Blowout by Catherine Coulter Page A

It’s really beautiful up there, all those arches, all those books.”
    Savich paused when Officer Biggs closed his eyes, licked his dry lips. He watched Sherlock lightly stroke the man’s forearm, soothing him.
    â€œAnyway, it was about a quarter of twelve, like you said, Agent Savich, and I was ready to chew off my elbows I wanted a smoke so bad. So I tell my supervisor, that’s Mrs. Parks, and she tells me to step out and do the deed. I get my coat and gloves out of the locker—we’re down in the basement, you know?”
    â€œYes, we know.”
    â€œAnd I went out from there, out the side door that’s next to the information desk. There’s lots of construction going on, and it looked like an unfinished Hollywood set out there, what with the piles of raw wood, the row of Porta Potties, temporary construction buildings, all covered with a sprinkling of white. It was pretty, but cold, real cold. Not much wind, which was good. I lit up. Ah—you can’t imagine how deep I sucked it in, the taste got me over my anger at Glyna.” He paused, and Savich imagined he was remembering the feeling of drawing that smoke deep into his lungs.
    â€œI was standing there, leaning my shoulder against the wall, thinking about stuff, you know? My son is in law school, but he’s having some trouble with it, and the fight with Glyna—then I heard something, something I shouldn’t have heard. We’re trained, you know, to tell sounds apart, to know which ones are the usual sounds of the building or the wind, which ones shouldn’t be there, even the sound of someone or something brushing against all that marble. I swear I can hear someone running a finger over the marble, you get real sensitive to stuff like that. Anyway, I was reaching for my gun as I turned, and something crashed down on my head. I was gone, Agent Savich. Just gone. I don’t even remember hitting the ground. I woke up here with a nurse leaning over me.”
    â€œThat’s excellent, Officer Biggs. Now, relax and think back again. You’re smoking, thinking about your son. Then you hear something. What is it exactly?”
    â€œLike someone was there, behind one of the temporary buildings, real close, not more than a half dozen feet away. I remember thinking, now what the hell is that? I even called out, ‘Who’s there?’ ”
    â€œThe sound was only six feet away?”
    â€œNot more than ten feet, that’s for sure. You saw the construction there, right? Nearly right against the building. Yeah, real close.”
    â€œHow long was it after you heard the noise that you were struck on the head?”
    â€œNot more than a couple of seconds. Like I said, I turned really fast when I heard it, came right to attention, you know? Drew my gun and everything. And just when I turned, I got smashed on the back of my head.”
    Sherlock said, “Do you think there were two people there, Officer Biggs? One to distract you, make you turn toward the noise, the other person behind you?”
    The man’s eyes closed again. Savich said, “That’s right, try to feel it again, try to remember exactly what you were thinking, hearing. Okay, you’re standing there, Officer Biggs, you’re alert, you’re listening. You’re at attention.”
    In a defeated voice filled with despair, Officer Biggs whispered, “Now that I really concentrate on it, I think it was one guy, Agent Savich. Maybe he tossed something to make me look in one direction, to distract me.”
    Sherlock stroked her fingers down to close them over his hand.
    â€œI think I would have felt it if there’d been two of them—I’ve got real good instincts for stuff like that, real sharp senses. But he still got me, still laid me flat.”
    â€œThank you, Officer Biggs. We’ll be speaking to you again, but not until you’re feeling better. You rest. You’ve given us