“I guess that’s everything I can think to ask for now,” she said. “What are the chances I’d be able to look at the case file myself? Eventually, I’d love to get some of my production team to capture images of the case for American Events—photos of interview transcripts, footage from video interviews, images of the crime scene, and even—parts redacted, of course—some footage from the homemade video that helped you break the case.”

“I have it all back at my hotel. I’d have to run it past the brass and get them to sign off on anything we share, but I’m sure it could be arranged. Let me make a few calls?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

There was a short pause to their conversation, as they both searched for a reason to continue talking now that the purpose of their dinner meeting had ended. They both stared at each other until Avery finally spoke.

“So, Walt, I pride myself on my instincts.”

“Uh oh.”

Avery smiled. “I’m curious about something you’re not telling me.”

Walt raised his eyebrows. For a fleeting moment he considered that he’d somehow been blown before he’d done any actual surveillance. That this smart, observant journalist had figured out his and Jim Oliver’s and the entire FBI’s plan to burrow himself into her life in an attempt to locate her father.

“What am I not telling you?” he asked.

“What really brought you back to New York.”

He swirled his port as he mulled the question.

“Come on,” Avery said. “You’re a good-looking, successful guy who got injured on the job in his forties and then decided to live as a recluse on a tropical island? And suddenly a television journalist calls and you come running back?” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not buying it.”

“Who said I lived as a recluse?”

“Nice try. And I appreciate the attempt at diversion, but there’s got to be more to your story.”

Walt lifted his chin and took a sip of port. “Don’t let anyone knock your instincts.” He stared into the wine before he spoke. He remembered his plan to be as honest as possible. “I was getting bored in Jamaica. I went there to clear my head after I was injured, but I figured out that whatever cobwebs were still present after three years were not likely to be swept away by time. You called and I thought it was a good opportunity to get out of a rut. Plus, I told you. I’m a fan of the show.”

He watched her slowly take a sip of port. He got the impression that his answer did not satisfy her.

“You know,” she said, “maybe a better question is why you went to Jamaica in the first place.”

“You are a journalist. Through and through.”