Honeymoon - James Patterson [80]
“Upon further investigation we turned up an odd coincidence. The guy’s fiancée, Nora Sinclair, was previously married to a doctor in New York who died the same way. Get this, he was a cardiologist. The good news is she probably wasn’t a terrorist. The bad news is she was probably involved with both deaths.”
Again, Vointman opened his mouth, his original question even more valid. As a section leader of the serial murder unit, the case definitely should’ve been thrown his way.
As before, Walsh cut him off. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “We couldn’t turn it over to your group, Ed, without being a hundred percent sure this Nora woman wasn’t a shill for someone or, unlikely as it may seem now, some sort of operative herself. Long story short, we went with O’Hara because he was experienced with both those scenarios. He worked undercover for four years with the NYPD, and his profile matched well with the mark. He was even working on another related assignment at the time.
“In other words, he had the right look and—at least, we thought—was good at using his head.” He turned to me with a steely glare. “Of course, we were thinking about the one above the waist.”
Walsh reached out again and hit the RECORD button. “But I disagree,” he said.
It was all downhill from there.
For the next hour I fielded questions on every aspect of my investigation into Nora Sinclair. Every decision I made, and those that I didn’t. Especially those that I didn’t. The panel was relentless. I became their human piñata, and everybody was sure to take their whacks.
When it was done, Walsh gave his thanks to everyone, then excused the room. I assumed I was free to go as well. That’s when he told me to stay put.
Chapter 105
THE REST OF THE disciplinary panel had filed out, and it was just the three of us. Walsh. Me. The tape machine. Everything was very still. For twenty, maybe thirty seconds, all he did was stare at me.
“Am I supposed to be saying something?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Are you supposed to be saying something?”
“Probably not. But I’m going to ask the question anyway.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms tight against his chest. His eyes bore right into mine. “I’m going to get a phone call from upstairs, aren’t I?”
The man was uncanny. “What makes you say that?”
“Let’s say it’s a hunch,” he said with a slow nod. “You’re too smart to be this dumb.”
“I guess I’ve had worse compliments.”
He ignored the sarcasm. “You got caught with your pants down, literally, but something tells me you’ve still got your ass covered.”
I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to see if he’d keep talking, maybe reveal the source of his “hunch.” He didn’t.
“I’m impressed, Frank.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “It was written all over your face.”
“Remind me not to play poker with you.”
“I can still make this exceedingly tough for you.”
“I’m very aware of that, too.”
“Nothing changes what you did, how badly you screwed up.”
“I’m very aware of that.”
He closed his file. “You can go.”
I stood.
“Oh, one other thing, O’Hara.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I know all about your other assignment. I knew from the start. I’m in the loop. I know you’re the Tourist.”
Chapter 106
WHEN I WALKED into Susan’s office a few minutes later, she was standing at the window, staring out on what was a drizzly afternoon. It was hard not to notice the symbolism of her having her back to me.
“How bad was it?” she asked without turning around.
“It was really bad.”
“Scale of one to ten.”
“Eighteen, nineteen.”
“No, seriously.”
“A nine, maybe,” I said. “I won’t know anything for a week.”
“Until then?”
“They chain my ankles to my desk.”
“They really ought to chain something else.”
“For the record, that’s now the second dick joke I’ve gotten today.”
“What’d you expect?”
“I don’t know, but I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have this entire conversation with your