The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [112]
Ben wanted to point out that if he really wanted, he could fold up the chair and simply take it with him, maybe even knocking some heads with it on his way out. But now probably wasn’t a good time to be a smart-ass, so he sat quietly, expecting to be in for another wait.
Surprisingly, Racine came in within minutes, stopping to consult the Neanderthal at the door before she even acknowledged Ben’s presence. She was followed in by an attractive dark-haired woman in an official-looking navy suit. He thought he recognized her. Surely, he’d remember. What a treat! Two police babes.
Racine looked pretty good, too. If she wanted to look butch, she would need to try harder. Although he had to admit her spiky blond hair looked like she had just gotten out of the shower, and she had no fashion sense. Today she had on blue jeans and a sweater that he wished was tighter. But with no jacket—thank goodness—it was still a rush seeing her in the leather shoulder holster with the butt of her Glock tucked nicely under her left breast. Yes, indeed, he could already feel the effect. Poor Racine. She probably thought hauling him in here would be some sort of punishment.
The Neanderthal brought in Ben’s duffel bag and set it on the table. Then he left, closing the door behind him. Racine pulled out a chair and put up one foot, trying to look tough. The other woman leaned against the wall, crossed her arms and began examining Ben.
“So, Garrison, glad we could finally arrange that little meeting you wanted,” Racine said. “This is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell with the FBI. Thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if we made this a threesome.”
“Sorry, Racine. If this is your idea of intimidation then you’re gonna be really disappointed when I tell you you’re giving me an incredible hard-on.”
She didn’t blush, not even slightly. Maybe Detective Racine was tougher than Officer Racine.
“This case is a federal investigation, Garrison. It could mean—”
“Cut the crap, Racine,” he stopped her, glancing at O’Dell, who stayed put, looking official while she continued to lean against the wall. He knew who the real power broker was, so when he spoke again, he addressed O’Dell. “I know you just want the photos. I always intended to hand them over.”
“Really?” O’Dell said.
“Yeah, really. I have no idea what Racine misunderstood. Probably all that sexual tension from not knowing who or what to fuck this week.”
“Oh, I think you’ll certainly feel fucked, Garrison, when we’re through with you,” Racine said without so much as a blink, playing out her role as the bad cop.
O’Dell, also, remained cool and calm. “You have the photos with you?” she asked, nodding at the duffel bag.
“Sure. And I’m more than willing to show them to you.” He lifted his hands and clanked the handcuffs against the steel chair. “Hell, I’ll give them to you. As soon as all the charges are dropped, of course.”
“Charges?” Racine glanced at O’Dell, then back at him. “Did the boys give you the impression you were under arrest? I’m sure you must have misunderstood, Garrison.”
He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, but instead he smiled and held up his hands again for her to remove the cuffs.
O’Dell reached over and knocked on the door, bringing in the thick-necked cop to unlock the handcuffs. Then he left again, without a word to either woman.
Ben rubbed his wrists, taking his time before he pulled over the bag and began digging through his equipment. He didn’t want them messing with his stuff. He set his camera, lens and collapsible tripod out on the table. Then he removed a couple of T-shirts, a pair of sweatpants and a towel to get the manila envelopes at the bottom. He opened one and spilled its contents on the table: negatives, contact sheet and the prints Harwood’s people had developed and given him copies of. He laid five eight-by-tens on the table, putting them in chronological order for the full effect.
“Jesus!” Racine said. “Where and when was this?”
“Yesterday. Late afternoon. Boston.”
From one of the other envelopes, he pulled