19

“I’ve got an update on Elliott, boss, if you have a few minutes.”

Dmitri motioned Oleg to join him in the conference room, where he was enjoying an excellent Monday dinner—no . . . lunch, here in America—of borscht, baked grouper, saffron rice, and the black bread of his homeland. Despite his French chef’s disdain, Pierre had learned to make the staple rye loaf.

As well he should, given the ridiculous salary he was paid.

“Would you like some food? There is plenty.”

“No, thank you. I have already eaten.”

The appropriate response. Oleg knew his superior’s invitation was no more than a rote courtesy.

“Sit and tell me what you have found.”

The man chose a chair on the opposite side of the table and laid a folder in front of him. “Our sources tell us the police in St. Louis are also looking for Elliott.”

That was a positive sign. If he’d caught the attention of law enforcement, he’d made a mistake.

And any mistake would make him easier to locate.

“Why are they searching for him?”

“He is a suspect in a missing person case.”

Dmitri broke off a piece of bread. “Who is missing?”

“A woman.”

He took a bite of the bread and chewed slowly, savoring the tangy rye flavor. “He never was one to deny himself the ladies . . . but I am not aware he ever harmed one. Who is this woman?”

“A manicurist he found at a bar.”

“Ah.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Someone who does not matter.”

“She matters to the police—fortunately for us. But they have not found her . . . or Elliott . . . yet.”

“Then how does this information help us?” Oleg wouldn’t waste his time unless there was more concrete news to convey.

“Another person is also being investigated in conjunction with the missing woman. According to our sources, Elliott was staying with him.”

Dmitri stopped eating. “What is his name?”

“Matthew Parker.”

“You have found this man, I assume?”

“Yes—and we have prepared a dossier on him.” He opened the folder and withdrew a single sheet of paper. “This is his photo. I think you will find it interesting.”

As Oleg slid it toward him across the polished surface, Dmitri’s breath hitched.

“Nu i nu.”

While the soft exclamation hung in the air between them, he picked up the image.

Well, well, indeed.

At last he lowered the photo back to the table, pushed aside his half-finished lunch, and folded his hands.

“Let us talk strategy.”

Yes!

As Colin glanced at the Massachusetts area code displayed on his vibrating cell, he rose, caught Sarge’s attention, and held up his phone. Without waiting for an acknowledgment from his boss, he hustled toward the door of the conference room. The Monday morning department meeting about new email procedures was a snoozer. He could read the recap later.

This was a call he legitimately needed to take.

Once in the hall, he strode toward his office, cell to his ear. “Colin Flynn.”

“Detective Flynn, this is Walt Hanover with Hanover Construction in Boston. You left a message late Friday. How can I help you?”

He gave the man a topline on the reason for his call, concluding with his request. “Since you were in the same industry, I thought you might be able to give me the name of someone who worked at Lawrence Adams’s company during the last few months it was in business.”

“I can do better than that. We hired one of his best sales reps, Zach Brennan. Sharp guy. He’s in the office this morning. If you like, I can transfer you to him.”

Finding an inside source had been much simpler than he’d dared hope.

“That would be great.”

While he waited, Colin finished the walk to his office, sat, and pulled out a tablet and pen.

“Zach’s on the line. Let me know if I can offer any further help.”

“Thanks. I will.” Colin scooted his chair into his desk as a click sounded. “Mr. Brennan?”

“Yes. Walt told me you wanted to speak with someone who worked for Larry.”

“That’s right. Were you there during the period he was having financial trouble?”

“Yes . . . until I was laid off after money got tight.”

“I’m trying to dig up some background on the company’s financial issues. As far as I can tell, the firm had always been profitable. I’m curious why it almost went belly up.”

“I don’t know if I can help you much.” The man’s tone was cautious. “I wasn’t privy to the private conversations that took place on that subject. My knowledge is limited to hearsay.”

“Duly noted. I’m just trying to get a handle on what might have gone wrong. Hearsay could be helpful.”

“Well . . . I never saw the books, but from what I heard, bills weren’t being paid. Most of our vendors were longtime suppliers, and they cut Larry a lot of slack in the beginning. They didn’t even complain at first. By the time they began to grumble, I think the company was deep in a hole. Larry seemed blindsided by the whole mess.”

“Had the business suffered a downturn?”

