chairs, and the usual one-way glass mirror on the near wall. Diane reached over, squeezed my hand. "See you later, Lewis."
"Sure, Diane."
"Thank you, Detective," the man said in a quiet and firm voice. "Please close the door on your way out, will you?"
She said nothing, but did as she was requested. I sat down. The man said, "Mr. Cole, I'm Glen Reynolds, Secret Service."
"Nice to meet you."
"Sure," he said, opening up a file folder. No hand was offered, and I wasn't offended. I had an idea of where this was going.
"Mr. Cole, I'm looking for your cooperation."
"All right."
"You can imagine what we're up to, trying to determine who shot at Senator Hale yesterday, and why."
"Yeah."
"So I'm going to ask you a series of questions. All right?"
I looked behind him, at the mirrored glass. I wondered how many people were back there watching us, and how many recording devices were listening to us.
"Sure. That'd be fine."
He grinned. "Nice to have a cooperative witness, for once in my life. All right. Mr. Cole, were you at the campaign rally yesterday for Senator Hale?"
"I was."
"And why were you there?"
"As a favor."
"For whom?"
I gave him points for grammatical precision and said, "A lady friend. Who works for the senator's campaign."
That brought a knowing nod from him. "Right. One Annie Wynn of Boston, Massachusetts. So. You have no particular political interest in the senator or his political positions."
"Not particularly."
That brought a smile. "If you're a New Hampshire resident who doesn't have much interest in politics, then you're one of the few I've met in my time here."
"I'm sure."
"So you don't have any grudge against the senator, or the United States government, am I right?"
A brief snippet of memory of when I was with the Department of Defense, younger and less cynical, until a moment in the high Nevada desert, a training accident that took everyone's life save mine.
"Fifty percent right," I said. "No grudge against the senator. Perhaps a grudge against the government."
A knowing nod. "Your time in the Department of Defense. I understand."
"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say anything about my time of service in the Department of Defense."
He smiled again. "Really, I'm not interested in that particular part of your past. I'm interested in other things."
"Such as?"
"Such as your enrollment in Indiana University in Bloomington. When you were romantically involved with one Barbara Scott, a classmate of yours. Who later became the senator's wife."
"And what's your interest?"
He shrugged. "Just wondering... if you're jealous of the senator. For being with the woman you were once intimate with."
"No. I'm not jealous."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Agent Reynolds, may I ask you a question?"
"Sure," he said, grinning. "I've been monopolizing the conversation since you've gotten here. Go ahead. Ask away."
'Why am I here? I thought I had been cleared by the Secret Service agent who saw me two days ago. Agent Harris."
"Agent Harris?"
"Yes. Agent Spenser Harris. From your Boston office. He came to see me two days ago, since I'm on one of your lists... persons of interest, he said. He talked with me for a while and left. Said that everything was just fine."
"Mr. Cole, like I said, I'm not much interested in your past. It's your present time that interests me. Especially what you were doing at the rally yesterday."
"Again, why me? You're interested in me as a witness? Because to tell you the truth, I didn't see much when I was at the rally yesterday. I was there for most of the speeches and then I got sick to my stomach and went outside. Where I then promptly threw up."
"Point noted," he said.
"So why am I here?" I asked.
"You're here because your presence at the campaign rally was reconfirmed, leading us to a few questions."
"Reconfirmed? By whom?"
Agent Reynolds's voice seemed to sharpen. "By our very dear and closest friend in the agency. Mr. Forensics."
"Sorry, I don't understand. What do you
"Sure, Diane."
"Thank you, Detective," the man said in a quiet and firm voice. "Please close the door on your way out, will you?"
She said nothing, but did as she was requested. I sat down. The man said, "Mr. Cole, I'm Glen Reynolds, Secret Service."
"Nice to meet you."
"Sure," he said, opening up a file folder. No hand was offered, and I wasn't offended. I had an idea of where this was going.
"Mr. Cole, I'm looking for your cooperation."
"All right."
"You can imagine what we're up to, trying to determine who shot at Senator Hale yesterday, and why."
"Yeah."
"So I'm going to ask you a series of questions. All right?"
I looked behind him, at the mirrored glass. I wondered how many people were back there watching us, and how many recording devices were listening to us.
"Sure. That'd be fine."
He grinned. "Nice to have a cooperative witness, for once in my life. All right. Mr. Cole, were you at the campaign rally yesterday for Senator Hale?"
"I was."
"And why were you there?"
"As a favor."
"For whom?"
I gave him points for grammatical precision and said, "A lady friend. Who works for the senator's campaign."
That brought a knowing nod from him. "Right. One Annie Wynn of Boston, Massachusetts. So. You have no particular political interest in the senator or his political positions."
"Not particularly."
That brought a smile. "If you're a New Hampshire resident who doesn't have much interest in politics, then you're one of the few I've met in my time here."
"I'm sure."
"So you don't have any grudge against the senator, or the United States government, am I right?"
A brief snippet of memory of when I was with the Department of Defense, younger and less cynical, until a moment in the high Nevada desert, a training accident that took everyone's life save mine.
"Fifty percent right," I said. "No grudge against the senator. Perhaps a grudge against the government."
A knowing nod. "Your time in the Department of Defense. I understand."
"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say anything about my time of service in the Department of Defense."
He smiled again. "Really, I'm not interested in that particular part of your past. I'm interested in other things."
"Such as?"
"Such as your enrollment in Indiana University in Bloomington. When you were romantically involved with one Barbara Scott, a classmate of yours. Who later became the senator's wife."
"And what's your interest?"
He shrugged. "Just wondering... if you're jealous of the senator. For being with the woman you were once intimate with."
"No. I'm not jealous."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Agent Reynolds, may I ask you a question?"
"Sure," he said, grinning. "I've been monopolizing the conversation since you've gotten here. Go ahead. Ask away."
'Why am I here? I thought I had been cleared by the Secret Service agent who saw me two days ago. Agent Harris."
"Agent Harris?"
"Yes. Agent Spenser Harris. From your Boston office. He came to see me two days ago, since I'm on one of your lists... persons of interest, he said. He talked with me for a while and left. Said that everything was just fine."
"Mr. Cole, like I said, I'm not much interested in your past. It's your present time that interests me. Especially what you were doing at the rally yesterday."
"Again, why me? You're interested in me as a witness? Because to tell you the truth, I didn't see much when I was at the rally yesterday. I was there for most of the speeches and then I got sick to my stomach and went outside. Where I then promptly threw up."
"Point noted," he said.
"So why am I here?" I asked.
"You're here because your presence at the campaign rally was reconfirmed, leading us to a few questions."
"Reconfirmed? By whom?"
Agent Reynolds's voice seemed to sharpen. "By our very dear and closest friend in the agency. Mr. Forensics."
"Sorry, I don't understand. What do you
Similar Books
