Charlaine Harris - An Apple for the Creature

“We got their attention,” said George.

“You see the one I mentioned?” asked Norma.

“The one from Iowa City?”

“Yes. Detective Dillman. Louise Dillman. She’s the one we want,” said Norma. “Sure of it. Her chief agrees.”

“Well, good enough, then,” said Ben. “She’s sure the right type.”

“Really pretty,” said George.

Norma elbowed him. “Not pertinent. Dirty old man.”

“Not dirty,” he said, affectionately. “Pretty isn’t pertinent as a qualifier, but it’s gotta be difficult to blend those looks into the general population, though. That’s what I meant.”

“I’ve seen her undercover,” said Ben, “and trust me, you wouldn’t recognize her.”

“Really?” said Norma. “Then how did you know it was her?”

“The way she nibbled my ear,” said Ben.

“You’re both awful.”

“Who’s got the dirty mind, here, I ask you? No, really, though. All made up, straight black hair, not blond like it is now. Fake piercings. Fake tattoos. Tank top. Boots. Wouldn’t recognize her unless she showed you her ID.”

“Memorable, huh?” said Norma. “Working Johns undercover?”

“Not really. Posing as an art major, working burglaries from student housing.”

The rest of Monday and all of Tuesday and Wednesday were taken up by flowcharts, relational databases, Facebook and Twitter accounts, blogs, alerting reports to be forwarded to the intelligence analysts, and the need to know and right to know criteria for this type of investigation. Dull, often repetitious, but vital to maintaining the confidentiality and restricting the dissemination of the material they would be developing in such cases. All examples, however, were taken from actual cases, and that helped alleviate the boredom.

Ben’s closing statement at 1630 hours on Wednesday consisted of three sentences: “Tomorrow we do the media relations stuff in the morning, and then we split up and do some practical stuff in teams. Normal street dress. Have ID, but don’t display it.”

The eight students had been under a rather loose surveillance themselves, and had been dividing up into groups of three and five to go out to dinner, and then entertain themselves for the evening. The group of three tended to go to a movie, while the group of five tended to party at local bars until closing time. Detective Louise Dillman, of the Iowa City Police Department, was a prominent member of the latter group.

As the instructors gathered for their own supper and entertainment, they discussed Detective Dillman.

“How do we want to handle breaking the news to her?” asked George.

“We,” said Norma, “thought you should be the one to do it.”

“Oh, nope. Not me.” George looked at his two friends. “Well, then, why me? Ben, you could do it easily. Norma, you’d be perfect for the job. I’m just an old fart with some stories.”

“But you discovered it.”

“You were right there, right after Ben. Hell, it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so.”

“Yeah. But you were there first, and you’d be the best for this. Firsthand is always best.”

George sighed. “How much do I drop on her?”

“Just lay it out, within reason,” said Norma. “Ben and I’ll take the others on the field trip. You just get her in a quiet place, and then take her to where she can observe while you talk. That ought to do it.”

“What if I become aware,” asked George, “as this thing goes down, that we’re wrong about this?”

“About her, you mean?”

“Yeah, Ben. About her. Her qualifications. That’s why you should do this.”

“Norma and I picked her,” said Ben. “Too close to the subject. Got to be you.”

“And if you decide she’s not the one we want, then just slow it down, or minimize it, or whatever, and get out of it gracefully,” said Norma. “That’s what I meant by within reason. But that’s not gonna happen, my boy. She’s our girl.”

George held up his beer glass. “That’s me, old graceful.” He took a drink. “Here’s to you being right,” he said.

“You have doubts?” asked Norma. “Seriously?”

George leaned back, and looked at both of them. He was silent for a few moments, and then heaved a sigh. “Oh . . . no. Not really. I think we’ve got the right one. Just, you know, err on the side of caution sort of stuff.”

“Of course.” Ben pushed the chip bowl toward George. “Have some.”

“Remember to bring your gun?” asked Norma.

“Always do, Mom.” George picked up a chip.

“Don’t start the mother crap,” said Norma. “We just want you to be safe. Take her in close, but not too close. She’s got to be allowed time to think.”

“Got a plan,” said George. “I’m gonna rely on my instincts.”

Norma shook her head. “Not that . . . please, not that.”

“It’ll be fine,” said George. “Not to worry.” He cleared his throat. “How about ‘Ma’?”

“Thin ice,” said Norma.

“Just in case, better charge up your cell phone,” said Ben. “I’ve got a walkie-talkie for you, too. Radio’s much better if things go to hell on ya.”

“Thanks.”

Thursday, after a nutritious, if bland, academy lunch, the three instructors introduced their class to two new instructors from the DCI. With lots of hustle and bustle and by the shuffling of assignments, it was doubtful that any of the class was particularly aware that only Detective Dillman had been paired with George.

“What we gonna do, boss?” asked Dillman.

“Call me George. Well, we’re gonna take my car, for starters. Hop in.”

“Where we headed?”

“Buckle up,” he said. “You drive like I do, it’s just smart.”

She did so. “We assigned to some really bad guys?”

“Possibly one of the worst.”

He stopped at the intersection with the main base road, and glanced at her to see what effect that had had. He met the gaze of large blue eyes that seemed just a bit wider than usual. She was judging him, as well.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.” He pulled out, and headed for the highway.

“Cool.”

“I hope so,” he said. “It might be very late before we get back. You have any appointments, or plans to go out, or anything?”

“Just pizza, whenever we get back.”

“Okay. Well,” he said, turning south toward the interstate, “it starts gettin’ late, just call whoever it is and make an excuse.”

“Sure.”

“You got your gun?”

“Yep. You think I actually might need it?”

“Never can tell,” said George.

“Oh, cool,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, but this classroom routine was getting to be a little . . . ah . . .”

“Dull?”

“Yeah.”

“This ought to take care of that,” he said. He took the East 80 on-ramp. “Everything from now on is completely classified. Class I Confidential. No notes. Not now, not afterward. You remember it all. No report to a superior. Somebody asks you for one regarding today, you refer ’em to me or Ben or Norma. Okay?”

“Yes.” She sounded more serious now.

“Nobody else in this class is getting this briefing. Nobody. Understood?”

“Yes.” Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t say anything else.

“I’m taking you all the way back to Iowa City,” he said. He turned to look at her. “Surprised?”

“Ah, yeah.” After a pause, she said, “I mean, I got that place wired, you know? Not sure there’s anything you can show me there that I don’t already know.”

“Wait and see,” he said. “What I’m going to show you is something behind some of the things you know, and maybe some of the things you take for granted.”