"Can I help you?" a female voice asked as he got to his feet.
"No, thanks," he said. "I managed to get it in… "Jesus Christ! Will you look at this! "… the hole with only a little trouble."
"Laptop?" the blonde asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"To take notes?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She's probably Stan Colt's squeeze. Far too beautiful for a common man. Jesus Christ, she's stunning!
She put out her hand.
"I'm Terry Davis," she said. "With GAM."
"Is that one 'r' and an 'i', or two 'r's and a 'y'?"
"Not that it matters, but two 'r's and a 'y.' "
"And what's GAM?"
"Global Artists Management," she answered, making her surprise that he didn't know evident in the tone of her voice.
"Of course," Matt said, "I should have known."
"If you need anything else, just let me know."
"Thank you very much."
"Have you had your breakfast?"
Not quite an hour before, Detective Payne had had two fried eggs, two slices of Taylor ham, two bagels, a glass each of orange juice and milk, and two cups of coffee.
"I could eat a little something, now that you mention it."
"Well, when you have your laptop up and working, won't you please have some breakfast?"
"You're very kind," Matt said.
She smiled at him and walked back to the room with the buffet, in the process convincing Payne that both sides of her were stunning.
He turned the laptop on, pushed the appropriate buttons, thought a moment about whether he wanted to make this official or not, decided he didn't, and then typed, very quickly, for he was an accomplished typist, the private screen name for Inspector Wohl, and then his own; he wanted a copy of what he was about to type. 0935 dignitary is stan colt, coming to town to raise money for west catholic high school. So far two $$dinners, two $$lunches, and a $$benefit performance. will know dates locations etc after breakfasting upper floor suite ritz carlton with mcguire, monsignor schneider, terry davis of gam, others. I think I'm in love. 701.
In a moment, the computer told him his mail had been sent. Probably less than a minute later, the computer on the table behind Inspector Peter Wohl's desk at Special Operations headquarters would give off a ping, and a message would appear on his monitor telling him he had an e-mail message from 701, which was Detective Payne's badge number. A similar action would take place on Detective Payne's desktop, and when he got back to the office, he would copy the message into his desktop.
Leaving the computer on, Payne went into the room with the buffet. Lieutenant McGuire, seated at a table with Monsignor Schneider and the other priest, waved him over.
"Yes, sir?"
"Payne, do you know the monsignor?"
"No, sir."
"Monsignor, this is Detective Payne, of Special Operations, which will be providing most of the manpower for Mr. Colt's security while he's here."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," the monsignor said, smiling and standing up to offer his hand. "Your boss and I are old friends."
Was that incidental information, to put me at ease, or areyou telling me that if I displease you in any way, you'll go right to Wohl?
"Detective Payne, this is Father Venno, of my office," the monsignor went on, "who'll be my liaison, representing the archdiocese."
"How do you do, Father?" Matt said politely, putting out his hand and looking over Venno's shoulder, finding Terry Davis at a table with two empty chairs, and wondering if he could get away with joining her.
"Why don't you get a plate-the omelets are wonderful- and join us?" Monsignor Schneider said.
Shit!
"Thank you very much, sir," Payne said.
Although he didn't have nearly as much appetite as he'd had when contemplating taking breakfast with Miss Davis, the omelets offered did have a certain appeal, and Detective Payne returned to the table with a western omelet with everything, an English muffin, and a large glass of orange juice.
"That was an unfortunate business on South Broad Street last night, wasn't it?" Monsignor Schneider said. "At the Gene Autry?"
"The Roy Rogers, Monsignor," Father Venno corrected him.
"Wasn't it?" the monsignor repeated, directing the question to Matt Payne, his face making it clear he didn't like to be corrected.
"Yes, sir, it was," Matt said.
"Have there been any developments in the case?"
"They're working on it, sir," Matt said. "I think they'll wrap it up pretty quickly."
"Greater love…," the monsignor said, somewhat piously.
"Officer Charlton was a good man," Lieutenant McGuire said. "A very sad situation."
Over Father Venno's shoulder, Matt saw that the two empty chairs at Terry Davis's table were now occupied by Sergeant Al Nevins and another man-presumably from GAM-and that everyone was smiling at one another.
"I've just placed you," Father Venno said, a tone of satisfaction in his voice.
"Excuse me?" Matt said.
"You were involved in that… unfortunate incident… in Doylestown a couple of months ago, weren't you?"
"Unfortunate incident?" And it was six months ago, not "a couple," and I was just starting to think I'd be able to start really forgetting it. Thanks a lot, Father!
"What unfortunate incident was that?" Monsignor Schneider asked.
"At the Crossroads Diner, Monsignor," Father Venno said. "The FBI and Detective Payne were attempting an arrest-"
"Of a terrorist," the monsignor interrupted, remembering. "A terrorist armed with a machine gun. Several people lost their lives." He looked at Payne. "You were involved in that, were you?"
"Yes, sir, I was," Matt said.
"As I recall," the monsignor said, "three people died, and another young woman was shot."
"I believe there were just two deaths, Monsignor," Lieutenant McGuire said. "The terrorist, a man named Chenowith, and a civilian, a young woman who was cooperating with the FBI. What was her name, Matt?"
"Susan Reynolds," Matt answered.
And I loved her, and she loved me, but we didn't make it to that vine-covered cottage by the side of the road because that lunatic Chenowith let fly with his automatic carbine.
He had a sudden painfully clear mental image of Susan on her back in the parking lot behind the Crossroads Diner, her mouth and her sightless eyes open, her blond hair in a spreading pool of blood. The carbine bullet had made a small, neat hole just below her left eye, and a much nastier hole at the back of her head as it exited.
He laid his fork down, put his napkin on the table, and stood up.
"Will you excuse me, please?" he said, and looked around the room in search of a bathroom.
As he walked across the room, he heard Monsignor Schneider ask, "Detective Payne has experience working with the FBI, does he?" and heard Lieutenant McGuire's answer.
"Yes, he does, Monsignor."
Then he was in the bathroom, hurriedly fastening the lock, and hoping that he could splash cold water on his face quickly enough to force back the bile and nausea he felt rising.
Ninety seconds later, he was leaning with his back against the bathroom wall, wiping his face with a towel, exhaling audibly. He had managed to keep from throwing up, but there had been a cold sweat, and he could feel the clammy touch of his undershirt on his skin.
You're going to have to stop this shit, Matthew. That was a long time ago, Susan is not going to come back, and you're going to have to really put all of that out of your mind, or they'll put you in a rubber room.
Finally, he hung the towel back on its rack, and then, after purposefully taking several slow, deep breaths, unlatched the door and went out of the bathroom. Everyone was filing into the conference room-how the hell long was I in the john?- and he joined the line at the end, taking his seat at the table where he had left the laptop.