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Authors: John Farrow
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travels to disaster zones to perpetuate his crimes—maybe because in those situations law enforcement is already up to its earlobes—”
“That’s right.”
“But this time—”
“He became impatient. We think it’s a possibility.”
“What is?” Mathers asked, struggling to keep up. “How is he impatient?”
Dreher locked his gaze on Cinq-Mars and declined to answer. The retired detective met his challenge. “Am I being tested again?” Rather than answer, Dreher kept silent, and Cinq-Mars shot a glance over at Mathers. “Agent Dreher thinks his killer, the man responsible for murders all over the United States of America, might be from here. A Qu é b é cois.”
“Exactly.”
“So I passed another test. Whoopee.”
“Why does he—? Why do you—why think that?” Mathers asked.
“Because the killer got impatient waiting for a natural disaster.”
“He was waiting to kill. But natural disasters aren’t reliable. He settled for a local storm. Which means he had to be nearby. Was he nearby because he lived here, or was he visiting and waiting for snow? We don’t know. Will you take the case, É mile?”
He smiled. “Well, sir,” he considered, “that depends.”
“I’m sure we can come to an accommodation with respect to compensation.”
“Good. Because I’m sure that I don’t come cheap. But to be honest with you, I wasn’t thinking of that. It’s not the stickiest issue I have, although it might help with one of them.”
“What’s your stickiest issue?”
Resuming his inspection of the rafters again, Cinq-Mars took a moment to reply. “Partly it depends on what you’re not telling me.”
Recognizing that his former mentor was moving into battle mode, Bill Mathers crossed his legs and leaned back against a higher tier of straw, making himself comfortable.
“Come on, É mile, why do you think I’m not telling you something?”
He took his time, but lowered his gaze from the ceiling and looked directly at Dreher. “Because I’ve worked with the FBI in the past. Several times.”
“I can’t speak for those officers—”
“It’s in your training. Becomes part of your DNA. It has to do with how you think of yourselves. You have a style. You can’t seem to get out from under it.”
“Aside from the details of the other murders, É mile, which I’ll provide, what I know about this case is now what you know.”
He smiled. He nearly laughed. “Okay. Look, I’m tempted to take the case if for no other reason than to see if that statement holds up. Tell you what, if it doesn’t, if I work things through and show you later what you are deliberately holding back from me now—and why—then my accommodation , as you so elegantly phrased it, doubles. Not only do I want that in writing, I want my potential bonus for your malfeasance placed in an escrow account. And yes, I’m serious. I know that I can never get the FBI to admit to deliberately misleading a colleague, so I’ll ask for the next best thing. I’ll make the FBI pay for doing so.”
To Mathers, it seemed clear that Dreher wanted to inquire if Cinq-Mars was serious, if not out on farmland howling at the moon, but he curtailed his own gut reactions. “On a matter of that nature,” he stated, “I’ll need to speak to my superiors.”
“Do so.” In raising his chin, he looked down his magisterial beak at him, his eyes as penetrating as an eagle’s. “Now it’s my turn to test you, Rand. Let’s see if you can’t get that done within two days. I have to think about it some more, pass it by my wife. She might be the stickiest issue of all. I can’t predict how that might shake down. I am, after all, supposedly, retired. I’ll also need to have a private word with Bill here, before you go. If I’m to be of any use to you, I’ll need some help myself. That’s where Bill comes in. After all, he’s an officer of the law. Not much of a brain but he packs a weapon.”
“Which I might
“That’s right.”
“But this time—”
“He became impatient. We think it’s a possibility.”
“What is?” Mathers asked, struggling to keep up. “How is he impatient?”
Dreher locked his gaze on Cinq-Mars and declined to answer. The retired detective met his challenge. “Am I being tested again?” Rather than answer, Dreher kept silent, and Cinq-Mars shot a glance over at Mathers. “Agent Dreher thinks his killer, the man responsible for murders all over the United States of America, might be from here. A Qu é b é cois.”
“Exactly.”
“So I passed another test. Whoopee.”
“Why does he—? Why do you—why think that?” Mathers asked.
“Because the killer got impatient waiting for a natural disaster.”
“He was waiting to kill. But natural disasters aren’t reliable. He settled for a local storm. Which means he had to be nearby. Was he nearby because he lived here, or was he visiting and waiting for snow? We don’t know. Will you take the case, É mile?”
He smiled. “Well, sir,” he considered, “that depends.”
“I’m sure we can come to an accommodation with respect to compensation.”
“Good. Because I’m sure that I don’t come cheap. But to be honest with you, I wasn’t thinking of that. It’s not the stickiest issue I have, although it might help with one of them.”
“What’s your stickiest issue?”
Resuming his inspection of the rafters again, Cinq-Mars took a moment to reply. “Partly it depends on what you’re not telling me.”
Recognizing that his former mentor was moving into battle mode, Bill Mathers crossed his legs and leaned back against a higher tier of straw, making himself comfortable.
“Come on, É mile, why do you think I’m not telling you something?”
He took his time, but lowered his gaze from the ceiling and looked directly at Dreher. “Because I’ve worked with the FBI in the past. Several times.”
“I can’t speak for those officers—”
“It’s in your training. Becomes part of your DNA. It has to do with how you think of yourselves. You have a style. You can’t seem to get out from under it.”
“Aside from the details of the other murders, É mile, which I’ll provide, what I know about this case is now what you know.”
He smiled. He nearly laughed. “Okay. Look, I’m tempted to take the case if for no other reason than to see if that statement holds up. Tell you what, if it doesn’t, if I work things through and show you later what you are deliberately holding back from me now—and why—then my accommodation , as you so elegantly phrased it, doubles. Not only do I want that in writing, I want my potential bonus for your malfeasance placed in an escrow account. And yes, I’m serious. I know that I can never get the FBI to admit to deliberately misleading a colleague, so I’ll ask for the next best thing. I’ll make the FBI pay for doing so.”
To Mathers, it seemed clear that Dreher wanted to inquire if Cinq-Mars was serious, if not out on farmland howling at the moon, but he curtailed his own gut reactions. “On a matter of that nature,” he stated, “I’ll need to speak to my superiors.”
“Do so.” In raising his chin, he looked down his magisterial beak at him, his eyes as penetrating as an eagle’s. “Now it’s my turn to test you, Rand. Let’s see if you can’t get that done within two days. I have to think about it some more, pass it by my wife. She might be the stickiest issue of all. I can’t predict how that might shake down. I am, after all, supposedly, retired. I’ll also need to have a private word with Bill here, before you go. If I’m to be of any use to you, I’ll need some help myself. That’s where Bill comes in. After all, he’s an officer of the law. Not much of a brain but he packs a weapon.”
“Which I might
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