“No. We were working on a new residential development of single-family homes, and most of the lots had been sold when the financial problems came to light.”

“Do you think the money was being mismanaged?”

“That was one theory—but there were more . . . shady . . . ones.”

Colin squinted out the window at the dark clouds beginning to mass on the horizon. “Such as?”

“For years the chief financial officer was a college buddy of Larry’s. As far as I know, there was never a hiccup in the books while he was in charge. But after he got cancer and retired, Larry brought in a guy named Michael Parker to take over.”

“You mean Matt Parker?”

“No. Michael. He’s Matt’s brother.”

Matt had a brother?

That was news.

He jotted the name on the tablet.

“Tell me what you know about the two brothers.”

“Not a lot. Michael didn’t mingle, and Matt didn’t come back until after I’d been let go.”

“Do you know anything about their history?”

“Bits and pieces. From what I gathered, Larry and his wife took the boys in as foster kids after the state yanked them out of a tough home environment. Rumor had it Michael was a handful, and after Larry’s wife began having health issues, they couldn’t deal with both boys anymore. So Michael got recycled into the system. I think Larry might have felt guilty about that, and that’s why he helped Michael with college expenses and ended up bringing him on board at the company.”

“So Michael was in charge of the books when the company began to tank.”

“Yes.”

“Was he incompetent?”

“Just the opposite. I think he was some kind of financial and computer genius. Larry was always bragging on him. He trusted him and gave him a lot of latitude. But apparently the money going out of the company wasn’t being used to pay the bills—though I heard that wasn’t reflected in the financial reports.”

Zach Brennan didn’t have to spell it out for Colin to catch his drift.

Matt’s brother had siphoned off company funds, cooked the books, and sent his generous benefactor’s firm reeling toward bankruptcy.

A real class act.

“What about Matt Parker?”

“He had some hot-shot job in Europe for a while—but I know he came back after everything hit the fan. I heard he sank most of his own savings into the company to try to shore it up. With his help, Larry weathered the storm and came out whole . . . but he died soon after. You probably knew that.”

“Yeah.”

Colin drew a series of intersecting circles on the sheet of paper as he mulled over the differences between the brothers. Matt had given up a promising career to go home and try to help his foster father save face . . . and rescue the company.

A legitimate class act.

Which made his present behavior all the more bizarre.

“This has been very helpful.” Colin drew a line between the two brothers’ names. “What happened to Michael Parker?”

“He disappeared.”

“You mean Lawrence Adams let him get away with embezzlement?”

“If there was any truth in the grapevine, Michael had set the whole thing up to look as if Larry was at fault. I’m not sure he had a choice about how he handled it. I heard he poured every dollar he had—including his retirement account—into satisfying his creditors and giving the homeowners the houses they’d paid for. He might have let it ride to avoid a scandal. Or maybe he felt guilty, thinking if he’d done more for Michael while he was growing up, he might not have gone bad. Or he might have been afraid he’d go to jail himself.”

All of those were possible motivations. It wasn’t that uncommon for embezzlement in family businesses to go unpunished—for a myriad of reasons.

“You’ve been a tremendous help. Would you mind sharing your cell number in case any other questions arise?”

He jotted it down while the man recited it, skimming the screen as an incoming call alert beeped.

Cecilia West—the woman from the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families he’d talked with early this morning.

Yes!

Getting information out of the local social services folks could be a challenge, let alone an administrator with another state’s foster program. If she was calling back, she’d followed up on his request and found some information she was able to share.

After saying a quick good-bye to Brennan, he took the woman’s call, gave her a fast greeting, and got down to business. “I’m hoping you found some information you can pass along.”

“It took some digging. These files are twenty years old, you know. But yes, I did. I do need to verify the name you asked about, though. I have two Parker brothers in the system for the dates you specified. You were looking for information on Matthew, correct?”

“That was my original intent—but I didn’t know there was a brother until this morning. I’d appreciate whatever you have on both boys.”

“Why don’t I give you an overview and we can go from there?”

“Perfect.”

“Based on the intake notes, the brothers were removed from their home after their mother was arrested for heroin possession. Their father was already serving time for drug dealing. A Lawrence Adams and his wife took the boys. The file indicates they stayed there together for two years. At that point, Michael returned to the system.”

She didn’t say why, but Zach Brennan had already provided a credible explanation.

