“Yes, as remarkable as she is determined. I’ll come right to the point. Bradshaw is heading up the investigation of Finch’s murder. That’s appropriate. Finch was his man. Detective Mancini will be on the margins of the Finch case, but he has a B and E and the subsequent assault on Jesse Cooper. We don’t have a dog in the case, so to speak, but with Ethel in the mix, those cases could go anywhere.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean Ethel has her ways, her sources, and one of the finest minds I’ve ever come across. We might not have a dog in the case, but we could have a case touched by the dog. I’m talking about the Parker investigation where Finch was first on the scene. Someone, rightly or wrongly, might have thought Finch knew more about Parker’s embezzled funds and pulled him into something over his head. Maybe waved that money in front of his face or threatened his family. I want you to review the Parker case. You were involved, I understand, and keep me informed about what’s going on with Ethel, Bradshaw, and Mancini. I’d love for us to find that twenty million dollars. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, sir. In fact, there was a meeting last night of those three.”

“Well, Agent Draper, I’m all ears.”

***

Trevor Norwood groaned as he shifted in the recliner. The booze and the pills that enabled him to grab a few hours of restless sleep had worn off. The pain in his arm, though duller, brought yesterday’s disaster back into focus.

He’d dozed without a shirt and so immediately examined the bandage encircling his upper left arm. No sign of bleeding, no red streaks warning of infection. He wiggled his fingers, raised his injured arm away from his side and then over his head. The mobility and flexibility encouraged him. Another day or two of sick leave, and he could make it through a workday.

His phone buzzed on the end table beside him. He picked it up and saw it was the third encrypted text of the day. He must have slept more soundly than he realized. He’d also slept later. It was after eight in the morning.

The earliest text had come at six thirty:

How are you? I checked my wallet.

Forty-five minutes later, another text:

Me too.

Both senders’ IDs had been stripped as part of the encryption process that not only hid the message but also the source.

Then the most recent one:

SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!

Norwood didn’t need the IDs to know which of his partners had sent which text. It was always the outsider who was more suspicious, more volatile. The “How are you?” concern only went as far as “Can’t you transfer our shares?”