleven-thirty, a crime scene technician photographed Jake's injuries with my consent and the doctor's approval.
I stayed near his head while it happened.
Jake hated the flash.
He hated turning his face.
He hated having a stranger photograph bruises that should never have existed.
But he did it.
When the technician finished, Jake whispered,
"Can I sleep now?"
"Yeah, buddy."
I tucked the blanket around him.
"You did great."
"I didn't do anything."
"Exactly."
He looked confused.
I smiled for the first time all day.
"You just told the truth."
His eyes closed.
Five minutes later, he was asleep.
I stepped into the hallway and found Mason waiting near the elevators.
For a second, I did not recognize him.
His hair had gone almost entirely gray.
His shoulders were narrower.
But the eyes were the same.
Always measuring.
Always counting exits.
"You look terrible," he said.
"You look old."
"Good to see you too."
We did not hug.
We never had.
He looked through the glass at Jake.
Something in his expression softened.
"He's smaller than I imagined."
"He's eight."
"I know."
Mason looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
That meant more from him than a speech would have.
"Tell me about Raymond."
Mason nodded toward an empty waiting alcove.
We sat.
He placed a thin paper folder on the table.
I stared at it.
"You printed something?"
"I am too old to trust everything to a screen."
"You taught me encryption."
"And age taught me printers."
I opened the folder.
The first page was a grainy surveillance photograph from fourteen years earlier.
Raymond Bell was younger.
Less gray.
Same mouth.
Same narrow eyes.
He was standing outside a warehouse in Baltimore beside Frank Delaney.
My former supervisor.
The date was six months before I met Christine.
"What am I looking at?"
"The meeting we never knew about."
"Who took it?"
"Treasury surveillance."
"Why wasn't it in our file?"
"Because Delaney buried it."
I turned the page.
Bank transfers.
Shell companies.
Consulting payments.
One recipient appeared again and again.
F.D. Strategic Risk.
Frank Delaney.
"He was taking money."
"Looks like it."
"From Raymond."
"Through two intermediaries."
I leaned back.
The room felt smaller.
"Why target me?"
Mason's jaw tightened.
"Because you were the one person on the team who kept getting close to Bellwether."
"We never had Raymond's name."
"He had yours."
"How?"
"Delaney."
I stared at the photograph.
"Christine met me six months later."
Mason did not answer.
He did not need to.
"You think Raymond sent her."
"I think Raymond knew who you were before she spilled coffee on your paperwork."
My stomach turned.
"Did she know?"
"That is the question."
I thought of eleven years of marriage.
Jake's birth.
Christmas mornings.
Christine asleep against my shoulder during movies.
Her hand in mine while our son took his first steps.
No operation lasted eleven years.
People did not fake that much life.
Did they?
Mason slid another paper toward me.
"This arrived in an archive request six years ago."
It was a visitor log.
A federal records facility.
Christine Bell.
Her maiden name.
The date was two weeks before our wedding.
My throat tightened.
"Why was she there?"
"She requested a sealed personnel jacket."
"Mine?"
"No."
He tapped the page.
"Delaney's."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Did she get it?"
"Access denied."
"So she knew Delaney."
"Or knew enough to look for him."
I rubbed both hands over my face.
"Mason, if Christine was part of Raymond's plan from the beginning, why marry me?"
"Maybe that wasn't the plan."
I looked up.
"Explain."
"Maybe she was supposed to watch you."
He leaned back.
"Then maybe she fell in love with you."
"That makes this better?"
"No."
"It makes it messier."
He was right.
Messy was worse.
Villains were simple.
People who loved you and betrayed you at the same time were not.
Mason tapped the folder.
"There is something else."
"There always is."
"Raymond wasn't only moving money."
"What else?"
"Information."
"What kind?"
"Names of confidential informants."
The room went cold.
"Delaney gave him names?"
"At least three."
"Our informant?"
Mason did not answer immediately.
That told me before he spoke.
"Yes."
I looked away.
Fourteen years earlier, an informant named Luis Ortega had called me from a motel bathroom and whispered that someone had found him.
Delaney ordered us to stand down because the source was supposedly compromised.
I ignored the order long enough to reach the motel.
I was twelve minutes too late.
Luis died before the ambulance arrived.
I carried that night into every quiet room afterward.
Now I knew why he had been found.
Frank Delaney sold him.
Raymond Bell bought the information.
Mason's voice softened.
"Michael."
I looked at him.
"Don't let fourteen years ago pull you away from the kid behind that glass."
I glanced at Jake.
"It won't."
Then Detective Shaw appeared at the end of the hallway.
She was walking quickly.
"Mr. Hale."
I stood.
"What happened?"
"We found Brian."
My entire body tightened.
"Alive?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"County emergency room."
"What happened to him?"
"Gunshot wound to the shoulder."
I looked at Mason.
Then back at Shaw.
"My gun?"
"Ballistics will tell us."
She hesitated.
"But Brian is conscious."
"What is he saying?"
Shaw's expression became unreadable.
May you like
"He's saying you shot him."
