exactly?"
Although Brogan lacked imagination, he made up for his shortcoming with a genuine enthusiasm to execute a direct order. A quality Cavanaugh appreciated in a subordinate.
"To start, let's consolidate the merchandise. You know what to do. I can't have the police nosing around my affairs."
Cavanaugh recognized the necessity for shoring up his defenses, but he resented his need to do so.
"How far do you want me to go . . . with the detective?"
He saw the glint in Brogan's dark eyes and marveled at what little it took to amuse him. Despite Brogan's eagerness, Cavanaugh wondered if he could entrust his well-being to such a man. He took a deep breath.
"I have some ideas on the subject. Pour a brandy for both of us, Mr. Brogan. Let's talk."
Becca had to slow her steps as she trekked down the corridor to Lieutenant Santiago's office. Gauging by the play of light from a window, she knew his door was open. When she rounded the corner and stepped inside, Santiago looked up, his expression stern. But he wasn't alone.
"Detective Montgomery. Please come in and close the door." Santiago gestured for her to sit. She shut the door but remained standing.
Paul Murphy, dressed in a dark gray suit, white shirt, and his favorite red power tie, turned from the window as she entered the office. He leaned against the sill, arms crossed. Murphy stared at her, his expression blank. That surprised her. Normally, the man wore his smugness like an extra layer of skin. Arrogance fit him like a glove.
But the balding man to Murphy's left captured her attention. Tall and lanky, the older man wore his suit as if he were a human coat hanger. An unflattering cut couldn't be blamed for the guy's inability to fill it out. His dark eyes looked like two lumps of coal set amidst the deep wrinkles creasing his face. She got the distinct impression the lines were not caused by his stellar sense of humor. Becca extended her hand to force an introduction.
"I don't believe we've met. My name's Detective Rebecca . . ."
"I know who you are, Detective. Please take a seat." He didn't reach for her hand.
"This is Mike Draper with the FBI's Criminal Investigative Division out of DC."
Santiago made the one-sided introduction for her benefit. Without a word, Draper glared at her lieutenant, a look intended as a directive to get started. And Santiago complied, without so much as an insolent scowl.
"Draper has some questions for you. I expect your cooperation." Santiago turned his gaze to the man standing near the window.
"Your investigation on the arson fire and the bones found at the theater. Brief me on the case and the meeting you had with Hunter Cavanaugh this morning," Draper commanded.
"Sir, I can do that, but I'd rather talk about my sister's . . ."
"Your sister's investigation is off-limits to you. Now tell me about this case and Cavanaugh's involvement," the man insisted.
Becca tried to read him, but the fed didn't allow it. Something was going down, and she wouldn't be a part of it. She took a seat in the chair nearest her. Becca stared at the men who would deny her and made a deliberate choice. She was damned tired of playing by their rules.
"Not much to report yet, sir. I've got an appointment with the Medical Examiner this afternoon. No ID on the victim. As you know, nothing much can happen until we get that identification."
"Tell me about your meeting with Cavanaugh. What transpired?"
"We had coffee, sir," she replied. In a roomful of interrogators, she had to remain calm, an open book. "Cavanaugh seemed surprised to hear about the skeletal remains found after the fire. I don't think he's going to be much help. He's not even the owner of record for the property anymore. It's some kind of historical site."
If Santiago had gotten a complaint from Cavanaugh, her lieutenant would know she had lied about not knowing the identity of the victim. Her lie by omission. He gave no sign of that, so she stuck with her makeshift game plan. Becca had
Although Brogan lacked imagination, he made up for his shortcoming with a genuine enthusiasm to execute a direct order. A quality Cavanaugh appreciated in a subordinate.
"To start, let's consolidate the merchandise. You know what to do. I can't have the police nosing around my affairs."
Cavanaugh recognized the necessity for shoring up his defenses, but he resented his need to do so.
"How far do you want me to go . . . with the detective?"
He saw the glint in Brogan's dark eyes and marveled at what little it took to amuse him. Despite Brogan's eagerness, Cavanaugh wondered if he could entrust his well-being to such a man. He took a deep breath.
"I have some ideas on the subject. Pour a brandy for both of us, Mr. Brogan. Let's talk."
Becca had to slow her steps as she trekked down the corridor to Lieutenant Santiago's office. Gauging by the play of light from a window, she knew his door was open. When she rounded the corner and stepped inside, Santiago looked up, his expression stern. But he wasn't alone.
"Detective Montgomery. Please come in and close the door." Santiago gestured for her to sit. She shut the door but remained standing.
Paul Murphy, dressed in a dark gray suit, white shirt, and his favorite red power tie, turned from the window as she entered the office. He leaned against the sill, arms crossed. Murphy stared at her, his expression blank. That surprised her. Normally, the man wore his smugness like an extra layer of skin. Arrogance fit him like a glove.
But the balding man to Murphy's left captured her attention. Tall and lanky, the older man wore his suit as if he were a human coat hanger. An unflattering cut couldn't be blamed for the guy's inability to fill it out. His dark eyes looked like two lumps of coal set amidst the deep wrinkles creasing his face. She got the distinct impression the lines were not caused by his stellar sense of humor. Becca extended her hand to force an introduction.
"I don't believe we've met. My name's Detective Rebecca . . ."
"I know who you are, Detective. Please take a seat." He didn't reach for her hand.
"This is Mike Draper with the FBI's Criminal Investigative Division out of DC."
Santiago made the one-sided introduction for her benefit. Without a word, Draper glared at her lieutenant, a look intended as a directive to get started. And Santiago complied, without so much as an insolent scowl.
"Draper has some questions for you. I expect your cooperation." Santiago turned his gaze to the man standing near the window.
"Your investigation on the arson fire and the bones found at the theater. Brief me on the case and the meeting you had with Hunter Cavanaugh this morning," Draper commanded.
"Sir, I can do that, but I'd rather talk about my sister's . . ."
"Your sister's investigation is off-limits to you. Now tell me about this case and Cavanaugh's involvement," the man insisted.
Becca tried to read him, but the fed didn't allow it. Something was going down, and she wouldn't be a part of it. She took a seat in the chair nearest her. Becca stared at the men who would deny her and made a deliberate choice. She was damned tired of playing by their rules.
"Not much to report yet, sir. I've got an appointment with the Medical Examiner this afternoon. No ID on the victim. As you know, nothing much can happen until we get that identification."
"Tell me about your meeting with Cavanaugh. What transpired?"
"We had coffee, sir," she replied. In a roomful of interrogators, she had to remain calm, an open book. "Cavanaugh seemed surprised to hear about the skeletal remains found after the fire. I don't think he's going to be much help. He's not even the owner of record for the property anymore. It's some kind of historical site."
If Santiago had gotten a complaint from Cavanaugh, her lieutenant would know she had lied about not knowing the identity of the victim. Her lie by omission. He gave no sign of that, so she stuck with her makeshift game plan. Becca had
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