notes. “She had her tonsils removed there two years before the accident.”
“And she died there,” Adams said, his voice cold and empty.
“Are you implying malpractice?” Tom pressed. “You never filed a suit.”
“She was gone. What would a lawsuit have accomplished? I didn’t need their money. I needed my child alive and well.” He shook his head again. “You’re wasting your time.” He looked to Sarah then. “Avalon is the best in the country, maybe the world. They screen their employees better than the NSA vets their own.”
“Then you won’t mind giving us the names of any doctors or nurses involved with your daughter’s care there,” Tom prompted.
Adams stood. “I won’t be a party to this waste of time. Avalon has an administrator who can assist you with this pointless endeavor.”
Tom pushed to his feet and Sarah did the same. “Senator, I know this is difficult,” she offered, “but—”
“That’s what I find so stunning,” Adams said, cutting her off. “I did my research on you, Detective. You do know, both of you, and still you’re pursuing this nonsense.” He glared at Tom then. “When I called Quantico for help, I didn’t expect them to send the husband of the detective already working on the case. I’m certain this arrangement is less than ethical. I will be reaching out to your superior, Cuddahy.”
“Do what you feel you must, Senator,” Tom said. “Our only interest is in finding your daughter.”
Adams gestured to the door of his study. “I’ll show you out.”
“Please let Mrs. Adams know we’re working around the clock,” Sarah said, in hopes of salvaging some connection with the man, as they moved into the entry hall.
For one moment, Sarah sensed she had reached beyond the senator’s fury, and then he turned his back. “I’ll tell her.” Adams walked away, leaving them standing in the grand entry hall.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sarah warned Tom before walking out.
The next interview was going to be conducted her way.
Holy Cross Hospital
Silver Springs, Maryland, 7:49 p.m.
Lawrence Cashion listened as Tom explained why the FBI wanted to question him after the local police already had. The man insisted the strain of the police questioning coupled with the trauma of finding his wife and daughter missing had brought on the heart attack he’d suffered.
Sarah wouldn’t deny the events of the past twelve or so hours had been horrifying for the man, but she’d also read the reports from the officers who had searched his home. Judging by the empty liquor bottle and the blood alcohol level he’d had when he showed up at the police precinct, his recent binge likely contributed to the problem as well.
Both his wife and daughter remained missing. The mother’s disappearance was a significant deviation from the MO of the others in Sarah’s investigation. As was the blood they had found at the scene. Cashion, or someone, had gone to great lengths to clean it up with bleach, but he’d failed to get it all. Something had happened in that home and Cashion wasn’t talking.
The Cashion child was like the others. Her age, the fact she’d lost a sibling, and birthplace all fit the profile. Sarah was still on the fence with the genetic designer children or whatever business. The theory seemed too improbable. In her opinion, looking into any employees who had a grudge against Avalon or who just wanted to capitalize on an opportunity were the better scenarios.
Still, whatever else stood between her and Tom, he’d never been anything other than a topnotch investigator. For him to make that leap there had to be more he wasn’t telling her. The whole need-to-know nonsense. If she didn’t need to know, then why the hell were they working together?
“Mr. Cashion,” Sarah said, “you stated that your wife took your daughter to a birthday party. Do you typically go to bed so early? We spoke with the Sims family and they’re certain
“And she died there,” Adams said, his voice cold and empty.
“Are you implying malpractice?” Tom pressed. “You never filed a suit.”
“She was gone. What would a lawsuit have accomplished? I didn’t need their money. I needed my child alive and well.” He shook his head again. “You’re wasting your time.” He looked to Sarah then. “Avalon is the best in the country, maybe the world. They screen their employees better than the NSA vets their own.”
“Then you won’t mind giving us the names of any doctors or nurses involved with your daughter’s care there,” Tom prompted.
Adams stood. “I won’t be a party to this waste of time. Avalon has an administrator who can assist you with this pointless endeavor.”
Tom pushed to his feet and Sarah did the same. “Senator, I know this is difficult,” she offered, “but—”
“That’s what I find so stunning,” Adams said, cutting her off. “I did my research on you, Detective. You do know, both of you, and still you’re pursuing this nonsense.” He glared at Tom then. “When I called Quantico for help, I didn’t expect them to send the husband of the detective already working on the case. I’m certain this arrangement is less than ethical. I will be reaching out to your superior, Cuddahy.”
“Do what you feel you must, Senator,” Tom said. “Our only interest is in finding your daughter.”
Adams gestured to the door of his study. “I’ll show you out.”
“Please let Mrs. Adams know we’re working around the clock,” Sarah said, in hopes of salvaging some connection with the man, as they moved into the entry hall.
For one moment, Sarah sensed she had reached beyond the senator’s fury, and then he turned his back. “I’ll tell her.” Adams walked away, leaving them standing in the grand entry hall.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sarah warned Tom before walking out.
The next interview was going to be conducted her way.
Holy Cross Hospital
Silver Springs, Maryland, 7:49 p.m.
Lawrence Cashion listened as Tom explained why the FBI wanted to question him after the local police already had. The man insisted the strain of the police questioning coupled with the trauma of finding his wife and daughter missing had brought on the heart attack he’d suffered.
Sarah wouldn’t deny the events of the past twelve or so hours had been horrifying for the man, but she’d also read the reports from the officers who had searched his home. Judging by the empty liquor bottle and the blood alcohol level he’d had when he showed up at the police precinct, his recent binge likely contributed to the problem as well.
Both his wife and daughter remained missing. The mother’s disappearance was a significant deviation from the MO of the others in Sarah’s investigation. As was the blood they had found at the scene. Cashion, or someone, had gone to great lengths to clean it up with bleach, but he’d failed to get it all. Something had happened in that home and Cashion wasn’t talking.
The Cashion child was like the others. Her age, the fact she’d lost a sibling, and birthplace all fit the profile. Sarah was still on the fence with the genetic designer children or whatever business. The theory seemed too improbable. In her opinion, looking into any employees who had a grudge against Avalon or who just wanted to capitalize on an opportunity were the better scenarios.
Still, whatever else stood between her and Tom, he’d never been anything other than a topnotch investigator. For him to make that leap there had to be more he wasn’t telling her. The whole need-to-know nonsense. If she didn’t need to know, then why the hell were they working together?
“Mr. Cashion,” Sarah said, “you stated that your wife took your daughter to a birthday party. Do you typically go to bed so early? We spoke with the Sims family and they’re certain
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