“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sure he’s already run my pic through your facial recognition software and he’s found nothing. I’m in nobody’s data bank.”
“What are you talking about?” Margie was dead-on but Lacy was rattled and not ready to come clean.
“Oh, I think you know. You come alone or you’ll never see me again. You’re the most experienced investigator in your office and at this moment your boss is only a temp. You can probably do whatever you want.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
“Let’s call it an after-work drink, that’s all. We’ll meet in the bar and if it goes well we can go upstairs to my room and talk with even more privacy.”
“I cannot go to your room. It’s against our procedures. If a complaint is filed and it becomes necessary to meet in private, then I can do so. Someone has to know where I am, at least initially.”
“Fair enough. What time?”
“How about six?”
“I’ll be in the back corner, right-hand side, and I’ll be alone, same as you. No wires, recorders, secret cameras, no colleagues pretending to drink as they film away. And say hello to Darren. Maybe one day I’ll have the pleasure. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Okay. You can go now.”
As Lacy walked around the block and drifted back to her office, she had to admit that she could not remember ever getting her butt so thoroughly kicked at the first interview.
* * *
—
She slid the color photo across Darren’s desk and said, “Nice work. Busted big-time. She knows our names, ranks, and serial numbers. She gave me this photo and said it was far better than the ones you were taking with your laptop.”
Darren held the photo and said, “Well, she’s right.”
“Any idea who she is?”
“Nope. I’ve run her face through our laundry and got nothing. Which, as you know, means little.”
“Means she has not been arrested in Florida in the past six years. Can you punch it through the FBI?”
“Probably not. They require a reason, and since I know nothing I can’t give them one. Can I ask an obvious question?”
“Please do.”
“BJC is an investigative agency, right?”
“Supposed to be.”
“Then why do we post our photos and bios on a rather stupid website?”
“Ask the boss.”
“We don’t have a boss. We have a career paper-pusher who’ll be gone before we miss her.”
“Probably. Look, Darren, we’ve had this conversation a dozen times. We don’t want our lovely faces on any BJC page. That’s why I haven’t updated mine in five years. I still look thirty-four.”
“I’d say thirty-one, but then I’m biased.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess there’s no real harm. It’s not like we’re going after murderers and drug dealers.”
“Right.”
“So what’s her complaint, whoever she is?”
“Don’t know yet. Thanks for the backup.”
“A lot of good it did.”
2
The Ramada lounge covered one large corner of the hotel’s soaring glass atrium. By six, its chrome bar was crowded with well-dressed lobbyists trolling for attractive secretaries from the agencies, and most of the tables were taken. The Florida legislature was in session five blocks away at the Capitol, and all the downtown lounges were busy with important people talking politics and angling for money and sex.
Lacy entered, got her share of looks from the male crowd, and walked toward the right rear where she found Margie alone at a small table in a corner with a glass of water in front of her. “Thanks for coming,” she said as Lacy took a seat.
“Sure. You know this place?”
“No. First time. Pretty popular, huh?”
“This time of the year, yes. Things settle down when the carnival is over.”
“The carnival?”
“The legislative session. January through March. Lock the liquor cabinet. Hide the women and children. You know the routine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I take it you don’t live here.”
“No, I don’t.”
A harried waitress rushed to a stop and asked if they wanted something to drink as she frowned at the glass of water. Her message was pretty clear: Hey gals, we’re busy and I can give your table to somebody who’ll pay for booze.