right in front of him. It shouldn’t have been surprising, and it wasn’t. It was one reason he was sitting where he was. The coffee shop across the street was one frequented by personnel at the DB. He knew this from previous visits. He had met or seen many of them during his time here. They weren’t on a first-name basis, of course, but with his size Puller was hard to miss and harder still not to remember.
He waited patiently as uniform after uniform went into the shop and came out with coffee and bags of food. Uniforms he didn’t want. Too many rules and regulations weighed them down like a gangster’s concrete booties. Twenty minutes later his patience was rewarded. The woman had parked at the curb and climbed out of her car. She was in her late forties, maybe early fifties, tallish, stout, with blonde hair that was not her natural color, and wearing black slacks and a red sweater with black flats. He eyed the lanyard and ID around her neck and the USDB parking permit on the front bumper of her car. He had seen her at the prison a few times before.
A civilian, she was in admin at the prison. He couldn’t remember her name, but he figured she was a good place to start. They had talked once or twice, and he thought if he remembered her, she’d remember him.
He got out of the car and crossed the street, entering the shop at about the time she was placing her order. He got in behind her and asked for a large black coffee. When she heard his voice she turned and looked up at him.
“Puller?” she said. “Puller, right? CID?”
He looked at her with his blankest expression. “Yes ma’am, that’s right. Do we know each other?”
“I work at DB. I’m in admin.”
“Oh, that’s right. Ms.?”
“Chelsea Burke. You came by my office once with a question about your…” Her voice trailed off just as Puller knew it would.
He nodded, his blank expression turning to grim. “Right. It’s why I’m here, Ms. Burke.”
“Please, just call me Chelsea.”
“Thanks, I’m John. Look, now that we’ve run into each other, you have a minute?”
She got her coffee and paid her money and Puller did the same. She looked uncertain, but he guided her to a small table near the front of the shop overlooking the street. They sat and Puller took a sip of his coffee while she simply cradled hers and stared anxiously at him.
“It was a shock,” Puller began. “When I heard the news. Happened at night, so I doubt you were even there.”
“I wasn’t,” she conceded.
“People have already been by to see me,” Puller said. “All very hush-hush, but I’m CID. I can see through all that. You probably can too.”
“Is CID involved in this?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that directly, sorry.”
“Oh, of course not. I didn’t mean to—”
He quickly waved off her apology. “No problem, Chelsea, but I like to hit the ground running, and it might have been fortunate I bumped into you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re not military.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Uniforms tend to circle the wagons in events like these. CID’s only concern is getting to the truth.” This was perfectly true, although he had made the statement to cause her to believe that CID—in the form of his presence—was investigating the matter.
“Absolutely,” she said, wide-eyed. He was gratified to see that as she took a sip of her coffee she sat back in her chair and looked more relaxed and engaged.
“I’m sure you can understand that things look very peculiar here. Main power goes, purportedly because of the storm. And then the backup generator dies? You must see that is extremely unlikely to have happened just by accident.”
She was nodding before he finished. “That’s the scuttlebutt, John. It’s like a billion to one. Now, I’ll grant you it was one helluva storm. But the storm could not have had an impact on the generator. It runs off natural gas lines buried underground.”
He sat forward and
He waited patiently as uniform after uniform went into the shop and came out with coffee and bags of food. Uniforms he didn’t want. Too many rules and regulations weighed them down like a gangster’s concrete booties. Twenty minutes later his patience was rewarded. The woman had parked at the curb and climbed out of her car. She was in her late forties, maybe early fifties, tallish, stout, with blonde hair that was not her natural color, and wearing black slacks and a red sweater with black flats. He eyed the lanyard and ID around her neck and the USDB parking permit on the front bumper of her car. He had seen her at the prison a few times before.
A civilian, she was in admin at the prison. He couldn’t remember her name, but he figured she was a good place to start. They had talked once or twice, and he thought if he remembered her, she’d remember him.
He got out of the car and crossed the street, entering the shop at about the time she was placing her order. He got in behind her and asked for a large black coffee. When she heard his voice she turned and looked up at him.
“Puller?” she said. “Puller, right? CID?”
He looked at her with his blankest expression. “Yes ma’am, that’s right. Do we know each other?”
“I work at DB. I’m in admin.”
“Oh, that’s right. Ms.?”
“Chelsea Burke. You came by my office once with a question about your…” Her voice trailed off just as Puller knew it would.
He nodded, his blank expression turning to grim. “Right. It’s why I’m here, Ms. Burke.”
“Please, just call me Chelsea.”
“Thanks, I’m John. Look, now that we’ve run into each other, you have a minute?”
She got her coffee and paid her money and Puller did the same. She looked uncertain, but he guided her to a small table near the front of the shop overlooking the street. They sat and Puller took a sip of his coffee while she simply cradled hers and stared anxiously at him.
“It was a shock,” Puller began. “When I heard the news. Happened at night, so I doubt you were even there.”
“I wasn’t,” she conceded.
“People have already been by to see me,” Puller said. “All very hush-hush, but I’m CID. I can see through all that. You probably can too.”
“Is CID involved in this?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that directly, sorry.”
“Oh, of course not. I didn’t mean to—”
He quickly waved off her apology. “No problem, Chelsea, but I like to hit the ground running, and it might have been fortunate I bumped into you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re not military.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Uniforms tend to circle the wagons in events like these. CID’s only concern is getting to the truth.” This was perfectly true, although he had made the statement to cause her to believe that CID—in the form of his presence—was investigating the matter.
“Absolutely,” she said, wide-eyed. He was gratified to see that as she took a sip of her coffee she sat back in her chair and looked more relaxed and engaged.
“I’m sure you can understand that things look very peculiar here. Main power goes, purportedly because of the storm. And then the backup generator dies? You must see that is extremely unlikely to have happened just by accident.”
She was nodding before he finished. “That’s the scuttlebutt, John. It’s like a billion to one. Now, I’ll grant you it was one helluva storm. But the storm could not have had an impact on the generator. It runs off natural gas lines buried underground.”
He sat forward and
Similar Books
