CHAPTER
42
ROBIE CLIMBED BACK in the car and slid out his earwig and power pack, stashing them in the console between the front seats. He looked over at Julie, who gazed straight ahead.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay.” She stared over at the diner. “That place was almost more of a home for me than my real home. Certainly more than any of the foster places.”
“I can see that,” replied Robie.
“I liked to do my homework there. My mom would get me pie and let me drink coffee. I felt really grown-up.”
“And I guess it was nice being with her.”
“I liked to watch her work. She was good at it. Juggled all these orders. And she never wrote anything down. She had a great memory.”
“Maybe your brains are genetic.”
“Maybe they are.”
“The night your parents were killed they left the diner at around six. But they didn’t show up at their house until hours later, and with the gunman. I wonder where they were in the meantime?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, how about the Broomes?”
“They live in an apartment in northeast.”
Robie put the car in drive. “What can you tell me about them?”
Before she could answer, Robie’s phone buzzed. He put it up to his ear. “Robie.”
“Where the hell are you?”
It was Vance.
“Doing some digging, like I told you.”
“You need to get over here.”
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“First, I’ve got the press all over my ass. Second, I’ve got MPD, a joint terrorist team, and Homeland Security trying to tell me how to run my investigation. Third, I’m just pissed.”
“Okay. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.”
“Is that really the best you can do?”
“It really is.”
He clicked off and hung a left, working his way over to Union Station. He abruptly pulled off, parked, and undid his seat belt.
“What are you doing?” asked Julie.
“Give me a minute.”
Robie stepped outside and shut the door behind him. He made the call.
The office of Blue Man answered. He was patched directly through.
Robie told him what Vance had told him. “You might want to pull some strings at DHS, the joint terrorist squad, and MPD to get them off her back,” he said. “Otherwise this might get even more complicated real fast.”
“Consider it done,” said Blue Man.
Robie slid back in the car and started it up.
“Top-secret stuff?” said Julie, looking at him with an unfriendly gaze.
“No, I was just checking on my dry cleaning.”
“So have you slept with her?” asked Julie.
Robie kept his eyes straight ahead. “I already told you. No! Not that it’s any of your business who I sleep with.”
“Well, she wants to have sex with you.”
He shot her a glance. “How the hell do you figure that?”
“She’s pissed off at you now. I heard her voice over the phone. She wouldn’t get that upset unless she had a thing for you.”
“She’s FBI. She’s probably reamed lots of guys who give her trouble.”
“Maybe, but this is different. I can just tell. It’s a woman thing. Guys wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t know about woman things.”
“Will, what century are you living in? Five girls in my old school are pregnant. And none of them are older than me.”
“I guess I’m just old-fashioned.”
“Sometimes I wish I could be old-fashioned too. But that’s not the world I live in.”
“So, the Broomes?” asked Robie again.
“My parents have known them for years. Like Cheryl said, Ida works in a hair salon. I’ve gone there with my mom. Ida would cut my hair for free and my mom would bake stuff for her. My mom is a good cook.” She paused. “Was a good cook.”
“And her husband?” Robie said quickly, hoping to move her off this thought. “Cheryl said he had some job with the city.”
“Not sure about that,” answered Julie.
“Anything unusual about them?”
“They seemed pretty normal to me, but I didn’t know them all that well.”
“Then I’ll guess we’ll just have to ask them.” If they’re still alive, he thought. “How did they meet your parents?”
“I think Mr. Broome was a friend of Dad’s. I’m not sure what the exact connection was.”
“You think they could have anything to do with what happened to your parents?”
“I wouldn’t think so. I mean, she works in a hair salon and they eat in crummy diners. It’s not like they’re international spies or anything.”
“Not that you know.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Spies don’t usually look like spies. That’s sort of the point.”
“You look like a spy.”
“That’s good, because I’m not.”
“So you say.”
They drove in silence for a few seconds.
“So are you sleeping with her?” she asked again.
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I’m just naturally curious.”
“Yeah, that I get. But even if I were sleeping with her I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Something called being a gentleman.”
“Now you really sound old.”
“Compared to you I’m ancient,” replied Robie.