seemed to want to know me a lot more than I wanted to know him.
I understood that trying to figure out who killed Roger Burke was the type of task Jacob wouldn’t be able to drop until he found an answer. Maybe now that I’d introduced good ol’ Roger’s final “statement,” Jacob would be that much closer to his big discovery. What I hoped was that he’d find out Roger was lying; it wouldn’t be news to anyone that my ex-partner wasn’t exactly trustworthy. Or maybe he’d find that Laura Kim was some kind of double-agent…a very convincing double agent who did a damn good impression of a thirty-something office worker.
What I was worried he’d discover, though, was that Con Dreyfuss had put out that hit himself, and then saddled Jacob with the case to distract him while I was lured into the FPMP fold. And that Dreyfuss had concocted some kind of whammy to cover his tracks so the sí-no couldn’t expose his machinations.
As I imagined the smoldering look in Jacob’s eyes, the look that resulted from all that thinking and deducing and knowing, the man himself stepped out of the elevator and veered in the direction of the black Crown Vic. Then he noticed me standing there with Bly, since nothing slips by him. He course-corrected and headed toward the corner of the parking garage, the spot where we stood to watch the agents, one by one, head home.
Jacob approached. Bly said, “Agent Marks?” and offered his hand. “Agent Bly.”
Trying to get a read off Jacob was futile. I made an attempt anyway, since I was curious if he’d turned up any new info while I was touring a bunch of boring office space. I came up with nothing. His expression, his posture, his voice, everything about him was placidly neutral. Though he did seem to spend an extra nanosecond sizing up Bly. “Just about wrapping things up?” he asked me, which meant he was ready to leave—on time, even—and that he also had some juicy news, too. I could hardly wait to get home and—
“We’ve seen everything but the lab,” Bly said.
I paused with my weight shifted in the direction of my car.
“You’re not going to take off before you check out the lab,” Bly said, “right?”
Crap. If I’d known there was a lab on premises, I would have looked at it first, before I wasted my time poking through archives and personnel.
“Mind if I join you?” Jacob put in smoothly.
Bly gave the laminated badge clipped to Jacob’s lapel a quick glance. Just checking, or looking for a reason to turn Jacob away? Hard to say, but apparently he was satisfied with whatever clearance level he found there. “The more, the merrier. Let’s go.”
* * *
It’s bad enough that we head underground. Add to that the thickness of the steel doors and the creepy wheezing sound they make when they close. Top it off with a scientist who’s way too happy to meet me. Now you’ve got a good idea of how comfortable I felt in the FPMP lab.
“My name is Kudryasvstev,” our host said in a lilting Russian accent, “so everyone calls me Dr. K.” This scientist didn’t look much older than Jacob, but he exuded an unflappable, worldly, hard-earned jocularity. Nothing would shock this guy. Nothing would slip past his notice, either. The whole time, he’d be content to observe the proceedings, rocking on the balls of his feet with his belly thrust forward, hands jammed into the pockets of his lab coat, and an enigmatic gaptoothed smile on his broad Slavic face. A smile that was currently turned on me. “And you…are the PsyCop.”
I dry-swallowed. “That would be me.”
“Thirteen years,” he said. I almost corrected him and said twelve when I realized he was right. Why did he know more about me than I did? “That’s a long time.”
“Not necessarily.” Although lately, I’d been feeling every last minute of it.
“Long enough,” Dr. K said. “Especially in the field of Psych. It’s like aeronautics in the thirties, or computers in the
I understood that trying to figure out who killed Roger Burke was the type of task Jacob wouldn’t be able to drop until he found an answer. Maybe now that I’d introduced good ol’ Roger’s final “statement,” Jacob would be that much closer to his big discovery. What I hoped was that he’d find out Roger was lying; it wouldn’t be news to anyone that my ex-partner wasn’t exactly trustworthy. Or maybe he’d find that Laura Kim was some kind of double-agent…a very convincing double agent who did a damn good impression of a thirty-something office worker.
What I was worried he’d discover, though, was that Con Dreyfuss had put out that hit himself, and then saddled Jacob with the case to distract him while I was lured into the FPMP fold. And that Dreyfuss had concocted some kind of whammy to cover his tracks so the sí-no couldn’t expose his machinations.
As I imagined the smoldering look in Jacob’s eyes, the look that resulted from all that thinking and deducing and knowing, the man himself stepped out of the elevator and veered in the direction of the black Crown Vic. Then he noticed me standing there with Bly, since nothing slips by him. He course-corrected and headed toward the corner of the parking garage, the spot where we stood to watch the agents, one by one, head home.
Jacob approached. Bly said, “Agent Marks?” and offered his hand. “Agent Bly.”
Trying to get a read off Jacob was futile. I made an attempt anyway, since I was curious if he’d turned up any new info while I was touring a bunch of boring office space. I came up with nothing. His expression, his posture, his voice, everything about him was placidly neutral. Though he did seem to spend an extra nanosecond sizing up Bly. “Just about wrapping things up?” he asked me, which meant he was ready to leave—on time, even—and that he also had some juicy news, too. I could hardly wait to get home and—
“We’ve seen everything but the lab,” Bly said.
I paused with my weight shifted in the direction of my car.
“You’re not going to take off before you check out the lab,” Bly said, “right?”
Crap. If I’d known there was a lab on premises, I would have looked at it first, before I wasted my time poking through archives and personnel.
“Mind if I join you?” Jacob put in smoothly.
Bly gave the laminated badge clipped to Jacob’s lapel a quick glance. Just checking, or looking for a reason to turn Jacob away? Hard to say, but apparently he was satisfied with whatever clearance level he found there. “The more, the merrier. Let’s go.”
* * *
It’s bad enough that we head underground. Add to that the thickness of the steel doors and the creepy wheezing sound they make when they close. Top it off with a scientist who’s way too happy to meet me. Now you’ve got a good idea of how comfortable I felt in the FPMP lab.
“My name is Kudryasvstev,” our host said in a lilting Russian accent, “so everyone calls me Dr. K.” This scientist didn’t look much older than Jacob, but he exuded an unflappable, worldly, hard-earned jocularity. Nothing would shock this guy. Nothing would slip past his notice, either. The whole time, he’d be content to observe the proceedings, rocking on the balls of his feet with his belly thrust forward, hands jammed into the pockets of his lab coat, and an enigmatic gaptoothed smile on his broad Slavic face. A smile that was currently turned on me. “And you…are the PsyCop.”
I dry-swallowed. “That would be me.”
“Thirteen years,” he said. I almost corrected him and said twelve when I realized he was right. Why did he know more about me than I did? “That’s a long time.”
“Not necessarily.” Although lately, I’d been feeling every last minute of it.
“Long enough,” Dr. K said. “Especially in the field of Psych. It’s like aeronautics in the thirties, or computers in the
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