“Oh. And they might find out that you are illegally interrogating a juvenile.”
Greene stared at me, shock on his face. Even Agent Rick arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“A juvenile,” I enunciated, “i.e., one who cannot give you legal consent on her own. I took the liberty of sending for her parents. I’m sure that they and their attorney will have a whole lot of questions for you.”
“That’s blackmail,” Greene said.
“No, it’s due process,” I replied. “You’re the one who tried the end run around the law.”
Greene scowled at me and said, “You can talk all you want, but you’ve got no proof.”
My cheeks ached from smiling so much, and I chuckled.
The door, which had never fully closed, opened on cue. Lydia Stern stood there behind it, her press badge around her neck, a mini-tape recorder in her hand, held up so that Greene could clearly see it. “So, Detective,” she asked, “could you please explain why as a part of your investigation you are interrogating a juvenile without her parents’ consent? Is she a suspect in the crime? Or a witness to any of the events? And what about these rumors of interdepartmental noncooperation slowing down the investigation?”
Greene stared at the reporter. He shot a glance at Agent Rick.
Rick shrugged. “He’s got you. You took a chance. It didn’t pay off.”
Greene spat a word that authority figures oughtn’t say in front of juveniles, and then stomped out. Lydia Stern winked at me, then followed on his heels, recorder held out toward him, asking a steady stream of questions whose only reasonable answers would make Greene look like an idiot.
Rick watched him go and shook his head. Then he said to me, “What’s your stake in this?”
“The girl is my friend’s daughter,” I said. “Just looking out for her.”
He gave me a slight nod. “I see. Greene’s under a lot of pressure. I’m sorry you got treated like that.”
“Rick,” I said in a patient voice, “I’m not a teenage girl. Please don’t try to good-cop me.”
His polite, interested expression vanished for a second behind a quick, boyish grin. Then he shrugged and said, “It was worth trying.”
I snorted.
“You know he can get the subpoena. It’s just a question of running through channels.”
I rose. “That’s not my problem. I’ll leave it to the Carpenters’ attorney.”
“I see,” he said. “You actually are interfering with the investigation. He could probably make it stick.”
“Come on, Agent. I’m protecting the rights of a juvenile. The ACLU would eat that raw.” I shook my head. “Besides. What you’re doing is wrong. Bullying girls. Hell’s bells, man, that’s low.”
A flicker of anger touched Agent Rick’s expression. “Dresden, I know you don’t have a concealed carry permit. You want me to suspect you of carrying a weapon and search you for it?”
Oops. I thought nervously of the revolver in my backpack. If Agent Rick wanted to make an issue of it, I could be in trouble-but I didn’t want him to know that. I tried to shake it off with a nonchalant shrug. “How is that going to help stop the killer before he strikes again?”
Rick tilted his head to one side and frowned at me. Dammit, I’ve got to get a better poker face. He oriented on me, eyes searching over me for possible places to hide a gun. “Irrelevant,” he replied. “If you’re breaking the law, you’re breaking the law.”
From the doorway there was an impatient sigh, and then Murphy said, “Would it kill you to stop being an asshole for five minutes, Rick?”
I hadn’t noticed her arrival, and judging from Agent Rick’s expression, neither had he.
“He’s a consultant for SI, which is also working the case. We don’t have the time to get involved in a pissing contest. People are in danger. We need to work together.”
Rick glared at her, then reined in his temper and shrugged a shoulder. “You may be right. But Dresden, I want you to consider leaving of your own will. If you keep interfering, I’ll arrest you and toss you in the clink for twenty-four hours.”
“No,” Murphy said, entering the room. “You won’t.”
He rounded on her, eyes narrowed. “Dammit, Karrin. You never know when to quit, do you?”
“Of course I do,” she said, setting her jaw. “Never.”
Agent Rick shook his head. He slammed open the door and departed.
Murphy watched him go. Then she sighed and asked, “Are you all right, miss?”
Molly nodded somewhat numbly. “Yes. Just tired.”
A moment later, Sandra Marling hurried in, looked around at all of us, and then went over to give Molly a hug. The girl hugged back, tight.
“Did you reach them?” I asked Sandra.
“Yes. Mrs. Carpenter is on the way.”
Molly shuddered.
“Good,” I said. “Could you stay with Molly until she arrives?”
“Of course.”
I nodded and said to Molly, “Kid, things are getting complicated. I want you to go with your mom. All right?”
She nodded, slowly, without looking up.
I sighed and got up out of my chair. “Good.”
I left, Murphy and Mouse flanking me as I headed back into the hotel. “Nice guy, Rick,” I commented. “Maybe a little manipulative.”
“Just a tad,” Murphy said. “What happened?”
I told her.
She let out a wicked chuckle. “Wish I could have seen the look on their faces.”
“Next time I’ll take a picture.”
She nodded. “So what’s our next move?”
“Hey, we’re in a hotel.” I bobbed my eyebrows at her. “Let’s get a room.”
Under peaceful circumstances, I’m sure that no rooms would have been available. Obviously, though, circumstances were far from peaceful, and there had been a minor avalanche of cancellations and early departures from the hotel-which only goes to show that people occasionally demonstrate evidence of sound judgment. The convention might have doubled the number of folks attending, but that didn’t mean that they wanted to sleep here.
There was a room available on the fifth floor. I paid an extra fee to allow Mouse to stay, and we got checked in.
There was no one else in the elevator, and we rode in a silence that became increasingly tense. I shifted my weight from side to side and fiddled with one of the two plastic cards the desk clerk had given us. I cleared my throat.
“So here we are,” I said. “Heading up to our hotel room.”
Murphy’s cheeks turned pink. “You are a pig, Dresden.”
“Hey, I didn’t put any innuendo into that. You did it yourself.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling a little.
I watched numbers change on the elevator panel. I coughed. “Yes, sir-ree. Alone together.”
“It’s a little weird,” she admitted.
“A little weird,” I agreed.
“Should it be?” she asked. “I mean, we’re just working together. We’ve done that before.”
“We haven’t done it in a hotel room.”
“Yes, we have,” Murphy said.
“But they all had corpses in them.”
“Ah. True.”
“No corpses this time,” I said.
“Heh,” Murphy said. “The night is young.”
Her reminder of the dangers before us put a bullet through the head of that conversation. Her smile vanished, and her face regained its usual color. We went the rest of the way in silence, until the elevator doors opened. Neither one of us moved to get out. It almost felt like there was some kind of invisible line drawn across the floor.
The silence stretched. The doors tried to close. Murphy mashed down on the Door Open button with her thumb.
“Harry,” she said finally, her voice very quiet, her blue eyes focused into distance. “I’ve been thinking about… you know. Us.”