Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(13)

After acting like I dropped a page from the folder, I used a decorative column to block the woman’s view. It was only a couple steps to get me into a hallway. Then I did a quick jog through the hallway in a giant loop around to the other side of the lobby. By the time I came out the other end of the hallway, the woman was with her two male companions. They weren’t even trying to conceal the fact that they were looking for me.

I’ll confess that I had no clue who they might be. They looked too old and well dressed to be members of The Burning Land. Maybe Bobby hadn’t been honest with me and felt like he needed an FBI surveillance team to keep track of me. A lot of thoughts ran through my head. I decided the best course of action was just to ask them.

I waited till the three of them were deep in discussion and stepped up almost behind them. I couldn’t hide my smile when all three of them jumped as I said, “Are you guys looking for me?”

Now I could see the black guy was in really good shape. About my age and almost as tall as me. The woman was also very fit. It was only the older white guy who clearly didn’t care anything about physical fitness. As I looked a little closer at him, I realized he didn’t care much about fashion either. His windbreaker had a mustard stain on it, and his tie looked even more ridiculous up close. It was a circus scene with judges and lawyers in the role of clowns.

They turned to stare at me. Like I was a giraffe at the zoo. I realized they were some kind of law enforcement. I said, “Is this like a surveillance practical from the academy? Do you guys want my notes on your effectiveness?”

Now the black guy spoke up. “Hello, Detective. I hope you’re having fun.”

“I am. I appreciate your efforts to make me laugh.”

He held up a credential case with a DC police badge on the outside. “I’m Paul Daggett. We’re assigned to Special Investigations. Can you guess why Special Investigations is at your hotel to talk to you?”

“Because I’m special?”

This time the woman answered. “We’re trying to be polite and show you some professional courtesy. You’re not making it easy.”

“You know why I’m not making it easy?”

The woman said, “Because your vagina hurts?”

I had to smile. Banter between cops could often be hysterical. I liked her attitude. I took a moment, then said, “If you’re serious about showing me courtesy, you would’ve walked up and introduced yourselves, not followed me around like stalkers.”

Daggett said, “You mean like the way you gave us a heads-up you were coming down to DC?”

“I did give a heads-up to the FBI.”

“Now I’ve heard it all. A New York City detective calls the FBI before he calls a DC detective.”

“How did you even know I was here? Why do you care?”

Daggett said, “If it goes on in the city, Special Investigations knows about it. Also, we’re looking for Emily Parker too. We don’t need some hotshot from New York to come down and tell us how to do things.”

“Or show you up?”

Daggett didn’t answer.

I said, “If you’re working so hard to find Emily, why are you here at my hotel hassling me instead of following leads? Maybe you’re not as sharp as you think.” I felt my face flush with anger. It had been a tough day. “I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to find Emily Parker. You’re not the only one who can make vague threats. I won’t bother you, and I expect the same.” I turned and walked away.

Daggett called after me, “If you interfere with any investigation, in any way, you’ll see us again. And you won’t be happy about it.”

I turned to look back at the three cops. “I’m not happy I saw you this time.” Then I looked at the older white cop, who hadn’t spoken. “You need to represent law enforcement better. Get your jacket dry-cleaned, lose about forty pounds, and get your head out of your ass.”

The fat cop said with a grin, “Your wife said she liked my belly.”

I couldn’t keep from smiling. That was petty, old-school-cop trash talk.





Chapter 17



I’d been to only three book signings in my life. Two of them were at a bookstore in New York called The Mysterious Bookshop. A buddy of mine who retired from the NYPD wrote a couple of novels. The bookstore was packed with his friends and supporters.

The other signing I went to was at a Barnes & Noble in Manhattan. I went with the kids, who wanted R. L. Stine to sign their Goosebumps books. It was a lot of fun, and the author could not have been more gracious. There were also about three thousand people waiting for him to sign.

That’s why when I walked into the quiet Barnes & Noble, I wondered if I’d gotten my days wrong. Then I found the area where author Julia Raz was speaking to six people in the front row of a nearly empty seating area. There were four more rows of ten folding chairs, each empty behind the six fans.

I sat quietly about halfway back. The author was in her mid forties and dressed in a sleek, professional skirt suit that would be a perfect fit for a corporate boardroom. Her dark hair was cut short, and expressive eyebrows flared behind designer glasses.

I listened as she gave a brief review of some of the justices who’d served on the Court over the past one hundred years. Then she started talking about the current Court. Nothing she said was particularly surprising or shocking.