Free Riptide by Catherine Coulter

do you have on McCallum?"
    Adam wasn't expecting anything, so he wasn't disappointed
    when Hatch sighed and said, "Not a thing as of yet. A real pro
    spearheaded this operation, boss, just like you thought."
    "Unfortunately, it can't be Krimakov because Thomas finally got
    him tracked down. He was living on Crete, and as of a week ago,
    he's dead. I'm not sure of the exact date. But it was before McCallum
    was run down in Albany. I guess Krimakov could have been
    involved, but he certainly wasn't running the show, and that's not
    his MO. Anything Krimakov was involved in, he was the Big
    Leader. Thomas is willing to bet his ascot on that. But if Krimakov
    was somehow involved, it means he knew about Becca being Matock's
    daughter. Jesus, it makes me crazy."
    "Nah, the guy's dead. This is a new nutcase, fresh out of the
    woodwork, and he's picked Becca."
    Adam scratched his head and added, "No, I don't think so,
    Hatch. It's got to be some sort of conspiracy, there's just no other
    answer. Lots of folk involved. But why did they focus on Ms. Matlock?
    Why put her in the middle? I keep coming back to Krimakov,
    but I know, logically, that it just can't be. Someone,
    something else, is driving this. How's the governor?"
    "I hear his neck is a bit sore, but he'll live. He doesn't know a
    thing, that's what he claims. He's very upset about McCallum."
    Adam sat there and thought and thought. The same questions
    over and over again. No answers.
    Silence.
    Put out the cigarette, Hatch. I know about your girlfriend. She
    loves silk lingerie and expensive steaks. You can't afford to lose your
    job."

"Okay, boss."
    Adam heard some papers shuffling, heard some mild curses, and
    smiled. "Anything else?"
    "Yeah, of course there's no positive ID on that skeleton that
    popped out of Ms. Matlock's basement wall. For sure it was a
    teenage girl who got her head bashed in some ten or more years
    ago. I did find out something sort of neat, though."
    "Yeah?"
    "It turns out there was an eighteen-year-old girl who just up
    and disappeared from Riptide, Maine. Now ain't that a neat coincidence?"
    "I'll say. When?"
    "Twelve years ago."
    "No one's heard from her since?"
    "I'm not completely sure about that. If she's still unaccounted
    for and they decide she's a good bet, then they'll do DNA tests on
    the bones."
    Adam said, "They'll need something from her--like hair on a
    brush, an old envelope that would have her saliva, barring that, then
    a family member would have to give up some blood."
    "Yeah. Thing is, though, it wouldn't be admissible in court if it
    ever came to it. It'll take some time, a couple of weeks. No one
    sees any big rush on it."
    "I don't like the feel of this, Hatch. We've got this other mess
    and now this damned skeleton falling out of Becca's basement wall.
    It's enough to make a man give up football."
    "Nah, you've always told me that God created the fall just for
    football. You'll be watching football when you throw that last
    pigskin into the end zone in the sky, if they still have the sport that
    many aeons from now. You'll probably lobby God to have pro football
    in Heaven. Stop whining, boss. You'll figure everything out.

You usually do. Hey, I hear that Maine's one beautiful place. That
    true?"
    Adam stared at the phone for a moment. He had been whining.
    He said, "Yeah. I just wish I had some time to enjoy it." He suddenly
    yelled into the receiver, "No smoking, Hatch. If you even think
    about it, I'll know it. Now, call me tomorrow at this same time."
    "You got it, boss."
    "No smoking."
    Silence.

    Becca said very quietly, "Who is Krimakov?"
    Adam turned around very slowly to face her. She was standing
    in the doorway of the moldy-smelling guest room where he'd
    spent his first night in Jacob Marley's house. She'd opened the door
    and he hadn't heard a thing. He was losing it.
    "Who is Krimakov?"
    He said easily, "He's a drug dealer who used to be involved with
    the Medellin cartel in Colombia. He's dead now."
    "What