The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [381]
“Not that I can see. Hey, why not? We’re on Mason Lord’s turf. Let him glean information for the case.” He grinned at Lord. “I would discourage breaking and entering, though.”
In that instant Molly realized her father had been standing there stiff as a poker. Now she saw him ease up, saw those aristocratic hands unclench, the long lean fingers uncurl. The cops were admitting him. They wanted to involve him. He didn’t smile, no, he’d never go that far, but there was something in his expression that held at least some degree more warmth than usual.
WARREN O’Dell was completely bald—probably through shaving—and looked like a longshoreman, exactly the opposite from what you’d expect of an accountant. He did wear wire-rimmed glasses, though. He had something of the look of Michael Jordan.
When he spoke, you saw he had yellow teeth from too much smoking. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers and his palms. He spared one glance for Ramsey, his full attention on Mason Lord. Then he did a double take. “I know you,” he said, staring hard.
Ramsey smiled and said, “I’m Ramsey Hunt.”
“You’re that federal judge in California who jumped over the railing and chopped up a group of terrorists in your courtroom.”
“That’s the way things worked out. It was just a little group.”
Mason Lord cleared his throat, and suddenly Warren O’Dell turned pale. “Uh, sir,” he said, nodding his head and making a sweeping gesture with his hand toward an expensive white leather sofa. “Please, sit down. I was devastated at the news of Louey’s death. I was going to call you.”
“Were you now, Warren?” Mason said. “Why?”
It was obvious that Warren O’Dell was scared spitless. He was standing in the middle of his beautifully furnished office on the nineteenth floor of the McCord Building on Michigan Avenue looking as if he wanted to jump out a window.
“Yes, sir,” he said finally. “I would have called you as soon as it happened, but it was such a shock, you know. I couldn’t pull myself together until just this morning. Louey’s dead, blown up by a car bomb. I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem possible. I heard you allowed the cops to investigate?”
Ramsey felt a small ripple of surprise in his gut. Did O’Dell consider Mason Lord to be some sort of god with total immunity?
“It was murder, Warren. I’m a law-abiding citizen,” Mason said, his voice austere, as if he’d been the one to insist on the cops coming in. He looked toward Ramsey. “Judge Hunt is the man who saved Molly’s daughter.”
“Oh, yes, now I see. I couldn’t imagine why he was here, with you, seeing me. It’s the shock of Louey’s death. It’s shaken me badly. I gave my girl the day off I was so upset.”
“I see you have some boxes shoved behind your desk, Warren. I don’t suppose you were planning to destroy some documents? Perhaps in preparation for a nice long vacation?”
“Oh no, sir. I was just cleaning house. Nothing more.”
“I’ll see that you get any assistance you require,” Mason said.
“No, sir, I’m just fine, really.”
Mason Lord barely raised his voice. “Gunther.”
The huge man was there in the doorway, looking dead on at Warren O’Dell. As if O’Dell were a bug, Ramsey thought.
“Yes, Mr. Lord?”
“We need to assist Mr. O’Dell. See those boxes shoved behind that impressive mahogany desk of his? We’ll take those and have a look at them. Ramsey, maybe you would be so kind as to look through Mr. O’Dell’s file cabinets.”
“I have some questions first,” Ramsey said.
“Please, Mr. Lord, there’s really nothing—”
Mason Lord raised his hand. O’Dell was instantly silent. “Judge Hunt wants to ask you some questions, Warren. You will answer them completely and honestly.”
Warren O’Dell’s bald head glistened with perspiration. He watched Gunther carrying