Daddy's Little Killer

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

My heart wasn't pounding as much as it was quivering. Cold seeped through my chest cavity. Datello just threatened my life. The problem was, I couldn't explain the nature of the threat without exposing something I didn't want anyone to know.

If I had latched onto Marie's propensity for prayer, I would've been doing it like crazy-that I could get to Datello before he got to me, that the only eyes behind the glass watching that thinly veiled game of one-upmanship was Charlie Haverston. He was green enough to placate.

Hope dashed hard and sparked a little life into my heart. It took off in a staccato that would've won a round of dueling banjos. The door to the observation room swung open. Somber George Hardy and stricken Donald Weber stared at me with horrified expressions.

Behind them, I got a glimpse of smug plastered on Jerry Lowe's face. Beside him, Chris Darnell looked ready to spit bullets in a succession that would rival my heartbeat.

"Helen, we need to talk. Now."

They filed out of the room, followed by Charlie, who simply mouthed, I'm sorry.

"Wait for me in the lobby, Charlie. We need to plan what happens next."

"Helen?" Weber turned and waited for me to follow.

"Sir," we stepped onto the ancient elevator.

"Not now, Helen," George said. Not particularly friendly. 

I didn't think the interview was that bad. The car was saturated with too many emotions to sift through. Anger. Fear. Panic. Regret. Those were just mine.

Alarm spiked because of the unexpected crowd watching my little chat with Datello. How much had he said? Anything that might betray details that were better left quiet? And where was Rodney? I couldn't fathom why Jerry Lowe was part of this motley crew.

"In the conference room," George said. 

I was there already. Noose tightening. Run now. I don't need money. I don't need this.

Jerry Lowe's hand slipped over the small of my back. "That was brilliant, Helen. I'd love to talk about how you managed to irritate him out of that calm veneer he wears all the time."

"Give it a rest, Lowe," Darnell piped up from the rear. "It's not rocket science, right, Dr. Eriksson?"

My blood froze. Paranoia has that effect. Who was the last person I dropped that phrase to? Maya? Haverston? At Orion's place, when I talked to Briscoe and Conall...

I gritted my teeth and marched into the conference room. "Commissioner Hardy, did we not reach an agreement that outlined my authority to investigate this case?"

"We did, Helen, but-"

"And in that agreement, did I not stipulate that I would not tolerate interference with the legal practices necessary to advance this investigation to a successful conclusion?"

"You did, but-"

"And-"

"Jesus," Darnell muttered, "would you let the man speak, Dr. Eriksson? Or were you this insubordinate to your superiors in the FBI too?"

"They teach a class at Quantico."

Air blasted from his nostrils. "Unbelievable."

"Why am I being accosted by three superiors and someone who has no authority over my position at all?"

"We're not accosting you, Helen," Weber spoke softly. "That interview raised grave concerns. From our vantage point, it sounded like Datello threatened you."