“That wasn’t part of
“What we didn’t count on was someone calling her and informing her that her friend was killed in a hit-and- run.” It was as close as he would ever come to telling his boss,
Tex laughed. “CIA?”
Their boss threw Tex a dark look, then tapped the drawing of Alessandra. “This forensic artist. Do you think she’s made any connections?”
“That’s exactly what I intend to find out.” Griffin turned to Tex. “You busy? I might need your skills in the next hour or so.”
5
Sydney unbuckled her seat belt when Zach Griffin double-parked his black Chevy Tahoe in front of Scotty’s apartment building with the confidence of someone who wasn’t worried about traffic tickets. “Thanks for the lift,” she said, sliding out, then hauling the straps of her bag and drawing case over her shoulder.
He lowered the passenger window after she shut the car door. “If you need anything, day or night, my cell is on the business card.”
She gave a small wave, then turned toward the building. The doorman opened the heavy glass door, and she walked in, taking the elevator to the third floor. Once inside, she threw her things on the couch, then called the D.C. field office to have the secretary let Scotty know she was going to borrow his personal car.
“He just came in for a quick break,” the secretary said. “I’ll put you through.”
“Catch the bank robbers?” Syd asked him when he answered his phone.
“They’re holed up on the south side, and MPDC’s doing a door-to-door search right now. They called us the moment it went down. Some serious shit going on. They were armed with assault rifles. I’m thinking Russian mafia, if the accents are any clue.”
“Any leads?”
“Why? You coming down to volunteer your time on the case?”
“No. But if I get bored, maybe I could borrow your personal car. Mine’s still at the airport.”
“Keys are on the kitchen counter…You doing okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. Have you heard anything about the funeral?”
“I believe her parents are having her body shipped home. I was thinking…if I get off in time, I’ll take you to dinner?”
“Sure,” she said, hoping that he had no illusions about making it anything more than what it was. Scotty had always entertained the idea that their breakup was only temporary, which was partially Sydney’s fault, because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him, and in the end, she’d had to do just that. “Scotty, you do realize-”
“Hate to cut this short, Syd, but they’re signaling me. SWAT’s getting ready to move in. Love you.”
He hung up, and she stood there, staring at the phone, his “Love you” echoing in her mind, making her think she shouldn’t have come here after all. There was a time when she used to be like him, black and white, by the book. It was why she’d fallen for him. She always knew where she stood with Scotty. Life was predictable.
When they’d lived together, that was precisely what she’d needed. Structure and order. He’d been good for her at a time when she’d needed it. Back then she would’ve never questioned the government’s need for secrecy about a forensic sketch. And, as Griffin had indicated, that was probably why they’d chosen her out of the several forensic artists they used around the country. It was probably stamped across her files, maybe even across her forehead, her belief that if the government needed her to know, they’d tell her.
Just like a good little FBI agent destined for promotion.
Now that seemed like a world away, a lifetime ago. A time when she’d believed that there was a clear demarcation between the good guys and the bad guys.
Back before she knew many of the details of her father’s murder. But she wasn’t about to let the past cloud her judgment, and right now, she had to admit that there was something suspicious about Zachary Griffin. She called Carillo. “You find anything else on this guy?”
“Didn’t we just talk? I’ve got cases, you know.”
“What’s more important? Your caseload, or my curiosity?” Phone to her ear, she walked over to the kitchen, looked around for Scotty’s car keys. “Are you saying you haven’t even heard what this guy did for the Agency?”
“They weren’t exactly forthcoming when I tried to inquire. Not to worry. You remember that PI friend of mine, helped me solve that case a while back? Dan Randolph of the Randolph Investigative Group?”
“Used to be a cop in the central valley.”
“Yeah, him. Might have almost as many connections as Doc Schermer does. Turns out he knows someone at DOJ, who knows someone at CIA, who told him that your guy was involved in the investigation of a bunch of microbiologists who had died suspiciously all within a few weeks of each other. Taken randomly one could dismiss the suicides, plane crashes, and a couple murders. Considering they all occurred within a few weeks after 9/11, it smacks of conspiracy, and even though it was played down in the press, his agency felt it needed looking into. Couple that with the fact that no one keeps better tabs on every microbiologist on the face of the earth than the CIA does, and it tells me he was at least, at that time, with them. He still with you?”
“Dropped me off at Scotty’s. I need to schedule a flight home and I might just go out to grab some lunch.”
“You want something more than the peanut butter Scotty keeps as a staple?”
“Aren’t you the funny one. Call me if you hear anything else on this guy.”
“Good luck with the lunch thing.”
“Thanks.”
She hung up, switched on Scotty’s computer to schedule a flight home, then arrange to have flowers sent to Tasha’s parents in Kansas. The moment she did, she was tempted to look up any news articles on Tasha’s hit-and- run, as well as any Jane Does found in the area in the last couple of weeks. But then she talked herself out of it. She knew the risks. She’d gone that route before-getting involved in something best left alone-and had nearly gotten her family, her young sister killed in the process…
Besides, maybe Tasha’s death had nothing to do with the case.
Her gaze swept over the computer screen. What could be the harm in just looking? Seeing what sort of information might show up on the hit-and-run? No. She wouldn’t do it. She didn’t trust herself enough. Not after the danger she’d dragged to her very doorstep while looking into her father’s murder…Scotty’s Web browser home page was set to the metro area news. There was the typical uprising in the Middle East, the current breaking-news hunt for the bank robbery suspects, a married CEO from a top Fortune 500 company apologizing for his inappropriate affair with a college student, and the latest stock news.
After a quick scan of the headlines, she perused the flights home, trying to decide between a late morning and an early afternoon flight. She needed to decide how much time she was willing to spend with Scotty, and wondered if she should settle for a red-eye flying out tonight.
What she should have done was accept the free flight home that Griffin offered, then she wouldn’t be sitting here trying to decide, while her stomach protested that she hadn’t had a bite since breakfast. She got up to find something to eat. Just as Carillo guessed, peanut butter and jelly was all Scotty seemed to have in the house. Some things never changed, she thought, staring out the window, absently pulling the crust from her sandwich. A light sprinkle misted the sidewalk and slush piles below, the few pedestrians rushing to their destinations in case it turned into a real rain.
She liked this neighborhood, and for a moment she contemplated the idea of finding an apartment somewhere nearby-once she finally got around to actually looking. She’d lived here a short time with Scotty before they’d broken up, and she missed the area, the older tree-lined street, the Heavenly Java coffee shop on one corner and Raja’s Star of India restaurant on the other. In the summertime, you couldn’t see the sidewalk through the trees, but in
