The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [111]
“To make matters worse, that asshole Garrison called me.” The anger returned. “He said he has some photos to show me that might help the case.”
“Why would he suddenly want to help?”
Silence. Maggie knew it. There had to be something in it for Garrison. But what?
“He wants something from me,” Racine admitted, going from fear to anger to embarrassment.
“He wants something like what? Sorry, Racine, but you’re not getting off that easy. What does he want?”
“He wants photos.”
“What photos could he possibly want from you?”
“No, he wants to take photos of me.” Racine let the anger slip out.
“Oh, Jesus!” Maggie couldn’t believe it. No wonder Racine sounded like an emotional wreck. “And why would he think that’s possible?”
“Cut the crap, O’Dell. You know why he thinks it’s possible.”
So the rumors were true. The stories about Racine exchanging favors weren’t just crude locker-room talk.
“Does he realize we could already have him arrested for obstructing a police investigation?”
“I told him.”
“And?”
“He laughed.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. I’ll talk to Cunningham. You talk to Henderson. Let’s bring him in.”
“I’m in enough trouble, O’Dell. If Garrison is bluffing—”
“If Garrison’s as arrogant as I think he is, and he does have something, then we’ll just convince him it’s in his best interests to share that information.”
“And just how do we convince him?”
“I’m gonna give Cunningham a call. You talk to Henderson and call me back. Let’s bring this asshole in.”
Maggie hung up the phone, put the Scotch aside and felt a renewed energy. Gently she nudged Harvey awake. Suddenly, she found herself grateful for bastards like Garrison.
CHAPTER 58
WEDNESDAY
November 27
Washington, D.C.
Ben Garrison pretended to keep his cool while he sat and waited in the middle of the twelfth precinct, handcuffed to a fucking chair. Officers shoved their way around him, ignoring him. A stoned, toothless hooker kept smiling at him from across the room. She even winked at him once, uncrossed her legs and gave him a Sharon Stone view of her merchandise. He wasn’t impressed.
His wrists itched under the too-tight handcuffs. The chair’s wobbly legs drove him nuts, and he shoved it back against the wall, drawing scowls from the two bastards who brought him in. He still couldn’t believe Racine would do this. Who would have thought she had it in her? Oddly, it only made him want to fuck her all the more.
He returned from Boston to find two of the District’s finest waiting for him at his apartment. At first, he thought Mrs. Fowler was having him evicted, especially if she smelled the fumigator crap he had left for the cockroaches to enjoy. And if the little bastards had escaped into the rest of the building, the poor old woman probably would have a coronary. But, no, it wasn’t Mrs. Fowler. It was Racine. What a surprise. The little cunt had a game plan all of her own. And part of it, obviously, was to make him wait.
Well, he refused to let her ruin his lucky streak, especially after he had just spent the morning blowing away Britt Harwood with yet another Garrison exclusive. Ben smiled. Not much Racine could do about the photos that would be in this evening’s Boston Globe.
Hell, he had done what he wanted with the prints, so, no, he didn’t mind sharing them with Racine. He had planned to, anyway. She couldn’t blame a guy for wanting a little treat in return.
“They’re ready for you, Garrison,” one of the thick-necked Neanderthals in blue said as he undid one handcuff to release Ben from the chair, then quickly snapped it onto his wrist again. When Ben stood, the guy grabbed his elbow and led him down the hall.
The room was small, with no windows and several pockmarks in the bare walls, some small enough to be bullet holes, a couple of large ones that looked like someone had tried to put a fist or head through the plaster. The room smelled like burnt toast and sweaty gym socks. The officer sat him down in one of the chairs that surrounded the table. Then he did his little weaving trick again