Steven James - The Bishop

“Well, I never get any burgers at home-one of the disadvantages of living with a teenage PETA member. I have to sneak out for one whenever I can.”

“So now I know your dirty little secret.”

“Everyone needs a couple of those.”

And we stepped outside, into the day.

Okay, so something wasn’t right.

When the Library of Congress staff member asked to see the driver’s licenses of the couple in front of them in line, Paul whispered to Tessa that he needed to make a quick call and that he would be back in a minute, would meet up with her by the door. “You’re going to be all right?” he asked.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Good. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

And as he walked away Tessa felt a quiet, tiny twitch inside of her, in the part of her where she needed most to feel safe. She didn’t know this man very well. Patrick was suspicious of him. She wasn’t supposed to be here, in the city, alone with him.

Just chill.

He’s your dad.

She reminded herself that her mother had trusted him enough to sleep with him. And if her mom could trust him, she could too.

Tessa moved forward in line, pulled out her wallet, and handed her license to the man.

The NCAVC building was actually an old warehouse that still had a sign out front for Tarry Lawnmower Supply. Posters of lawnmowers still filled the front lobby, the receptionist still answered the phone, “Tarry Lawnmower Supply, how can we meet your lawn service needs?”

No sense advertising the headquarters for the FBI’s investigative group dedicated to studying and solving the nation’s most violent crimes, as well as the location of ViCAP, and the offices of the fifteen top behavioral profilers in the world.

Cheyenne and I passed through security, I picked up the Joint Op paperwork at the front desk, signed the recommendation forms, and told her, “You’ll need to fill out the rest of these. Don’t worry, Ralph’ll send ’em through.” I handed her the pack of papers. “Try not to get writer’s cramp.”

She weighed the stack in her hands. “I’ll try to not throw out my back first.”

Ralph was on the phone when we entered his office. He gave Cheyenne a quick glance, and I realized that even though he’d visited me in Denver, the two of them had never met. I signaled to him that she was with me, then pointed to the Joint Op forms in her hand and he waved us through to the conference room.

I led her inside.

And found Lien-hua sitting at the table, paging through a file folder.

Oh.

She looked up as we entered. Her eyes flitted to Cheyenne.

The phrase “unintended consequences” came to mind.

“Lien-hua.” I said. “This is Detective Warren. From Denver.”

“From Denver,” Lien-hua said.

“We’ve worked together a few times.”

“Seven,” Cheyenne said.

“I see.” Lien-hua stood, extended her hand to Cheyenne. “Lien-hua Jiang.”

Cheyenne shook her hand convivially. “Cheyenne Warren. So you must be the profiler Pat talks so much about.”

“Really?”

She gave Lien-hua a warm smile. “It’s all good, though, I assure you.”

Lien-hua looked like she was about to respond, but before she could, Cheyenne added, “Pat and I just had lunch together, and he offered to show me around the center.” She held up the Joint Op papers. “And it looks like I’ll be helping with the case.”

“Welcome to the team, then,” Lien-hua said in a tone that was impossible to read. “Detective.”

“Thank you, I’m glad I’ll have the chance to work with you.” The two women had started talking around me, as if I weren’t even in the room.

“And where did you go?” Lien-hua asked.

“Oh, we just got here.”

“No, for lunch.”

“Billy Bongo’s Burger Hut.”

For some reason I felt like I needed to defend myself. “It’s right on the way.”

“Of course.” Lien-hua gave Cheyenne a wink. “Let me guess: he got the Ultimate Deluxe Classic Cheeseyburg Extreme, curly fries, and a medium Cherry Coke?”

Cheyenne looked at Lien-hua oddly. “Right on the very first try.”

“Old habits die hard,” Lien-hua said.

Okay. This was officially awkward.

I heard heavy footsteps just outside the door, and I was relieved when Ralph flung it open and joined us. He tossed a stack of bulging manila folders onto the table and looked like he was about to launch right into the case, but took a moment first to introduce himself to Cheyenne, and based on my recommendation, he immediately signed her forms. “Finish it up, hand it in tomorrow,” he mumbled, but I could tell something was definitely weighing heavily on his mind.

“Thank you,” she said.

“So here’s what’s up.” His tone was rough and hard. “That was Doehring on the phone. They just found Rusty Mahan. Dead. Hung himself sometime last night. Left a note confessing to Mollie’s murder.”

A stretch of elegiac silence filled the room. Lien-hua slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs circling the conference room table. “Where was he found?”

“Underneath the Connecticut Avenue bridge, near the riverbank. He was hidden in the trees. Never would have found him if the phone in his pocket hadn’t started ringing. A jogger heard it, saw the body.”

“Was the note handwritten or typed?” I asked.

“Typed. On his phone.”

“Did we identify the caller?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I know, it’s all too convenient, but Doehring doesn’t think so. The kid had motive, means, and opportunity. You know Doehring. And here’s the clincher: he’s planning to go public with this at the top of the hour.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

11:35.

“Just twenty-five minutes before this thing explodes,” Lien-hua said.

Ralph motioned for us to take a seat. “That’s what we have to stop from happening.”

Cheyenne chose the chair between me and Lien-hua.

“Quick update,” Ralph said. “Margaret is in DC running point on the joint task force. We’ve set up the command post at Metro PD headquarters, third floor. So far we’ve got FBI, Metro PD, Capitol police, US Marshals on this.” He shook his head. “Probably call in the freakin’ Boy Scouts before this thing is over.”

A deep breath, then he flipped open one of the folders. “All right. Here we go. Here’s what we know so far.”

The woman wasn’t being cooperative.

Okay. Enough with that.

Brad forced a gag into her mouth.

Tugged it tight.

Looked at his watch.

11:39.

“You have until 3:00 this afternoon to live: three hours and twenty-one minutes left to reflect on eternity.” He took a breath. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to go down this way. If you’d been more willing, things might have turned out differently.”

She tried to cry out, but the gag swallowed the sounds.

“I’ll be back.”

Then he left her again, lying there alone in the dark. He went to check the wiring and timer on the explosive device that he had created. A one of a kind. A work of art.

An elegant surprise for Special Agent Patrick Bowers.

Ralph spent five minutes filling us in, mostly reviewing information I’d already read in the online case files.

I was anxious to find out what else we’d learned since I left the scene last night but tried not to appear as impatient as I felt.

“By the way,” he said. “There’s no sign of Mollie Fischer’s laptop-we were hoping that might get us somewhere.”

When he mentioned Mollie’s laptop, I realized Cheyenne would need more than Ralph’s cursory summary, so I flipped open my computer, clicked to the online case files, and turned the screen so that it faced her. “So you can catch up as we talk.”