Page 95 of Delusion in Death
“Who?”
“CEO of New Harbor, Callaway’s client.”
“Is it business hours?”
“Close enough for those of us trying to wrangle world domination. She’d heard about the incident here, of course, and knew Cattery. She was cooperative, and sounded sincerely fond of Cattery. She was, as he stated, at dinner with Vann when Callaway contacted him to tell him Cattery was dead.”
“Right on the spot. Handy.”
“It was, yes. She says Vann was stunned. Both of them were stunned and upset. They considered postponing the presentation, but then agreed to get it done and over. Joe, as she said, had worked hard on it.”
“And Callaway.”
“She claimed she didn’t know him as well as Vann, Cattery, or Weaver. Hadn’t really connected with him, and considered him a more behind-the-scenes type. She didn’t really have any specific impression of him, which made one on me.”
“Yeah, he’s invisible to her—and that would grate.”
“More, Vann specifically—before he knew of the death—credited Cattery with two key points in the campaign, and Weaver for her flexibility. She doesn’t recall him mentioning Callaway except as part of the team.”
“Still doing what he’s told, and no more—sounds like. And pissed off that someone like Cattery, the family man, the soccer coach, the nice guy, is passing him by.”
“It’s not much more than you had.”
“Little things, adding up.” To a clearer picture, she thought. “I appreciate it.”
“I’m a bit crowded today, but I can look into it sometime late this afternoon if there’s still a need.”
“I’ll keep that in reserve.” She stepped closer. “But don’t screw with your work and time for this. I’m covered, and you’ve already done more than your part.”
“Over a hundred and twenty people are dead. I’ll make time if I’m needed.”
“I’ll let you know. Thanks for this.” She patted her pocket. “I’ll bone up on the way to Central.”
“It’s a dangerous world out there. Take care of my cop.”
“Don’t worry.”
Wishing he could give her what she asked, he watched her walk out.
With her mind on steps, angles, she hurried downstairs to find Summerset in the foyer. He held out her long leather coat.
“It’s been fitted with the body armor lining, as in your jacket,” he told her.
“Yeah?” Roarke, she thought, never a miss. She took the coat, tested the weight, studied the flexible, protective lining.
He might tell her to take care of his cop, but he often beat her to it.
“A cold front moved in,” Summerset said simply. “We’ve had a hard frost, and there’s a bitter wind this morning.”
“Okay.” She hesitated, knowing very well they were both aware he rarely greeted her in the morning, much less with a weather forecast. “I can’t give you all the details, but we found a link between the suspect and Red Horse. I have to tighten it, but it’s a connection, maybe—probably—an important one.”
“I could be useful.”
“Be useful to him.” She glanced upstairs. “He’s let too much slide the last couple months. I’ve got this.”
“Then I wish you a very productive day.”
She stepped outside, found Summerset’s description of the wind exactly on target. The bitter blew straight into her bones before she jumped into the vehicle—heater already running—at the base of the steps.