“He stopped being my husband nearly a year ago,” Brenda countered, setting the record straight. “He just hadn’t signed the divorce papers yet.” She was sick to death of everyone calling Scott her husband. He’d stopped being her husband when he cheated for the third time—that she knew of.
“Scott,” Cummings amended with a look that suggested what she’d said ticked some box in his brain.
Brenda struggled to tamp down her fury. She did not want to end up making herself look more suspicious. He was probably already putting two and two together and coming up with Ben as Brenda’s new lover.
She was so sick of this.
“The point Brenda is making,” Ben said during the ensuing silence, “is that Scott had stopped sharing details of his life, business or personal, with her one year ago. Perhaps even before that. She is only aware of what he allowed her to know. He was clearly keeping secrets well before their separation.”
Cummings eyed him speculatively. “And you know all this how?”
Ben smiled patiently. “Last evening—over pizza as you’ll recall—Brenda shared her concerns about Scott’s behavior over the past year or so. I’m certain if you interview Mallory Lawrence, the nanny employed by Brenda for the past two-plus years, you can confirm as much.”
Brenda was pleasantly surprised at her neighbor’s ability to summarize the situation so accurately and concisely.
Cummings nodded then turned back to her. “Your—Scott Devers was deeply involved with money laundering. A South American branch of the Jalisco cartel, with whom he and his partner were doing business, is most unhappy with this recent turn of events.”
He’d lost her at money laundering. No matter that she and Ben had discussed the possibility, to have it confirmed by this FBI agent was unnerving. Obviously she had known given the events of the past couple of days that whatever Scott had done was bad…but she hadn’t wanted to believe it would be this bad. On a scale of one to ten this was a clear twelve.
“Has the Bureau,” Ben asked, “confirmed these accusations or are you speculating?”
Excellent question. Brenda was so grateful to have an objective view of the situation on her side.
Cummings swung his attention to the man seated on the sofa with Brenda. “The Bureau has been watching Scott Devers and Tate Jenner for fifteen months. We have documented their criminal behavior all this time.”
Brenda felt sick to her stomach. But then her anger stirred. These people had allowed her and her daughter to live here in this house—in this town—like sitting ducks while they orchestrated an investigation that involved a South American cartel. What the hell?
Before she could demand to know why she and Janey hadn’t been protected or at least warned, Ben spoke once more. “Then you’re aware that Brenda is not involved with the firm. She has no knowledge of the clients or the activities of the firm. And certainly she has no information about any cartel dealings.”
“That may be,” Cummings admitted, “but there’s just one problem.”
Brenda held her breath. She couldn’t imagine what was coming next.
“Ten months ago Scott Devers agreed to be an informant for the Bureau. He made a claim that if anything happened to him there was an insurance policy to back up all that he had shared with us. Obviously, based on the message left on your garage door last night—” he directed this to Brenda “—someone else is aware of his backup plan.”
“Insurance policy?” Brenda repeated. “What does that mean?” She had an idea. The creative side of her brain was spinning wildly. A list, she presumed. Details of accounts or money transfers. Something that would be a problem for the cartel.
Cummings turned up his hands. “No idea. He never expounded on the comment.”
“Then he didn’t make this comment to you,” Ben suggested, or maybe it was more than a suggestion. The way he was staring down the agent it was as if he knew exactly what Cummings meant.
“He did not.”
“His handler,” Ben said. “He has a handler and this is who he told.”
“Had,” Cummings corrected. “The third victim, Special Agent Clinton Pratt, was his handler.”
Brenda’s jaw dropped. She didn’t need to ask… She didn’t even need to hear more. Wherever Scott was—if he wasn’t dead—he was in the crosshairs of more than just the cartel. The FBI wanted him in all probability just as badly. As if she’d said her thoughts aloud, Cummings turned his attention to Brenda. No matter that she was certain she didn’t want to hear whatever was coming next… She’d already heard enough for a dozen lifetimes.
“Do yourself a favor, Ms. Devers,” the agent said. “Make sure you really know who your friends—” he glanced at Ben “—and your neighbors are before you trust them. I think the hole you’ve dug for yourself and your daughter—whether by design or out of obliviousness—is already deep enough. Don’t keep digging.”
With that he rose from his chair. “You have my card. Call me when you’re ready to talk further.” Then he walked out.
Chapter Eight
12:45 p.m.
Ben hadn’t expected to have to explain himself under these circumstances. But the way Brenda was looking at him, he had no choice. It was time to come clean or risk losing her trust entirely. She had been lied to so much, even the slightest hint of skirting the truth was an egregious offence.