Mary McDonald - No good deed

“I see I’ve caught you at a bad time, but I promise you’ll be interested in who this acquaintance is.” He paused a beat letting her realize the importance of his next words. “I’d rather wait to disclose who it is until we can go somewhere else to discuss it.”

She raised her head, her expression wavering between annoyance and curiosity. “Look, I don’t know you from Adam, so why should I go anywhere with you?”

He stepped closer and said in a low voice, “I saw Mark Taylor the other day. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

She lost her grip on the folders, but juggled them quickly and looked like she was going to ask him something, but changed her mind. Hope had sparked in her eyes for an instant before she masked it with a shrug. “Okay. Let me get my purse out of my office.”

As she entered an office, she glanced over her shoulder. “Are you hungry? We can get some lunch.”

“That sounds great.” Jim realized that he was starving, his stomach reminding him that the granola bar he’d eaten on the way to the airport this morning was a distant memory. He waited outside the detective’s office. Purse in hand, the woman started for the door, stopped, turned back, and pulled a large white envelope from a desk drawer. Tucking it firmly under an arm, she breezed past him.

She drove, not saying much beyond asking him what kind of food he wanted. He shrugged and told her to pick the place. His hopes of putting her at ease turned to regret when she pulled up in front of a grungy hot dog stand. Jim hid a grimace. Maybe she was trying to give him food poisoning. He ordered a hot dog with the works along with fries, and Jessica ordered the same. He followed her to one of the picnic tables sitting on the hot pavement. Jim bit into the hot dog, and then grinned. “This is good.”

Jessica nodded, her mouth full. After taking a sip of her drink, she said, “Yeah, it’s one of my favorite spots.” She glanced around. “It doesn’t look like much, but what it lacks in ambiance, it makes up for in flavor.” A few wisps of her hair had escaped confinement and the gold strands fluttered as she tilted her face to the sun, eyes closed. “Besides, sometimes I just need to get outside for a bit.”

They ate, occasionally making awkward small talk. It was odd having lunch with a complete stranger, and he knew she felt more than a little uncomfortable. At least the food was good even if it was greasy as hell. He chuckled. That was why it was so good. If he ate like this too often, he’d get soft, and what kind of image would that project? He vowed to run an extra five miles to make up for the greasy meal.

The last time he had indulged in fast food had been with Taylor. Jim picked up the last bite of his hot dog, scooping up some errant pickle relish and replacing it on the end of the dog before polishing it off. That meal hadn’t ended as well. The guy had puked upon returning to his cell. The hot dog churned in Jim’s stomach at the thought. Taylor had been nearly catatonic for three days.

Jim took a sip of his soda, then used the straw to loosen the ice. There was always the worry about crossing the fine line between breaking the man’s defenses or just breaking the man. If he pushed too hard, he risked pushing Mark Taylor into insanity. Not hard enough, and they wouldn’t get any information. He glanced at Jessica and held up his cup. “I’m thinking of getting a refill, you want one?”

She swirled the cup, as though weighing it. “No thanks. I’m good.” Her eyes rose to his face, studying him. “For someone who flew out…from where ever the hell you came from, you sure don’t have much to say.”

He hoped the heat disguised the flush he felt creeping up his face. It wasn’t that he didn’t have news, but it wasn’t good news. “Sorry.”

Jim swiped his finger through the ring of condensation his drink had left on the picnic table. Jessica finished her hot dog, but picked at her fries. The silence of the meal was awkward, but small talk would have made it worse.

He tapped his fingers on the table and tilted his head to work a kink out of his neck. The sun beat down on the pavement creating shimmering waves of heat. His prediction that it wouldn’t be hot in Chicago in September had been a faulty one, but that was par for the course lately. He sighed. It hadn’t occurred to him that Taylor would have no idea it was his birthday. He hadn’t meant to cause pain, but he’d seen it flash across the other man’s face when he’d learned the date.

Jim ate his last fry and gathered his wrappers, tossing them on the tray. Jessica finished eating, and now sat staring across the parking lot, her drink straw in her mouth as she sipped.

“You done with that?” Jim indicated her meal and she nodded. He took the tray and tossed all the garbage in the trash can next to the building. When he turned back to the table, he found Jessica watching him, her expression intense. He had been right. She had questions and the grace period was over.

“So, where is he? Where are you guys torturing him?”

Jim paused and tried to hide his surprise before resuming his seat at the table. He had to admire her directness. Maybe he’d been too quick to criticize Officer Daly’s interview. “Excuse me? Who said anything about torture?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure you’ll deny it, but I know who you are. I’ve been around long enough to know a Fed of some sort. If you were FBI, you’d identify yourself as such. That leaves CIA or DOD.

The lady was smart, he had to grant her that. Jim shrugged, but didn’t admit to who he worked for. “He’s in a brig in South Carolina.” He narrowed his eyes. “But nobody is torturing anyone.”

She snorted and shook her head, her face twisted into a smirk. “He’s innocent, you know.” Jessica’s chin went up, challenging him to contradict her.

Anger burned in her eyes and he let her statement hang there for a long moment before crossing his arms on the table and leaning towards her. “What makes you say that?”

He’d found that the best way to get answers was just allow the other person to talk. If pointed in the right direction, they often spilled more information than they intended.

“Because I have evidence that what he said about the pictures is true.”

That was the last thing Jim expected her to claim, and he cocked his head. “You’re serious?”

Jessica slid the envelope in front of him. “Look for yourself.”

Jim glanced at her before pulling two pictures out of the envelope. He tried to control his expression, but shock pulsed through him as Taylor’s image stared back at him. He recalled that interrogation. They had only done that particular position one time. “Where’d you get these?” Damn it. There must be a leak on his team. It had to be a still from the video because there were no other cameras in the room. This was highly classified material. If these stills ever found their way to the press, heads would roll. Whoever had sent them either had top clearance or knew someone who did. Jim clenched his jaw to keep from spewing his anger at Jessica.

“I got it from one of Mark’s cameras. His belongings were tossed out of his loft when he was evicted.” She emphasize the last word, her tone accusing.

“I just happened to be passing by and grabbed what I could. The rest is all gone.” Jessica took the picture of Taylor seated in the rowing position and looked at it for several seconds, her face awash in disgust. “Is this how you get people to confess? If I did something like that, I’d be brought up on charges.” She slapped the picture on the table in front of him.

“I follow the guidelines set for me.” He shook his head and tried to repress the urge to walk away. The last thing he needed was condemnation. “You know, we get blamed when something happens, for not knowing, yet when we try to do our best to gather important information, we’re labeled barbarians.” Jim stabbed his finger down on the picture. “This isn’t some goddamn game we’re playing, Bishop.” He waved a hand towards the tall buildings a few blocks over. “This city could be next for all we know. And maybe your boyfriend has information that could prevent innocent people from being killed.”