Assistant Director Jund squinted from Cady to Agents Preston and Schommer, both of whom had been sitting quietly at the room’s circular office table as the AD and the consulting agent lobbed volleys back and forth. “Help me out here, Liz.” “You broke the case, Drew, and the momentum is now on our side,” Agent Preston said. “Don’t you would want to see this through to the end?” “Again, there’s not much I can offer you at this point. Plaster his name and photo all over the media. He won’t look like that anymore, obviously, but it’ll put him in motion—smoke him out—and maybe you’ll get lucky.” Cady sat alone on the black office couch in the back of Jund’s office. “I imagine Westlow’s been living on the East Coast this entire time, although he’s probably not into home ownership. An apartment or a shack somewhere that he can pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. Probably a desolate part of whatever city he’s nesting in, perhaps a warehouse district or someplace where the neighbors know better than to get nosy.”