“What happened to Michael?”

“It appears he was placed with a number of different foster families after that. I do see that he was in one bad home situation. Those foster parents were later charged with child abuse. Michael left that home before the charges were filed, however.”

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been mistreated—and abuse could have a lasting impact. Most foster kids had endured plenty of stress already before they entered the system. Additional trauma would exacerbate any existing psychological issues. In Michael’s case, it might have pushed him to do increasingly atrocious things.

Like embezzling money—or worse.

“Is there any indication why Lawrence Adams never adopted Matthew?” He wasn’t likely to get much more out of the woman, but it was worth a try. “I understand they were very close.”

The sound of paper shuffling came over the line.

“It doesn’t appear his mother ever relinquished her parental rights. That’s not unusual. Many children in foster care aren’t available for adoption.”

“Were the boys ever reunited with her or their father?”

More paper shuffling.

“The father died in prison while the boys were in foster care. The mother was living when they were released from the program at eighteen, but the files don’t indicate if there was any further contact.”

Colin rocked back in his chair. His conversation with Cecilia had provided some additional information, but few new insights.

One conclusion seemed clear, however.

Given Matt’s heroic efforts to help Lawrence Adams in the wake of his sibling’s betrayal, it was unlikely the brothers were close, if they communicated at all. Besides, Michael had disappeared five years ago, according to Zach Brennan.

The pieces weren’t fitting.

He let out a slow, frustrated breath. “I appreciate all your help. Are there any other facts in the file that you think I might find of interest, or anything that strikes you as unusual?” As he asked the routine wrap-up question, he was already thinking ahead to possible next steps.

“The only thing that seems a little odd is that more effort wasn’t made to keep the boys together while they were in the foster system.”

“I expect it can be a challenge to find families willing to take multiple children.”

“Yes—but I would have thought they’d have tried harder in this situation.”

“Why?” He yawned. All the extra hours he’d spent digging into this case over the weekend were taking a toll. The minute this call ended, he was going to make an emergency run to Starbucks for a venti Americano with three shots of espresso. That might help him get through the—

“. . . identical twins.”

As the tail end of Cecilia’s response registered, he jerked upright in his chair. “What did you say?”

“That it’s always best not to split up identical twins.”

What?!

A few seconds ticked by as he tried to absorb the startling news.

“Detective Flynn? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Are you saying Michael and Matthew are identical twins?”

“That’s correct. I thought you already knew that.”

“I only knew they were brothers.” He did his best to sound coherent, his mind racing. “Thank you again for your assistance. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions.”

He pushed the end button and stared at the screen, his pulse accelerating as a wild—and deeply disturbing—possibility began to take shape in his mind. One that seemed too far-fetched to be credible.

Yet it explained a lot.

Like . . . everything.

“I can’t believe you pulled the old urgent-call-coming-in phone trick to get out of that meeting. In case you didn’t notice, Sarge gave you the evil eye as you—” Mac came to an abrupt halt in front of his adjacent desk, twin furrows denting his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly Colin swiveled toward him. “I just had two very enlightening conversations.”

“Wanna tell me about them?” Mac rested a hip on his desk and crossed his arms.

“Yeah. I need your take before I go too far down a very crazy road.”

He gave his colleague a fast but thorough briefing, focusing on the key suppositions Zach had shared and the most pertinent facts Cecilia had passed on.

By the time he finished, a gleam of speculation had begun to glimmer in Mac’s eyes.

“The twin twist suggests some intriguing possibilities.”

Colin scrutinized him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t know—but a lot of the pieces are suddenly falling into place if what I’m thinking has any basis in reality.”

“I have a feeling we’re on the same page.”

“Lay your theory on me.”

“It sounds nuts.”

“So does mine.”

“Okay . . . but bear with me while I try to put this together. I’m still working through all the moving parts.” He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and pressed his fingertips together, assembling the pieces as he went. “After Michael disappeared from Boston, he relocated to Miami and took a new identity.”

“Craig Elliott.”

“That’s my guess. I’m thinking he crossed paths with the Russian Mafia, and they recruited him after someone in the hierarchy recognized his genius with finance.”

“So far, we’re tracking down the same path. Keep going.”

