The Summer House(68)

Standing outside by the door is the motel’s manager, a squat, greasy-looking man named Farnsworth wearing dark-green pants, a white T-shirt, and suspenders. A taller, skinnier man wearing stained gray dress pants, a white dress shirt, and a blue necktie is standing next to the manager, and a uniformed deputy sheriff is standing just a few feet away.

“Yes?” she asks.

Farnsworth rubs his chubby hands together, looks embarrassed, and says, “Well, er, Mrs. York, I—”

“Special Agent York, please,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

The manager looks at the other men for support. “Well, I’m sorry, we have a situation here. This is Henry Abbott, the health inspector for the county, and he’s got an official order, and I’m sorry, I have to follow what he has to say.”

Connie knows exactly what’s coming and says, “What is it, Mr. Abbott? Mold in the walls? Poor electrical connections?”

He shakes his head, holds out a folded sheet of paper. “Sprinkler system out of order in this wing of the motel. Sorry. It’s a health hazard indeed. If a fire were to break out, you folks could be seriously injured. Or worse.”

The door next to hers swings open, and Special Agent Manuel Sanchez comes out, yawning, scratching at his lower back, and then instantly stopping at seeing the three men outside Connie’s room. He steps over and says, “What’s going on?”

Connie says, “We’re being kicked out. For health reasons. It seems the sprinkler system in this place is out of order, and the county is ordering us to leave our rooms.”

Sanchez looks at the deputy sheriff. “And that fella in the nice brown-and-tan uniform is going to make sure we comply. Right, Deputy?”

The deputy says, “Just the law, folks. You need to depart the premises straightaway. Please don’t make any trouble.”

Connie thinks of her meeting with the local newspaper reporter, only a few hours from now.

“No, at the moment we won’t do that,” she says. “Mr. Farnsworth, any chance you have some spare rooms on the other side of the motel?”

He shakes his head. “Not a one. Not with all those damn reporters.”

“And can you recommend any other place in the county where we can stay?”

For the briefest of moments, she sees the manager look at the deputy, and the deputy looks back, and there, without a word, is the answer.

“I see,” she says. “Sanchez, start packing. When Pierce and Huang get back, they’ll do the same.”





An hour later, after Pierce has briefed her and the others on Jefferson’s plan to plead guilty in less than two days—Good Lord, what a day this has turned out to be—she and the men are outside in the dark of the parking lot, luggage at their feet, standing next to their rental Fords. While the motel manager and the health inspector have left, the deputy sheriff has remained, casually leaning against the front fender of his cruiser.

Sanchez says, “Sorry, Connie—I mean, ma’am—there’s not a single damn motel room available anywhere near here. The nearest is in Georgetown.”

York stares at the deputy sheriff. “Remind me, is Georgetown in Sullivan County?”

“No,” Sanchez says as Huang and Pierce look on. “It’s in Chatham County.”

Connie picks up her bags, goes to the trunk of the nearest Ford. “No. We’re not leaving Sullivan County. Not tonight, and not until the job is over.”

She opens the trunk, and Pierce says, “Ah, ma’am, what do we do…I mean, what do we do in the meantime?”

Connie slams the trunk down. “I once pulled a twelve-hour surveillance on a drug mule who was supposed to show up at a welcome center in Fredericksburg on I-95. But my relief never showed up, and I had to spend a whole day and night in my car.”

She gives her squad a good, hard, determined look.

“You get used to it.”





Chapter 62



STAFF SERGEANT CALEB JEFFERSON is lying awake on his bunk sometime after midnight when a shadow passes by outside in the dim light, and Chief Kane appears in front of the barred door to his cell. Across the corridor Specialist Paulie Ruiz is doing what he does best when he’s sleeping: snoring.

“You have a visitor,” Kane says.

“Pretty late.”

“Don’t care,” he says.

“Well, I’m your guest at this fine facility, and I care.” Ruiz’s snoring goes on, and in the darkness, Jefferson smiles. Some would hate the noise, but after months of serving with the specialist, Jefferson finds it comforting, soothing, something that’s part of his life.

“Don’t matter,” the chief says. “Your visitor wants to see you. Now.”

Jefferson crosses his legs. “Sorry. It’s after visiting hours and I’m pretty damn comfortable where I am.”

Kane says, “Okay, Sergeant Jefferson, I—”

“Staff Sergeant.”

“All right, Staff Sergeant Jefferson, you’re a badass. I know that and you know that. Nothing to prove. But if you don’t get up and prep for a visit, I’ll call in my two brothers-in-law. They always wanted to be police but were too dumb to pass the test. But they’ll come in if I call them, and then I’ll open this cell door, pepper-spray you hard. And then my two idiot brothers-in-law will Taser you until you wet your pants. Then I’ll put you in restraints, and then you’ll make your visit, and at the end, you’ll still be a badass, and we’ll all know you’re a badass.”