I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck tighten as my hair prickled upward. A tired bromide that I’d spouted to my wife only a few days before popped into my head, and I suddenly realized just how foretelling it had been.
The calm was over and a violent storm front was fast approaching. What’s more, Felicity and I were standing directly in its path.
CHAPTER 7:
“I already told you I don’t work for you,” Felicity spat angrily while remaining fully engaged in a “stare down” confrontation with a young, overly groomed, FBI agent.
The sun had been up for almost an hour now, and we had only just finished shooting the exterior of the motel, the parking lot, and Wentworth’s car when he had stopped us and quickly displayed his badge.
“That is not an issue,” he replied, his own gaze not wavering from the face of the petite redhead in front of him.
“It is for me.”
“Get over it.”
“All right then, who’s going to pay for the flash cards?”
“You’ll get them back when we’re finished,” he told her.
“Yeah, right,” she snipped.
Ben walked over to where we were standing, coming within earshot just in time to catch my wife’s adamant commentary. “What’s goin’ on here?” he asked. “Pay for what?”
“Flash memory cards,” I explained. “The FBI wants us to hand over the crime scene photos. We were just…”
“Bullshit!” my friend interjected without letting me finish. Even though his voice climbed a pair of notches in volume, he was still maintaining far more composure than I was used to seeing from him when dealing with most federal law enforcement. He shook his head and looked over at my wife. “Felicity, you got the film or whatever it is with ya’?”
“Aye,” she replied, not taking her heated stare off the agent.
“Givit here,” my friend said, holding out his hand and gesturing with a wag of his fingers.
She reached into her pocket and extracted the two compact flash cards then dropped them into Ben’s palm.
“That all of it?”
“Detective Storm,” the agent spoke up.
“Just a minute,” he snapped in return. “Felicity?”
“Yes, that’s all of it,” she replied. “Rowan, give him the log.”
I handed over the small notebook but kept my mouth shut.
Ben stepped back and scanned the activity on the parking lot then yelled, “Yo! Harrison. Over here.”
Across the way, a tousle of blonde hair poked up from beneath a trunk lid. The young woman was turned away from us and was wearing a jacket emblazoned with the words “CRIME SCENE UNIT” across the back. She turned around, and with a confused expression creasing her face, she pointed at herself and mouthed the word “me.”
“Yeah, you,” Ben yelled. “C’mere.”
“Detective Storm,” the FBI agent started in again. “You need to consider…”
“Fuck that,” he spat. “What I need ta’ consider is that I called ya’ in as a courtesy since the stiff is a federal judge. Other than that, it’s still a homicide that falls under local jurisdiction, and right now Major Case is gonna handle it. You wanna help, great. You wanna take over, fuck off.”
“Yes, sir?” the young woman spoke up at Ben’s side, interrupting before the agent could respond.
He turned to her immediately. “Yeah, look, Harrison…”
“Detective Storm!” the agent demanded.
Ben glared back and held up a finger as he declared, “I’m talkin’ ta’ Harrison right now.”
“Huddleston, sir,” the woman offered.
My friend looked back to the woman, creased his brow, shook his head, and then said, “What?”
“My name is Huddleston, sir. Not Harrison.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “I need ya’ ta’ take these to Murv. Tell ‘im to bag ‘em and process ‘em.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied as he handed the cards and log to her.
“…And stop callin’ me sir. You’re makin’ me feel old.”
As she hurried off we heard her reply, “Yes, sir.”
“Now,” Ben continued, turning back to the FBI agent. “You were sayin’?”
“Detective Storm, we assumed that since you called us, we could count on your cooperation.”
My friend planted his hands on his hips and gave a quick nod. “Cooperation, yeah. Rollin’ over and playin’ dead, fuck no. Once we get the pictures processed out, you want copies, no problem.
“Now if you wanna go in there right now and make your own scrapbook, have at it, but ya’ better get a move on before the coroner pulls the body.”
“Detective,” the agent attempted to reason with him, “As you said, you are dealing with a federal judge here. Hammond Wentworth is a very influential individual, and there are circumstances here that should remain confidential.”
“Listen, Agent…?”
“Drew.”
“Agent Drew, what ya’ got here ain’t circumstances, it’s a DEAD federal judge. He’s not gonna influence anybody anymore.”
“There is still the matter of how and where he was found,” Drew objected.
Ben was starting to get angry now. “This ain’t like sweepin’ another vice bust under the rug. This is a homicide.”
“I’m aware of that, but I’ve been in there. I know what the situation is. Those photographs could be very embarrassing…”
“Is that all you’re worried about?” Ben snapped.
“No, not entirely, but they are definitely an issue.”
“Well, don’t get all worked up about it,” my friend replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. “I’ll make sure we wait a few days before we put ‘em out on the fuckin’ internet, now why don’tcha go chase a terrorist or somethin’.”
“Thanks for not handin’ over the pictures to the Feebs,” Ben said to Felicity.
“Aye, no problem,” she replied. “I wasn’t about to.”
“Where’s Constance anyway?” I asked. “She wouldn’t have dreamed of getting pushy like that.”
I was referring to Constance Mandalay, an FBI special agent we had worked with several times in the past. Upon our first encounter, she had been much like Agent Drew. In fact, she was even worse. Within the course of that first investigation, however, she had done a complete about-face. She went from being a hard-nosed femme fatale out to prove herself to being a good and trusted friend. And in Ben’s case, ever since his divorce, she had become something even more.
“Talked to her last night. She’s still in D.C. Will be till the end of the week prob’ly.” He let out a harrumph before saying, “Yeah, I’d sure as hell rather be workin’ with her on this. But even if she was here right now, they’d most likely assign someone else.”
“So that means you two are still seeing each other then?” Felicity asked.
“Off and on, yeah,” he shrugged. “Right now. Kinda on. She’s been in D.C. for damn near a month though, so
