They came to me, asked me if I knew you. When I said yes... well, here's the deal... "
I took the folded towel, wiped down an already clean kitchen counter. "They asked you to bring me in. Right?"
"Right."
"All right. What's the deal? You want me to meet you at the police station?"
"Urn, no ... "
Then I got it. "Where are you? Up the hill, at the parking lot?"
“Yeah.''
"Okay. I'll be up there in a minute."
I hung up the phone, thought about making a phone call, but to whom? Annie? Her law firm? Felix?
No, nobody, not now.
I went out of the kitchen to the entranceway and grabbed a coat, and then went out the door and trudged my way up to the Lafayette House's parking lot.
There Diane was waiting for me, standing next to an unmarked Tyler police cruiser, a dark blue Ford LTD with a whip antenna, engine burbling in the cold morning air. She was bundled up in a short leather coat with a cloth collar and dark slacks. I stood there and she said, "Sorry."
"No, it's okay. If I'm being brought in, would rather it be done by a friend."
She got in the front seat and I walked around and joined her.
As in all cop cars, the upholstery was heavy-duty plastic and there was a police radio slung under the dashboard. She picked up the microphone and said, "Dispatch, D-one, coming in."
"All right, D-one."
She tossed the microphone back in its cradle, shifted the cruiser into drive, and in a matter of seconds, we were on Atlantic Avenue, heading south. Six months earlier or six months from now, the roadway would be packed, each parking space would be filled, and the sands of Tyler Beach would be packed with almost as many people who were set to vote here the following week.
But this was January. The road was nearly empty, and the temperature inside the car seemed to match the temperature outside.
After a few minutes I said, "Anything else you want to say?"
She looked troubled. "No, I'm afraid not."
"You know why the Secret Service wants to talk to me?"
"No," she said.
I stayed quiet for a little bit, and said, 'Well, didn't you ask them?"
She turned to me for a quick second, exasperated. "Hell, yes, Lewis. I asked them. Over and over again. And all I got was polite and federal push back. The attempt on the senator's life is a matter for the Secret Service, and the state police are assisting. I've been told by my own chief to cooperate, and that's what I'm doing. Getting your cheerful butt from your house to the station with a minimum of fuss. All right?"
I thought for a moment and said, "The Secret Service has already talked to me. Two days ago."
"Really?"
"Truly," I said. "Came by on what he called a routine check. Thing is, I seem to be on a list of 'persons of interest,' to be interviewed before the arrival of a president or presidential candidate. He came by, made sure I didn't have a bomb factory in the cellar, and left. Ten, fifteen-minute visit, tops."
Diane said, "Might be a routine visit then. Just to check your name off a list."
"Sure," I said. "Routine."
"Routine," she repeated, and as we pulled into the police station's parking lot, I was sure that neither of us believed that at all.
Chapter Four
At the Tyler police station, she parked in the rear of the fenced-in parking lot, reserved for police and other official vehicles, and she led me through the back door, where the on-duty dispatcher buzzed open the rear inner door after seeing Diane through a closed-circuit television. The building was the usual one-story concrete style of decades earlier, and one of these days, if the chief could convince three-fifths of the eligible voters in Tyler, he would get a new station built nearby.
Sure. One of these days.
We went through the booking room, past the empty holding cells, and through an open door marked INTERVIEW. A tired looking man with wavy black hair in a fine dark gray suit was sitting there. He stood up when Diane and I entered. There was a battered conference room table and four
I took the folded towel, wiped down an already clean kitchen counter. "They asked you to bring me in. Right?"
"Right."
"All right. What's the deal? You want me to meet you at the police station?"
"Urn, no ... "
Then I got it. "Where are you? Up the hill, at the parking lot?"
“Yeah.''
"Okay. I'll be up there in a minute."
I hung up the phone, thought about making a phone call, but to whom? Annie? Her law firm? Felix?
No, nobody, not now.
I went out of the kitchen to the entranceway and grabbed a coat, and then went out the door and trudged my way up to the Lafayette House's parking lot.
There Diane was waiting for me, standing next to an unmarked Tyler police cruiser, a dark blue Ford LTD with a whip antenna, engine burbling in the cold morning air. She was bundled up in a short leather coat with a cloth collar and dark slacks. I stood there and she said, "Sorry."
"No, it's okay. If I'm being brought in, would rather it be done by a friend."
She got in the front seat and I walked around and joined her.
As in all cop cars, the upholstery was heavy-duty plastic and there was a police radio slung under the dashboard. She picked up the microphone and said, "Dispatch, D-one, coming in."
"All right, D-one."
She tossed the microphone back in its cradle, shifted the cruiser into drive, and in a matter of seconds, we were on Atlantic Avenue, heading south. Six months earlier or six months from now, the roadway would be packed, each parking space would be filled, and the sands of Tyler Beach would be packed with almost as many people who were set to vote here the following week.
But this was January. The road was nearly empty, and the temperature inside the car seemed to match the temperature outside.
After a few minutes I said, "Anything else you want to say?"
She looked troubled. "No, I'm afraid not."
"You know why the Secret Service wants to talk to me?"
"No," she said.
I stayed quiet for a little bit, and said, 'Well, didn't you ask them?"
She turned to me for a quick second, exasperated. "Hell, yes, Lewis. I asked them. Over and over again. And all I got was polite and federal push back. The attempt on the senator's life is a matter for the Secret Service, and the state police are assisting. I've been told by my own chief to cooperate, and that's what I'm doing. Getting your cheerful butt from your house to the station with a minimum of fuss. All right?"
I thought for a moment and said, "The Secret Service has already talked to me. Two days ago."
"Really?"
"Truly," I said. "Came by on what he called a routine check. Thing is, I seem to be on a list of 'persons of interest,' to be interviewed before the arrival of a president or presidential candidate. He came by, made sure I didn't have a bomb factory in the cellar, and left. Ten, fifteen-minute visit, tops."
Diane said, "Might be a routine visit then. Just to check your name off a list."
"Sure," I said. "Routine."
"Routine," she repeated, and as we pulled into the police station's parking lot, I was sure that neither of us believed that at all.
Chapter Four
At the Tyler police station, she parked in the rear of the fenced-in parking lot, reserved for police and other official vehicles, and she led me through the back door, where the on-duty dispatcher buzzed open the rear inner door after seeing Diane through a closed-circuit television. The building was the usual one-story concrete style of decades earlier, and one of these days, if the chief could convince three-fifths of the eligible voters in Tyler, he would get a new station built nearby.
Sure. One of these days.
We went through the booking room, past the empty holding cells, and through an open door marked INTERVIEW. A tired looking man with wavy black hair in a fine dark gray suit was sitting there. He stood up when Diane and I entered. There was a battered conference room table and four
Similar Books
Mistletoe and Montana
Anna Small
Data Runner
Sam A. Patel
Capello Brothers 3 Train My Heart
J'aimee Brooker
A Hundred Horses
Sarah Lean
Inspector Singh Investigates
Shamini Flint
The Seal of Solomon
Rick Yancey
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday
A. L. Michael
The Scarlet Letters
Ellery Queen
Scorn of Angels
John Patrick Kennedy
Pretty When She Kills
Rhiannon Frater