Dunlop looked at Nulty. Nulty nodded. Dunlop called the SCO. “Bill. We got a court order here and a couple of feds waiting to transport prisoner number 45047-177. One Andrew Schrader. Yeah, I know, he’s popular today. Can you bring him up front ASAP? The chief’s waiting, too.”
He hung up, got an outside line, looked up the court number, and dialed. A woman’s voice answered: “United States District Court, Western District of Washington. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Fred Dunlop calling from the SeaTac FDC. I’m trying to confirm the presence of a court order that hasn’t been entered in PACER yet.”
“That would be the clerk of court. Hold, please.”
Dunlop heard a click, and the line went over to Muzak. Why people felt the need to torture you while you were on hold, Dunlop would never understand.
The Muzak stopped and a different woman’s voice came on. “Clerk of court, Western District of Washington. How may I help you?”
Dunlop repeated the request. A moment went by, and the woman said, “Yes, temporary release order for prisoner number 45047-177, Andrew Schrader. Signed by Judge Ricardo this morning.”
Dunlop looked at Nulty and nodded. “They’ve got it.”
Nulty returned the nod. Dunlop thanked the woman and hung up.
“Looks like you were right,” Nulty said, turning to Robinson. “Just hadn’t been entered yet.”
Robinson rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised they even had a copy of it. Half the time the left hand doesn’t have a clue what the right is up to.”
Nulty laughed. “Tell me about it.”
Something still felt . . . off to Dunlop. But if the chief was okay with it all, it wasn’t Dunlop’s problem. He printed out the release paperwork and slid it over to Robinson with a pen.
Robinson glanced at the other agent. “Look over the paperwork, will you? Make sure it’s in order.” He looked at Dunlop. “No offense. Just don’t want any more glitches.”
Dunlop shook his head. “None taken.” Which wasn’t exactly true. But whatever.
A few minutes later, a klaxon sounded, an electronic lock clacked, and the barred door to the prisoners’ area slid open with a mechanical whine. Two guards brought out Schrader, hands and ankles regulation-manacled.
Schrader looked at the two agents, then at Dunlop. “What’s going on?”
“Court order,” Robinson said, bending to sign the release paperwork. “Your presence is requested at the Seattle field office.”
“Why?”
Robinson didn’t even look up. “You’re asking the wrong people. We just drive the car.”
“Does my lawyer know?”
“You’ll have to ask her. Come on, guy, we’re already behind schedule. Let’s go.”
After they left, Dunlop still felt a little bothered—more than he had at the outset. He didn’t know why. He’d checked every box. Called the chief and everything.
A half hour had passed before he realized what was bugging him. Those agents—they were a couple of paper pushers, like him. Just there to pick up a prisoner, nothing more than that. Robinson had barely even remembered Schrader’s name.
So how had he known Schrader’s lawyer was a woman?
chapter
twenty-five
LIVIA
Livia was in the parking garage, about to jump into her Jeep, when the phone buzzed. Alondra. She picked up and said, “I was about to call you. The morning briefing—”