“At some point, he decided he could use his genius to skim off funds. They eventually caught on to him. He managed to get out . . . but he knew they had a long arm and excellent contacts everywhere. Where could he hide?”

“Inside his brother’s skin.”

“Bingo. Even if the Mafia knew his real name—and it’s possible they didn’t, if his Craig Elliott cover was solid—they may not have realized he had a brother, let alone an identical twin. Let’s suppose they did, though. Do you think they’d expect him to pull such an audacious stunt?”

“We’re considering it.” The creases reappeared on Mac’s brow. “But if he did change places with his brother, it could be very hard to prove. Identical twins have virtually the same DNA. It takes some very sophisticated—and expensive—testing to distinguish between them. That’s only been done in a handful of cases.”

“DNA may not work, but identical twins don’t have the same fingerprints.”

“Are Matt Parker’s on file anywhere?”

Good question.

“Not that I know of.” Colin rose and began to prowl around the small office. He needed some outlet for the restless energy that had kicked in without a trace of caffeine to jump-start it. “Man. What a brilliant—if evil—plan.”

“Given that Eileen Coulter is dead, Natalie James is missing, and Matt Parker may also be AWOL, I’d say that’s an apt word.”

“Don’t forget about Trish’s mugging. I’m convinced they’re all related.” Colin shared the suspicions Trish had voiced on Saturday about her mother and the foundation. “Her concerns are getting more credible by the minute.”

“You think the idea of embezzling foundation money was part of the initial plan . . . or a lucky bonus?”

“I’m betting it’s the latter. He probably found out about the existence of the foundation while he was scoping out Matt’s life, and the opportunity was too enticing to pass up.”

“He must have been watching his brother for weeks to be able to step into his shoes so seamlessly.” Mac folded his arms.

“Yeah. I bet he hacked into his computer too. Maybe even planted some bugs in the house, or put a GPS device on his car to track his movements.”

“And he had the concussion to hide behind if he had any lapses. The man didn’t miss a detail.”

“Wait a minute.” Colin frowned. “The concussion was legit. There’s a police report on the accident, a record of the call in the paramedic log, and the hospital verified he’d been treated.”

“It’s not that hard to fake a concussion. A mild head injury doesn’t always show up on an MRI or CT scan. If you can spew out the symptoms, you can get the diagnosis.”

“What about the cut on his forehead? You think he did that to himself?”

“If it’s a matter of slicing open your forehead or being killed by the Russian Mafia, which would you pick?”

As usual, his colleague had cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“When you put it that way . . .” Colin stopped pacing. “You know . . . if our hypothesis is accurate, this has almost diabolical vibes.”

“Agreed—minus the almost. Unfortunately, it’s not going to be easy to prove our theory. But as long as we’re wandering down this shadowy road, let’s speculate a little more. Assuming Michael eliminated Matt Parker and Natalie James, where do you suppose the remains might be?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet . . . but now that you mention it, those twenty or thirty secluded, wooded acres he lives on would be an excellent place to dispose of a body or two.”

Mac nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

“I’d love to get a search warrant for the place, take in a cadaver dog or two.”

“Since most of what we’re dealing with is coincidence and conjecture rather than facts and evidence—and the man in question is unlikely to admit he’s not Matt Parker—I’d say the odds of getting one are zero to none.”

“Then we’ll have to round up some evidence.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“I have a few ideas. But first, I think we should talk to Sarge and get him on board. Assuming Craig Elliott and Michael Parker are one and the same, our two cases have merged.”

Mac stood. “Let’s do it. Sarge has been around a lot longer than either of us. He might have some creative ideas.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

He strode toward the door, Mac on his heels. At the very least, once they were finished briefing Sarge, he intended to pay Parker another visit. Keeping the man off balance, reminding him he was on their radar, could only work to their advantage.

Lighting a fire under the white-collar crime investigator he’d touched base with this weekend was also high on his agenda. If the information Parker had provided to Trish on Providence House Ministries turned out to be bogus, that might give them the ammunition they needed to get a search warrant for the house and grounds.

If it didn’t . . . he’d find another way to put pressure on the suspicious accountant. Make him sweat. Rattle him enough that he started making mistakes.

And he needed to do it fast.

Before the Russian Mafia figured out where he was and dispensed their own brand of justice to his prime suspect.

And before the woman who was fast laying claim to his heart was exposed to any more danger.