Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

doors to the FBI office were locked. Silvestri pressed the bell. “Hedge funds? Mutual funds?”
    Wetzon shook her head. “Private investment entities, not well regulated like mutual funds, though that’s starting to change. They play with different strategies to hedge their portfolios against fluctuations in the stock market. Minimum investment, over a mil.”
    “I guess that lets me out.”
    “They’re not open to public unless you’re a multi-millionaire, or you’re an institution with mega bucks, like college endowments, pension funds, banks—”
    “And insurance companies?”
    “Yes.”
    Earnest Agent Gelber opened the door and ushered them into the waiting area. He shook hands with Silvestri, pressed his finger to the plate on the wall next to the door and led them into the inner sanctum of offices.
    “You don’t seem surprised to see us,” Wetzon said.
    “Agent Blue won the pool.”
    Silvestri laughed.
    “Very funny,” Wetzon said, as they followed Gelber down the hall of closed doors.
    Agent Blue’s cubicle reeked of stale coffee. “She suggested you make yourselves comfortable.”
    “I guess that means we wait,” Wetzon said. “Do you have a ladies’ room?”
    Gelber looked at Silvestri, who said, “I’ll just wait here.”
    When Gelber hesitated, Wetzon said, “Don’t you trust him?”
    “Is he trustworthy?”
    “I’ve always found him so. Are you, Silvestri? Tell the nice man you won’t snoop.”
    Silvestri shrugged. “Can’t make any promises.”
    “Go out that door, make a left, and it’s the fourth or fifth door on your left,” Gelber said.
    She followed directions, but since the hall was empty, she pressed her ear to each closed door.
    “Oh, for pity sakes!” someone screeched from behind the third door.
    Wetzon burst into the room. Smith was sitting at a conference table opposite two FBI types. Smith was the only one not surprised to see Wetzon.
    “What took you so long?” she demanded, standing. “Where’s Dick Tracy?”
    “Waiting to talk to Agent Blue.”
    By this time both agents were on their feet. The taller of the two asked, “Who are you?”
    She bowed. “Leslie Wetzon, at your service. What are you doing here, Smith?”
    “I rode out to the airport in the limo to see Judge Weaver and the monsignor off,” Smith said, exasperated, her voice rising to a scream. “And we were arrested! With handcuffs! I’m going to sue, let me tell you! Can you believe they arrested a priest and a judge? And me, a card carrying Republican patriot! What’s the world coming to?”
    “You can’t stay, Miss,” the second agent said.
    “I’ll take it from here,” Agent Blue said, coming up behind Wetzon, clamping her elbow. She smelled like the chain smoker she was.
    “Wait a minute,” Smith yelled.
    “I called Twoey,” Wetzon said, over her shoulder as she was being propelled out of the room. “He’s coming with a lawyer.”
    Silvestri looked a question at her when Judy Blue and Wetzon returned to the cubicle. Wetzon gave a faint nod.
    Silvestri grinned, whispered in her ear, “That’s my girl.”
    Sweeping empty cardboard cups from her desk into the wastebasket, Agent Blue grunted, “Sit down, Leslie. Gelber, find a place.”
    Gelber leaned against one partition.
    “Why did you arrest Smith?” Wetzon said.
    “She got caught in the net. We wanted Weaver and the monsignor and she was with them.” Judy Blue let a grimace pierce her otherwise neutral demeanor.
    “Piece of work, huh,” Silvestri said.
    Wetzon elbowed him. “I’m sure, if Smith behaved badly, it was because she was scared.”
    “Right,” Silvestri said.
    “Absolutely,” Judy Blue said.
    “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “We still have a few questions and then she can leave.”
    “What about Weaver and the priest?” Silvestri asked.
    “They were going to leave the country.”
    “But Mr. Weaver is an innocent victim of Jason McLaughlin and his phony hedge fund.” That was it, she thought. Phony hedge fund. Pyramid scheme. It was sinking in. Acid filled her mouth. “My God, Jason exploded the plane himself. He must have money sitting in Swiss accounts. We were all supposed to die. Laura Lee, me. He killed four people. He killed Bill.”
    “Les—” Silvestri reached for her hand.
    “Let her talk, Silvestri,” Judy Blue said.
    Wetzon closed her eyes. She could hardly hear herself speaking, if it was she speaking. “Jason was like a wild man. He yelled at me to get