digging up what I could, stirring up the rest until I could sift it out. I wouldn't have started with Anthony Corliss and Maggie Brennan because I didn't want them to think I was focused on them. I would work my way around to them, letting word of my interrogations filter through the hallways, goosing the anxiety that might make them slip—if there was reason for them to slip.
These weren't the old days. I couldn't make it through a day with this much in-your-face face time without getting wobbly and I didn't want to take someone on when the brain fog was rolling in. It wasn't three o'clock and I was done, frustrated that I couldn't even keep banker's hours. Lucy was right. I needed help from someone who knew how to ask the right questions and could go the distance. I left her a message on her cell phone to come and get me.
My body settled and the synapses in my brain reopened for business while I waited, giving me time to make a mental to-do list. My ex-brothers and sisters in the FBI were building a murder case against me constructed out of fear and loathing. All I had to do to exonerate myself was give them the five million dollars they thought Wendy stole while convincing them that I'd known where the money was all along so they would believe that I had no reason to kill Walter Enoch. At least they wouldn't charge me with murder.
None of this made much sense, and some of it wouldn't make sense even when it was all over. That was the trouble with murder. It made things weird.
Chapter Nineteen
Milo Harper opened my door without knocking, the interruption finishing my to-do list. His sweater hung tentlike from rounded shoulders, his cargo pants sagged from his waist to the floor. He had a slight sheen on his forehead as if he'd ran up three flights of stairs but his gray pallor made it more likely that he was fighting a fever.
"Busy?" he asked.
"Not for you."
He took a seat across from my desk. "You look like you've taken a punch that you didn't see coming."
I laughed. "It's the shaking and it doesn't matter if I see it coming. You don't look so good yourself."
He sighed. "Three hours of sleep will do that to you after a while."
"So dial it back. You must have people who have people who can do whatever it is you're doing between midnight and six A.M."
He ran one hand through his hair. "Actually, I've got more people than that but none of them are on my clock. You know what I see everyday when I look in the mirror? I see the light in my brain getting dimmer. I'm not going to waste any of the time I have left before it goes dark."
"I've got to say it again. You don't look or act like anyone I've ever seen with Alzheimer's. You don't miss a trick."
"I can still navigate but I know what's coming and I'm not going there. I won't end up lying in bed, weighing eighty-five pounds with a feeding tube waiting for a nurse to wipe my butt not knowing who or what I am. I'll check out on my own terms long before then."
I had no answer to that and no idea why he was in my office. I waited for him to tell me.
"Sherry came to see me."
"I was late for lunch. She didn't like that."
"No, she wouldn't like that. She says you think one of our people murdered Tom Delaney. Is that true?"
"It's possible," I said, running through the anomalies in the Delaney report.
"You've got to go to the police with this."
"I did that. McNair likes his closed cases to stay closed."
"Go over his head. I'll call the chief of police."
"He'll back up his people unless we've got something better. Plus, Jason Bolt will scream cover-up if he finds out you pressured the department."
"So what do we do?"
"You do your job and I'll do mine."
"I can do mine a lot better if Sherry isn't in my office every five minutes complaining about you. Do me a favor, work with her."
"I can do that as long as I know where she fits in."
"She's my older sister. Practically raised me. She's smarter than me and she's my eyes and ears. When you have as much money
These weren't the old days. I couldn't make it through a day with this much in-your-face face time without getting wobbly and I didn't want to take someone on when the brain fog was rolling in. It wasn't three o'clock and I was done, frustrated that I couldn't even keep banker's hours. Lucy was right. I needed help from someone who knew how to ask the right questions and could go the distance. I left her a message on her cell phone to come and get me.
My body settled and the synapses in my brain reopened for business while I waited, giving me time to make a mental to-do list. My ex-brothers and sisters in the FBI were building a murder case against me constructed out of fear and loathing. All I had to do to exonerate myself was give them the five million dollars they thought Wendy stole while convincing them that I'd known where the money was all along so they would believe that I had no reason to kill Walter Enoch. At least they wouldn't charge me with murder.
None of this made much sense, and some of it wouldn't make sense even when it was all over. That was the trouble with murder. It made things weird.
Chapter Nineteen
Milo Harper opened my door without knocking, the interruption finishing my to-do list. His sweater hung tentlike from rounded shoulders, his cargo pants sagged from his waist to the floor. He had a slight sheen on his forehead as if he'd ran up three flights of stairs but his gray pallor made it more likely that he was fighting a fever.
"Busy?" he asked.
"Not for you."
He took a seat across from my desk. "You look like you've taken a punch that you didn't see coming."
I laughed. "It's the shaking and it doesn't matter if I see it coming. You don't look so good yourself."
He sighed. "Three hours of sleep will do that to you after a while."
"So dial it back. You must have people who have people who can do whatever it is you're doing between midnight and six A.M."
He ran one hand through his hair. "Actually, I've got more people than that but none of them are on my clock. You know what I see everyday when I look in the mirror? I see the light in my brain getting dimmer. I'm not going to waste any of the time I have left before it goes dark."
"I've got to say it again. You don't look or act like anyone I've ever seen with Alzheimer's. You don't miss a trick."
"I can still navigate but I know what's coming and I'm not going there. I won't end up lying in bed, weighing eighty-five pounds with a feeding tube waiting for a nurse to wipe my butt not knowing who or what I am. I'll check out on my own terms long before then."
I had no answer to that and no idea why he was in my office. I waited for him to tell me.
"Sherry came to see me."
"I was late for lunch. She didn't like that."
"No, she wouldn't like that. She says you think one of our people murdered Tom Delaney. Is that true?"
"It's possible," I said, running through the anomalies in the Delaney report.
"You've got to go to the police with this."
"I did that. McNair likes his closed cases to stay closed."
"Go over his head. I'll call the chief of police."
"He'll back up his people unless we've got something better. Plus, Jason Bolt will scream cover-up if he finds out you pressured the department."
"So what do we do?"
"You do your job and I'll do mine."
"I can do mine a lot better if Sherry isn't in my office every five minutes complaining about you. Do me a favor, work with her."
"I can do that as long as I know where she fits in."
"She's my older sister. Practically raised me. She's smarter than me and she's my eyes and ears. When you have as much money
Similar Books
