“He served a seven-year sentence, was released early under a cooperation agreement with the state, not my office.”
Lucy’s pen tapped once against the edge of her folder, then stilled. “Ms. Marquez, are you aware that following his release, Mr. Russell entered into a federal cooperation agreement?”
I blinked. “No.”
“You didn’t know he was cooperating with the FBI?”
“No.”
“You didn’t know he was providing information about the Callahan family?”
I forced my voice to stay even. “No.”
Lucy nodded as if she’d expected the answers and had already planned her next play. She slipped a page from the folder, turned it over, and pushed it across the table.
It was a black-and-white printout of a man—thinner, older, eyes sunken but still alert. Mickey Russell. A chill ran down my spine as I thought about his hands around my neck as he tried to choke me to death. As I thought about him calling me a bitch, telling me he was going to kill me.
Alek looked at me, just for a second, before he looked back at the photo.
Taken from a surveillance camera, maybe. He was wearing a Red Sox cap and holding a Styrofoam cup. There was a date in the corner: 11.17.25.
“He met with federal agents seven times in the last three months, before December. We believe he began collecting physical evidence sometime at the end of last month.”
My heart knocked once, hard, against my ribs.
“What kind of evidence?” Alek asked, his voice calm but clipped.
Lucy didn’t look at him. She was watching me. “Encrypted financial records. Names. Possibly communications involving shipments flagged by Homeland Security.”
Another chill slid down my spine.
Lucy continued, flipping to another page. “On the night of November 22nd, Mr. Russell was scheduled to meet with his handler. He never showed. Forty-eight hours later, parts of his body were recovered along the Charles River.”
She didn’t need to add the rest. We all knew it.
“I heard about this,” I said. I stopped myself short of saying I heard Kieran Callahan killed him, even though Kieran had confessed.
Lucy finally broke eye contact, glancing at her folder. “Yes. I understand Agent Fitzgerald and Fitz had a conversation with you about this on the 24th of November.”
Alek shifted beside me. “Is Ms. Marquez a suspect in Mr. Russell’s death?”
“No,” Lucy said. “Not at this time.”
“But you believe she may have material knowledge.”
“I believe she may have witnessed—or become entangled in—events following Mr. Russell’s disappearance.”
“And what events are those, exactly?” Alek pressed.
Lucy opened a third folder. This one was thinner. Inside was a photograph—blurry, grayscale, printed on low-resolution paper. She placed it on the table.
It showed the outside of my house.
Kieran. Entering the front door.
Time-stamped: 10:34 PM. 12.22.25.
I didn’t move.
