The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [131]
He nodded, then glanced once more at his watch. Three thirty-two P.M. Twenty-four and a half hours since the attack on Glenda . . . Enough time for someone to cross the country. Enough time for someone to assume any manner of disguises. He wished once more he could talk to Rainie. Goddammit he had to leave this button alone!
The door opened. A young agent poked his head into the room. “They’re escorting Special Agent Montgomery to the interview room,” he reported.
Glenda nodded. The agent closed the door.
He took a deep breath. Then, he squared his shoulders and ran a hand down his jacket. “Well,” he said, “how do I look?”
Portland, Oregon
Twelve-eighteen P.M., Pacific standard time, Rainie and Kimberly were sitting side by side on the tiny sofa. From this vantage point, they could see into the adjoining bedroom on their right, or through the kitchenette area to the front door of the small suite on their left. They weren’t doing anything. They weren’t saying anything. They both simply stared at the phone.
“Why doesn’t he call?” Kimberly asked.
“He must not have anything to say.”
“I thought something would’ve happened by now!”
Rainie glanced at the hotel-room door. “So did I,” she murmured. “So did I.”
Virginia
Sitting in the dimly lit interrogation room, Special Agent Albert Montgomery looked pretty good for a man who’d been shot. He wore light-blue surgical scrubs in lieu of his customary rumpled suit. His mussed hair was combed, his face freshly scrubbed and slightly less jaundiced. His right hand, heavily bandaged, rested on the table. His left leg, with its recently repaired kneecap, was encased in a cast and propped up on a chair. All in all, he appeared quite comfortable and at ease.
They eyed each other steadily for the first thirty seconds, neither one of them wanting to blink first.
“You look like crap,” Montgomery said.
“Thank you, I worked on it all night.” He walked up to the table, but didn’t sit. From this vantage point, he could look down on Albert Montgomery. He could cross his arms over his chest and stare at this man as if he were the lowest form of life on earth. Albert simply smiled up at him. He’d also attended interrogation classes and knew the tricks.
“You sound like shit, too,” Albert said. “Catch a cold on the airplane, Quince? Those things are nothing but petri dishes with wings. And you’ve had plenty of time to incubate. East Coast, West Coast, East Coast. Tell me, Quincy, how does it feel to be a puppet on a string?”
His hands clenched. He almost rose to the bait, then remembered what Glenda had said. He couldn’t afford to kill Albert. Too much depended on what the man had to say.
He pulled out a chair and took a seat. “You wanted me here: I’m here. Now speak.”
“Still arrogant, huh Quincy? I wonder how arrogant you’re gonna be when the Philly detectives get through with you. Have you checked out their prison system yet? Maybe you can get a tour of your future home.”
“I’m not worried about the PPD.”
Albert stared at him. He stared back. Albert broke first. “Son of a bitch,” he rasped.
“What’s his name, Albert?”
Albert didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to the clock on the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You acted alone?”
“Sure I did. You don’t think that I hated you enough? You fucked my career, Quincy. You took my family, you ruined my life. Well hey, guess who has the last laugh. Where’s your beautiful daughter, Quince? Where’s the mother of your children? Where’s your own dear old dad who desperately depended upon you? And I don’t care what you say, when that report from Philly comes in, where’s your precious fucking career? The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“You didn’t do this.”
“Like hell.”
“You don’t have the brains.”
Albert’s face turned red. “You think you’re so smart, Quincy, consider this: Revenge. Fifteen long years of desperately wanting revenge. I could try to get the same case as you, set you up to fail, but that would