he reluctantly dug through his rather haphazard files to find the receipt from that particular transaction. The booking and payment had not been done in person; rather, the entire deal had been arranged on the telephone—then paid for with a credit card number that both Kelly and Fanelli recognized as belonging to the Harry Winston agency.
Agent Kelly smiled grimly at the news, showing the receipt to Fanelli before using the office’s Xerox machine to make herself a copy of the paperwork. She then turned and walked to the door—without a word to the manager--and motioned Fanelli to join her.
The local agent took a moment to thank the building manager for his time and trouble before joining her outside.
“This proves that Winston was involved!” She slapped the credit card receipt on the roof of the car, pointing to the company name. “Let’s go back and really question that son of a bitch!”
“You’re wrong, Agent-in-charge Kelly.” Fanelli’s retort was flat, his face expressionless. “If the Reporter ad was paid for by credit card and this was paid for with the same credit card…” He shook his head, his face sour. “It only proves that someone with access to that account was involved—and we have no idea who that someone could be—it certainly does nothing to prove Winston had any idea of what was going on.”
“He knew!” Kelly’s eyes were burning. “He had to know!”
“Why?” Fanelli met her stare with his own questioning eyes. “Why are you so sure that Winston is involved?”
“I….” She tugged open the car door. “I just feel it—like a hunch—only stronger.”
Fanelli sighed. “Hunches won’t be enough to allow us to go after Winston—you already know that. We need some real, solid, proof.”
“Okay,” Kelly buckled her seat belt, crossed her arms. “Let’s go get some—there’s got to be something in Winston’s office—right?”
Fanelli got in, started up the car. “Maybe,” he put it into gear, pulled away from the rehearsal hall. “It certainly won’t hurt to find out what his people have to say.” He turned down the Hollywood way, headed for the Pass. “And if they try to stonewall us …”
Kelly finished his statement. “Then we talk to the Federal Attorney and see if we can get a warrant.”
“With what we have now?”
“Yeah.” Kelly watched the Burbank Studio flash by. “With what we have now.”
Fanelli snorted, ran the yellow light at Forest Lawn. “We don’t have anything!”
Kelly smiled grimly. “We will.” Her eyes glittered. “I promise you, we will.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“So,” Andy strode into the security room, nodding toward Mike who was sitting in front of the surveillance screen, nursing a cup of coffee. “How are you doing with her?”
“I’ve already trained her to stay quiet—and gotten her to cry and beg,” he nodded at the limp form of Kelly hanging from the post in the training room. “Shouldn’t take much more to make it permanent—I’m going to let her sleep for a couple of hours—don’t want her to get sick—and pick up from where I left off.”
“You used the internal prod?”
“Yeah.” Mike nodded. “Got her up to eight—figure that’s about as much as she can handle.”
“When can you get the info we need?”
“As soon as I wake her.” Mike glanced at his watch. “Maybe an hour from now?”
“That’s good—the principal will be pleased.”
“Hey, Andy,” Mike turned away from the screen to look his superior in the eye. “I gotta ask—is this bitch really an FBI agent?”
“Yeah.” Andy’s nod was quite positive. “Fairly senior, too.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“How so?” Andy went to the pot, took some coffee of his own.
“She’s a creampuff.” Mike shrugged toward the screen. “Oh, she’s in pretty good shape—got some muscles under that nice smooth skin—but she’s got no guts—she gave up as soon as I hit her the first time—she just
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