No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(9)
“I spoke to a few of your more senior colleagues earlier today. They said you’re unyielding. You don’t like some aspects of the Internal Affairs culture. They say you don’t believe they’re rigorous enough investigating dirty cops. You believe they’re complacent. And you’ve brought this up time and time again.”
“What exactly has that got to do with my wife’s disappearance?”
“I think it tells us something about your personality traits. Your mindset.”
“Are we getting into behavioral science now?”
“A very senior officer talked to me about confrontations you’ve had with several other Internal Affairs staff. Said you’re on edge a lot of the time. More so since your wife left you.”
“I care about my work. My private life is just that. Private.”
Finks added, “The officer said he overheard a heated telephone conversation between you and your wife.”
McNeal could see the questions growing more pointed. “Am I under suspicion?”
Finks stared at him long and hard. “We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this. My ex-wife is tough to deal with. I get it. They push you and push you, until you can’t fucking take it anymore. I get it. Trust me.”
“She’s not my ex-wife. Caroline is my wife.”
“You’re separated, though,” Finks pointed out.
McNeal nodded.
“Let’s get back to this stalker. Maybe she was targeted.”
“By who?”
“You tell me. Have you ever visited her at her home in Washington?”
McNeal shook his head. “I know what you’re getting at.”
“You do?”
“You think I’m her stalker?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. Just for the record, no. I never stalked her.”
“Were you invited to her place in DC?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Did you have a spare key?”
“No, I did not.”
“Did you visit her there, Jack?”
McNeal drummed his fingers on the desk. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t see the point. My wife didn’t want to get back together. She wanted to remain friends.”
“You wanted to get back together?”
“Very much. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I can imagine that might have caused some tension between you.”
McNeal shrugged.
“But you still remained friends?”
“We were cordial on the phone.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Again, mostly about selling our home in Westport. It’s in both our names.”
Finks pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, I’m just trying to wrap my head around the chain of events. You said she left you?”
“Yes, Caroline was the one who left.”
“Did she leave you for another man?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“How do you know for sure? You don’t, do you?”
McNeal waited out the silence.
“She’s a driven person, right? A lot of power lunches with politicians. Interesting people. Power brokers, that kind of thing. I’m guessing a lowly Internal Affairs guy in New York must seem pretty ordinary by comparison.”
McNeal leaned back in his seat. “Good try.”
“Does she have many male friends, Jack?”
“She knows a lot of people, as do I. Men and women. It’s called life. Work. You meet people.”
“Wonder if that’s what’s happened.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Am I?”
“She’s a workaholic, same as me. Her work comes first.”
“How did that make you feel?”
McNeal rubbed his eyes. “You think I’m involved in this, don’t you?”
“We’re just trying to establish the whereabouts of your wife, Jack.”
“You’re trying to establish motivation. I get it. But spare me the phony line of questioning.”
“Jack, we’re going to need to check your cell phone records. You know the drill. Do we have your permission to scan those?”
“No, you don’t have permission. I have sensitive information and numbers on my cell phone and laptop.”
“In your West Third Street apartment?”
“Yeah.”
Finks handed McNeal a search warrant.
“Are you kidding me? You had this the whole time?”
“We want to get to the truth. That’s all. So, we—just so you know—we’ll be accessing your cell phone records too.”
“You believe I’m involved in her disappearance, don’t you?”
“We’re just trying to establish the facts, Jack.”
McNeal leaned back in his seat. “You’re trying to set me up.”
“That’s not the case.”
Finks looked at his watch. “What do you say we have a breather. I’ll bring you some coffee. Wait here.”
Six
The breather lasted three hours, long enough for the Secret Service to gain access to his tiny Greenwich Village apartment as well as his home in Westport and find whatever the hell they thought they would find.