feels information about his daughter's murder is worth any price. My reasoning is this, Mr. Noble: People will come forward for a lot less than one hundred fifty thousand. An amount that extraordinary is going to bring in a flood of kooks and money-grubbing opportunists willing to sell their own mothers down the river. Start with fifty. Later we may want to use raising the amount as a strategic move.”
Noble breathed a measured sigh and pushed his chair back from the table. “I'll need to speak with Peter about this.” He unfolded his long body and walked across the room to a side table with a telephone.
“We've got every reporter in the Twin Cities camped out on the steps of city hall,” the mayor pointed out. “They're anticipating something more than a simple statement.”
“That's their problem,” Quinn said. “You have to think of them as tools rather than guests. They're not entitled to the details of an ongoing investigation. You called a press conference, you didn't promise them anything.”
The mayor's expression suggested otherwise. Quinn tightened his grip on the fraying threads of his patience.
Play diplomat. Go easy. Don't lose your cool
. Christ, he was tired of it.
“Did you?”
Grace Noble looked to Sabin. “We had hoped to have a composite sketch. . . .”
Sabin cut a nasty look at Kate. “Our witness is being less than cooperative.”
“Our witness is a scared kid who saw a psychopath set fire to a headless corpse,” Kate said sharply. “The last thing on her mind is accommodating your timetable . . . sir.”
“She got a good look at the guy?” Quinn asked.
Kate spread her hands. “She says she saw him. She's tired, she's afraid, she's angry—and rightfully so—at the treatment she's been given. Those factors tend not to create a spirit of cooperation.”
Sabin began to position himself for rebuttal. Quinn blocked the argument. “Bottom line: We have no composite.”
“We have no composite,” Kate said.
“Then don't bring it up,” Quinn said, turning back to the mayor. “Divert their attention to something else. Give them a photograph of Jillian Bondurant and one of her car and make an appeal for people to call the hotline if they've seen either one since Friday evening. Don't talk about the witness. Your first concern here has to be with how your actions and reactions will be perceived by the killer, not how they'll be perceived by the media.”
Grace Noble pulled in a deep breath. “Agent Quinn—”
“I don't normally come into a case this early on,” he interrupted, the control slipping a little more. “But since I'm here, I want to do everything I can to help defuse the situation and bring a swift and satisfactory conclusion to the investigation. That means advising you all on proactive investigative strategies and how to handle the case in the press. You don't have to listen to me, but I'm drawing on a wealth of past experience. The director of the FBI personally chose me for this case. You might want to consider why before you disregard my suggestions.”
Kate watched him as he took two steps back from the table and the argument, and turned his profile to her, pretending to look out the window. A subtle threat. He had established his own importance and now dared them to challenge it. He had attached the director of the FBI to his position and indirectly dared them to defy
him
.
Same old Quinn. She had known him as well as anyone could know John Quinn. He was a master manipulator. He could read people in a heartbeat and change colors like a chameleon. He played both adversaries and colleagues with the brilliance of Mozart at the keyboard, turning them to his side of an argument with charm or bullying or guile or the brute force of his intelligence. He was smart, he was sly, he was ruthless if he needed to be. And who he really was behind all the clever disguises and razor-sharp strategies—well, Kate wondered if
he
knew. She'd thought she had once upon a
Noble breathed a measured sigh and pushed his chair back from the table. “I'll need to speak with Peter about this.” He unfolded his long body and walked across the room to a side table with a telephone.
“We've got every reporter in the Twin Cities camped out on the steps of city hall,” the mayor pointed out. “They're anticipating something more than a simple statement.”
“That's their problem,” Quinn said. “You have to think of them as tools rather than guests. They're not entitled to the details of an ongoing investigation. You called a press conference, you didn't promise them anything.”
The mayor's expression suggested otherwise. Quinn tightened his grip on the fraying threads of his patience.
Play diplomat. Go easy. Don't lose your cool
. Christ, he was tired of it.
“Did you?”
Grace Noble looked to Sabin. “We had hoped to have a composite sketch. . . .”
Sabin cut a nasty look at Kate. “Our witness is being less than cooperative.”
“Our witness is a scared kid who saw a psychopath set fire to a headless corpse,” Kate said sharply. “The last thing on her mind is accommodating your timetable . . . sir.”
“She got a good look at the guy?” Quinn asked.
Kate spread her hands. “She says she saw him. She's tired, she's afraid, she's angry—and rightfully so—at the treatment she's been given. Those factors tend not to create a spirit of cooperation.”
Sabin began to position himself for rebuttal. Quinn blocked the argument. “Bottom line: We have no composite.”
“We have no composite,” Kate said.
“Then don't bring it up,” Quinn said, turning back to the mayor. “Divert their attention to something else. Give them a photograph of Jillian Bondurant and one of her car and make an appeal for people to call the hotline if they've seen either one since Friday evening. Don't talk about the witness. Your first concern here has to be with how your actions and reactions will be perceived by the killer, not how they'll be perceived by the media.”
Grace Noble pulled in a deep breath. “Agent Quinn—”
“I don't normally come into a case this early on,” he interrupted, the control slipping a little more. “But since I'm here, I want to do everything I can to help defuse the situation and bring a swift and satisfactory conclusion to the investigation. That means advising you all on proactive investigative strategies and how to handle the case in the press. You don't have to listen to me, but I'm drawing on a wealth of past experience. The director of the FBI personally chose me for this case. You might want to consider why before you disregard my suggestions.”
Kate watched him as he took two steps back from the table and the argument, and turned his profile to her, pretending to look out the window. A subtle threat. He had established his own importance and now dared them to challenge it. He had attached the director of the FBI to his position and indirectly dared them to defy
him
.
Same old Quinn. She had known him as well as anyone could know John Quinn. He was a master manipulator. He could read people in a heartbeat and change colors like a chameleon. He played both adversaries and colleagues with the brilliance of Mozart at the keyboard, turning them to his side of an argument with charm or bullying or guile or the brute force of his intelligence. He was smart, he was sly, he was ruthless if he needed to be. And who he really was behind all the clever disguises and razor-sharp strategies—well, Kate wondered if
he
knew. She'd thought she had once upon a
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