A dozen different emotions swirled through Caitlin’s exhausted brain. “Did your husband tell you to talk me out of those files?”
Jordan smiled sadly, then shook her head. “I’m on your side. I loved it when you got in that trooper’s face out there. I look at you and see my younger self. I want you to own this story. But John’s right: tomorrow an army of print and TV journalists is going to descend on this area. Your window of exclusivity is going to slam shut fast. Hiding those files may feel instinctively right, but it’s not. People are dying. John and his team are the best hope of stopping this violence. He won’t let any other journalist see those files. And if you give him access, he’ll pay you back ten times over. I know him.”
Caitlin’s heart told her to believe Glass, but skepticism had been drilled into her from infancy.
“If you need to hold something back,” Jordan said, “then do it. Something special that Henry gave you, maybe. But the rest of it … let it go. That’s the safest thing for your family, too.”
Caitlin thought about the Moleskine notebook she’d discovered outside the burned Beacon building, the Toby Rambin lead, the recording of Katy Royal. “Are you going to tell John you told me that?”
Jordan laughed without humor. “If I ever do manage to get pregnant, I’d prefer to be married, not divorced. So, no, I’m not going to tell him.”
Caitlin rubbed her eyes so hard she saw spots. Then she set her elbows on her knees and gave Glass an unguarded gaze. “When I was thirteen, I worked at one of my father’s newspapers. I saw some photographs there that had just been shot in El Salvador. A massacre by a death squad. A lady who worked at our paper was so proud that a young American woman had shot those pictures. Do you remember who shot them?”
Jordan tapped the coffee table as though bored or frustrated. “Me.”
“Those pictures went a long way toward leading me to where I am now.”
Glass’s smile looked forced. She’d obviously heard this kind of thing a thousand times before. Her eyes focused somewhere in the darkness across the lobby. “I’m not the same person I was then. I’m tired. I’m ready to stop—for a while anyway.” She put her face in her hands and massaged her temples as though to relieve a headache. “I’m not that girl who sneaked into a village and shot those pictures anymore.” She looked up at Caitlin. “But you are. That’s why I gave you that advice. You’re not thinking straight right now, because of what happened. But tomorrow you will be again.”
Caitlin had never felt so validated as she did in that moment.
“John’s not exactly himself right now, either,” Jordan said. “You should know that. When you criticized the Bureau out there, it really hurt him.”
Caitlin shrugged, but she didn’t apologize.
“John knows the Bureau failed all those years ago. It failed the murder victims, the families, even its own agents. He wants to make that right. When he tells you he’s on your side, he means it.”
“He’s gotten a lot done in a short time, I’ll give him that.”
“Thanks to Henry and Penn. And you.”
Caitlin was suddenly nervous. “I haven’t done anything yet. But I’m going to.”
Jordan’s eyebrows rose. “Something you probably shouldn’t be doing?”
“That depends on your point of view.”
“What’s your plan? Just between us and the coffee table? No shit.”
What the hell? Caitlin thought, suddenly realizing that she trusted Jordan Glass more than many people she’d known for years. “I want to find Pooky Wilson’s bones. I think Pooky and Jimmy may have been killed or dumped at the same place.”
“And you know where that is?”
“Maybe. I’ve got a good lead. One nobody else has. Maybe that’s what I’ll keep for myself.”
“Does Penn know what you know?”
“No.”
Jordan smiled in the shadows. “A girl after my own heart. So where are these mysterious bones?”
As badly as Caitlin wanted to confide in her idol, something held her back. While she wondered how to tactfully evade the question, her Treo pinged with a text message. She took it out and entered her privacy code, then saw a message from Jamie Lewis, her editor.
In 1970, Dr. Wilhelm Borgen was indicted for multiple counts of sexual abuse of psychiatric patients at his Texas institute. Crimes date from 1956–1968. Testimony of nurses indicated he used electroshock to erase the memories of his victims. Aborted fetuses of impregnated patients under his care. This story getting sicker by the minute. HURRY BACK!