“What is your father’s phone number?” Kelly Hepburn asked.
“You said you weren’t going to take any notes,” Jordan pointed out.
“I’m not, but I have a pretty good memory for numbers and I just want to verify your story.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him,” Jordan said, not exactly pleading but uncomfortable with the idea. “He doesn’t know I went to Abe’s, and I’m afraid with Abe’s death and me being at his house, my dad might, I don’t know, like hold me responsible or something. I know it sounds crazy, but he would jump to a conclusion like that.”
“I will be circumspect, Miss Weismann,” Agent Hepburn assured her. “Why don’t you try describing the men who attacked you.”
Jordan immediately looked to Mercer for help. Hepburn was seasoned enough to know that now was the time to separate the two of them. Under the best of circumstances, witness testimony was notoriously unreliable, and Jordan’s could be influenced by Mercer’s body language and micro-expressions. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Dr. Mercer, would you be so kind as to give us a few minutes alone?”
He immediately understood the reason behind her request. He also recognized how adroitly the agent had gotten Jordan talking. He gave Jordan’s good shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be all right. Just tell her everything you remember, and if it gets too much for you, you can stop at any time.” Mercer glanced at Hepburn for confirmation, and the attractive agent nodded. “See you in a few minutes.”
Mercer burned the time sitting at the bar in the rec room with Harry, who was three-quarters of the way through the Washington Post crossword. Mercer decided against another cup of coffee. He hated waiting but knew there was no other choice. It would take hours before the FBI had anything preliminary from the trash and perhaps longer still to garner any information about the nature of Susan Tunis’s research project. Mercer had developed the habit of polishing lengths of old railroad track as a way of freeing his mind so he could think clearly, but right now even that distraction seemed frivolous.
He had to admit that for the first time in a long time he was an outsider. Since the last national election he had lost his role as special science adviser to the president of the United States, a job that required very little of him but opened doors all over Washington and beyond. Now he was just another citizen, and even though his friendship with Dick Henna had bought him a little professional courtesy, he held no illusions that Agent Hepburn was obligated to keep him in the loop. She needn’t share anything with him about her investigation even though he desperately wanted in on this. He wanted justice for Abe’s murder but just as badly he wanted to understand the bigger picture. There were other layers to this crime, shadows lurking deeper in the background. Someone had paid a great deal of money to get at whatever Abe had brought to that subterranean chamber, and they didn’t care who died in their quest to possess it.
The civilian death toll so far was limited to Abe, Dr. Tunis, and her people, and the hoist operator but it was a miracle that the only fatality at Hardt College had been one of the gunmen. Still, there were dozens injured, some critically, and until Mercer unraveled the mystery he felt certain the butcher’s bill would continue to rise.
Thirty minutes later, Kelly Hepburn backed out of the guest bedroom and softly closed the door. She came into the rec room just as Harry pushed the completed puzzle away from himself and stood. It was noon and time for the first drink of the day.
“Can I get you anything, sweetheart?” White asked as he stepped around the mahogany bar to prepare his drink. Behind the rows of liquor bottles on the back bar was an antique-looking world map stuck with pins of various colors. It was a map of the places Mercer had traveled, and it looked like with the exception of Antarctica there weren’t many corners of the earth he hadn’t visited.
“A Diet Coke, if you have one,” she said and took a seat next to Mercer, “and the understanding that if you ever call me ‘sweetheart’ again, Mr. White, I will shoot you.”
“We only have regular Coke,” Harry fired back, peering into the refurbished fifties-style lock-lever fridge, “and I suppose calling you ‘honey’ is out too.”
“Regular is fine, and you’re very perceptive for a guy with one foot firmly in the past and the other inching toward the grave.”
Mercer nearly choked on his laughter, and even Harry, the butt of one of the better zingers either had heard in a while, had to laugh.
“I thought FBI training was supposed to remove any vestiges of humor,” Mercer finally said, still chuckling.
Kelly Hepburn shrugged out of her suit coat and hung it from the back of her bar stool. “That’s usually the case, but I was absent that day.”
Harry placed an ice-filled glass in front of her and a can of soda. “Touché,” he said and tossed her a wink.
“Is Jordan asleep?” Mercer asked.
“Her fever is starting to break, so she’s drifting in and out. I was done questioning her anyway.” She poured cola into the glass, the ice popping and crackling as it chilled the beverage, and then she took a long swallow, wincing slightly as the carbonation hit her nose. “Dr. Mercer—”
“It’s just Mercer,” he told her. “I only use my title to impress girls and maître d’s.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t count?”
“Only if you can get us good tables,” Harry muttered without looking up from his drink.
Hepburn smiled. “Okay, Harry. We’re even. Mercer, I think by now you can tell that this is no longer an FBI priority.”
“I figured that would happen sooner or later. This isn’t terrorism in the traditional sense, so the urgency faded as soon as the shooters vanished again.”
“Afraid so. I even requested a doctor come with me this morning to see Jordan and was turned down. Your and Harry’s friendship with higher-ups aside, I can only get a preliminary examination of the trash you recovered. Any detailed analysis will have to wait. Same thing with the computer servers at Hardt College and Northwestern. If we can’t get anything about Dr. Tunis’s work within a day, it gets dropped down the urgency list for a couple of weeks. I know this is personal for you, and I wanted to be honest, if nothing else.”
Mercer nodded. “I appreciate that and I know you’re doing your best.”
“There isn’t a whole lot to go on, not unless these screws strike again.”
“And because they got what they needed from Abe and erased all the evidence from the two colleges, they’re long gone.”
“Yup.” She took another long sip.
“I assume this also means the case isn’t doing your career much good,” Mercer pointed out.
“That shit hit the fan when your buddy, former director Henna, rained down on my boss four times removed.”
“Sorry about that,” Mercer said. “I was trying to prevent a misunderstanding from turning into my public lynching.”
“You were just trying to protect yourself and Jordan. Can’t blame you for that.” Agent Hepburn took another mouthful of soda and stood. She shrugged her jacket over her shoulders and fitted it around the Glock in its flat kidney holster. “Before I forget, I need a few hundred bucks.”
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t a shakedown. Jordan is in no condition to travel, and she needs some stuff. Unless you want to comparison shop in the feminine hygiene aisle at Walgreens, I advise you pony up the cash and don’t ask any more questions.”
Mercer hastily peeled two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over.
She reached across and took another. “I should get the prelim from forensics about the trash this afternoon. I’ll be back then with whatever news they have and the stuff Jordan asked for.”