Russell Andrews - Midas

Billings stayed silent for a few moments. Then he said quietly, “There are four or five guys working the bomb angle. I was partnered with a very good guy, a Feebie, Dorell Cole. We were making some headway, he knows a lot about signatures, too. As soon as we thought we might be getting somewhere, Dorell got yanked off. A new guy came in to oversee the whole thing, and believe me, this guy was a total asshole. He’s the head of the New York bureau.”

“Fuck me. Was it Rollins? Agent Len Rollins?”

“No. This guy’s name is Schrader. Hubbell Schrader. Who’s this Rollins character?”

“Someone I had a run-in with, about a year ago. He was the New York bureau chief then.”

“A run-in, Jay?” Billings’s left eyebrow rose, the first relaxed gesture Justin had seen since they met.

Justin shrugged. “I told him if I ever saw him again I’d kill him.”

“That sounds like one of your run-ins.”

“What did this guy Schrader do?”

“Basically, just cut me off at the knees. Clearly doesn’t want any input from anyone outside the Bureau. But he also dismissed everything that Cole had discovered or hypothesized. As near as I can tell, Schrader made his report, which was fast and inaccurate. Then President Anderson and Vice President Dandridge came swooping in, got their photo ops, declared the whole thing a suicide bombing, and went off wherever presidents and future presidents go when they’re not acting tough or raising money.”

“But you don’t think it is a suicide bombing, do you?”

“I can’t prove it. . but no, I don’t.”

Justin sighed. “It’s not on this level, Chuck, but I’m having my own problems with the Feds. And it opens up a few questions, too.”

“Hey, as long as we’re sharing. .”

So Justin told him about the local plane crash. Billings said he had read about it in the East End newspaper but assumed it was an accident. As Justin gave him some of the details, Billings whistled in amazement.

“The weirdest thing is, I thought the Feds would be all over this thing. Just because of the proximity to Harper’s. I mean, it’s a long shot that there’s a connection, even if the plane was tampered with, but still. .”

“You’d think they’d want to see for themselves.”

“Yeah.” Justin shook his head. “But nothing. No contact. They got their info from the FAA, and that info is. . let’s say skewed. . at best.”

“And they’re blocking the identity of the pilot?”

“It’s what it looks like,” Justin said.

“Why?”

“Why the hell are they getting in your way? Because they can, because they’re idiots, because they’ve got something to hide. .”

“You know where the plane came from, Jay?”

Justin shook his head. “The guy who runs the airport here, he thought it was a drug-running plane. Maybe up from Florida.”

Billings cocked his head and his eyes narrowed.

“That mean something?” Justin asked.

Billings shrugged. “Could mean just about anything,” he said.

“Well, why don’t you tell me one thing you think it might mean.”

“You know, my imagination seems to be running wild these days. I think I’m getting paranoid. And what I think doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m outta here tonight.”

“You’re leaving?”

“They don’t want me. Said I did a great job, but my job’s over. So I’m heading back to Providence tonight. Got a meeting tomorrow morning with your old pal Ms. Chinkle. Gonna see if she’s got any insight into what the hell’s going on with her fellow federal employees.”

“You driving up?”

“The Feds are very generous. They let me rent a two-door Ford. Why, got a better suggestion?”

“Yeah. Dump the Ford. I’m going up tonight, too. Having dinner with Wanda. You can come with me and even join us tonight.”

“And your mode of transportation is. .?”

“Chartered a plane. You can drop your car off at the airport.”

“I always forget you’re filthy rich, Jay. I knew there was a reason people didn’t like you.”

“Fly up with me. Plane’s gonna leave at six sharp.”

“You know what? That’s too good a deal to pass up. I got a meeting here, kind of a debriefing, total bullshit, then I’ll go back to my motel, pick up my notes and files. I’ll show some of it to you on the plane and we can talk a little more.”

“Deal.”

The two men shook hands.

“I’m looking forward to the flight, Chuck,” Justin said.

“Me too,” Chuck Billings said. “But then, I look forward to anything I don’t have to pay for.”

Justin was not in the mood to sit and interview someone to fill the vacancy in the East End PD. He wanted to blame his lack of interest on the frustration he was feeling over the stonewalling surrounding his investigation of the small plane crash and the information he’d learned from Chuck Billings-information he was still trying to absorb-but he realized that it wouldn’t have mattered what he’d done or discovered over the last few days, he’d never be in the mood to sit and interview someone for a job. Unfortunately, he’d promised Leona Krill that he’d talk to this woman, Regina something, he couldn’t even remember her name, but what the hell kind of first name was Regina? He sighed because. . well. . because everything that had happened over the past week made him sigh. . but he’d made the appointment with this Regina woman and he knew he couldn’t break it.

He didn’t want to interview her at the station, it just didn’t feel right with all the other guys around, so he’d told her to meet him at Duffy’s. Not the classiest place in town but if she wanted to be a cop she might as well get used to cop hangouts. Also, unless you put away quite a few drinks, Duffy’s was not a place to linger. He was hoping his choice of venue would keep the session short and sweet. Their meeting was set up for two o’clock. Justin was hoping to be back at his desk by two-thirty.

He slid into one of the three booths in the bar, looked at his watch at one minute to two, decided if she didn’t show up by five after, he was out of there, but the front door to Duffy’s was pushed open just a few seconds later and Regina whatever-her-name-was walked in right on time. Justin knew it was her. She looked like a cop. She had that confident manner, the one that said no one was going to give her any trouble because there wasn’t any trouble she couldn’t handle. She glanced around the bar, took him in, immediately headed for his booth, no hesitation. He guessed he had that cop air, too.

Before she reached his table, he stood up and extended his hand.

“Justin Westwood,” he said as they shook.

“Regina Bokkenheuser,” she said.

“Nice name,” he told her. “Trips right off the tongue.”

She slid out of her long coat, hung it neatly on a hook to the left of the booth. She was wearing a tapered jacket and a loose-fitting shirt underneath. Her skirt matched the jacket and came down to mid-thigh. Her legs were muscular and at least as tapered as her suit. Justin knew, even with much of her body hidden, that he was looking at a woman with a lot of muscle, physically and emotionally. He smiled, trying to put her at ease. She smiled back at him, probably doing the same thing. He relaxed, felt comfortable as she slid into the booth on the bench across from him, and he realized she was probably a lot better at this than he was.

“It’s Danish,” she said. “And if you think it sounds bad, wait till you hear people try to spell it.”

“That where you’re from? Denmark?”

“My grandmother,” she said. “I’m from Wisconsin. Madison.” She looked around the room and he was surprised to see that she didn’t seem to disapprove. “You think they’d have any form of fruit juice in this joint?”