Page 89 of Fire and Bones
Walking from my car to 4th and E, I breathed the usual summer-in-the-city smells—wet cement, rotting garbage, diesel, coffee. Now and then a whiff of pizza or fresh bakery.
Odors reminiscent of Montreal.
Still no word from Ryan.
I refused to think about that.
My shirt was clammy by the time I entered the Consolidated Forensic Lab lobby. The blast of arctic air sent goosebumps prickling my arms.
It was Saturday, so I had to work unassisted. I’d already collected samples from the subcellar vic. It took little time to prepare them for shipment to Lizzie Griesser.
Only half my mind was on the task at hand. Assuming neither Burgos nor Deery would take the parking permit lead seriously, I was anxious to do some cyber sleuthing on my own. Starting with the Montgomery County DOT website.
Thoughts focused on my plan of attack, I took no heed of my surroundings. Hurrying down the corridor, I flew through the doorway into my office.
And slammed into a figure exiting from it. Equally startled, we both backpedaled quickly.
“My fault,” I said, squatting to retrieve the packet that had flown from my grasp. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
The figure said nothing.
Stretching to reach my papers, I caught a glimpse of feet.
Badly scuffed Oxfords suggested the wearer was male. Shoe size suggested considerable height.
Packet in hand, I straightened.
Faded blue eyes gazed down at me, dour and unsmiling. A fat dark crescent underhung each.
“Detective Deery,” I said. Why the hell are you in my office? I thought.
Deery nodded.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Doc Thacker asked that I keep you looped in on the Foggy Bottom fire investigation.”
“That would be good,” I said, curious about Thacker’s motive. The woman seemed to run hot and cold on me, sometimes holding back, sometimes going the extra mile to include me.
“Didn’t really expect to find you here on a Saturday.”
I said nothing.
“I observed you during the Hill post.”
I expected a positive comment. Good job. Well done. Very professional. None came.
“Shall we sit?” I invited, less than warmly.
Not awaiting a response, I circled my desk, placed the packet on the blotter, and sat.
Deery dropped into a chair facing me, knees splayed, ankles crossed. He wore neon yellow socks, brown pants, a melon shirt, and a green-and-gold tie badly in need of cleaning.
I noted that Deery wasn’t as tall as his footwear had suggested, maybe five-ten. Like the famed dodo bird, he had feet disproportionately large for his height.
I waited for him to begin.
“I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve got an arson resulting in four deaths. Four homicides. Thinking one of the dead might have been targeted, I researched each.”