Blow Out
Page 14
“All right.” Callie saw that her mother was staring at the two FBI agents—no, she was staring through them, obviously overwhelmed. Her eyes were vacant. Sherlock realized it at the same moment. She and Callie each took one of her arms, and half carried her over to a bench. “You sit down, Mrs. Califano. I don’t want you to worry about anything right now. Your daughter will stay with you.”
Margaret raised her head. “But he’s dead, my husband is dead. Gone. And there wasn’t any warning, nothing at all.”
“I know. Put your head down, ma’am, and breathe nice slow deep breaths. Just like that.” Sherlock nodded to Callie. “You try not to worry either. Take care of your mother. Once you’re moved into the Kettering house, we’ll come and talk.”
Margaret whispered something to her daughter.
Callie said, “My mother would really like a cup of tea.”
“No problem,” said Captain Halloway. “If your mother is up to it, we’ll go upstairs to my office. It’s nice and quiet and warm.”
He took Margaret Califano’s arm and led her to the elevator.
“I’ll be up in a moment, Mother.” Callie turned to Sherlock. “I’ve never seen her like this before in my life.”
Sherlock said, looking at Margaret Califano as the elevator doors slid shut, “It’s tough for a child to see a parent fall apart like that, I know. And how are you holding up, Ms. Markham?”
“Call me Callie. I’m not in shock yet, but my mom’s awfully close. Thank you, Agent Sherlock, for getting the house for my mother. But really, I don’t need to go to this house in Colfax. My mother has four very close women friends who will stick close to her if you let them, provide her all the support she’ll need. They’ll be a real comfort to her.
“I think it would be better that I stay here, keep busy, work with you to find out who killed my stepfather. Of course I’ll stay at a hotel, maybe under a different name, so the media won’t bother me.”
“No way, Ms. Markham,” Detective Raven said. He’d been speaking to Savich, and he spoke without even looking at her.
“My mother needs protection and comfort and support, I don’t. Actually, I think I’d like to have the media find me.”
Ben said, “Nobody but an idiot wants to deal with the media.”
Callie drew a deep breath, fanned her hands in front of her. “I thought you would have known. The thing is, I’m one of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Detective Raven, that you know I was Justice Califano’s stepdaughter, but you haven’t bothered to check out what I do for a living. I’m an investigative reporter for The Washington Post. I’m one of the vultures.”
“Well, sh—” He wanted to curse big time, but didn’t.
“So some would say,” she agreed, “what almost came out of your mouth. Nice save.”
“So you caught a reporter jerk in bed with another reporter jerk and you’re the third reporter in this triad?”
“Hey, another good save. You didn’t call me a jerk.”
“The boot doesn’t fit just yet. Damn, what are we going to do with you? Why don’t we go sit down in one our primo interview rooms?”
Callie looked him up and down. “As long as it’s warm. My feet are wet. Yes, all right, let’s go talk. But I want some tea before you sweat me.”
Savich laughed. Officer Nancy Kreider said, “Personally, I’d kill for some coffee.”
“That would be okay, too,” Callie said, then felt a rush of misery. She cleared her throat, aware that they were all looking at her. “The thing is my stepfather believed coffee is the first cousin to evil tobacco and wouldn’t let it through the front door. I once brought a thermos of coffee to their house, had to swig it on the sly.”
Officer Kreider patted her arm. “I’ll send someone to get us coffee and bring it to the interview room.”
Sherlock pulled two teabags out of her purse. “Dillon wouldn’t exactly call coffee a first cousin to evil tobacco, but close enough. Could we have some hot water?”
Callie walked down a corridor of dirty linoleum, the color of lettuce, streaks of muddy water making puddles here and there where the linoleum had caved in, thinking that a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America had been strangled, and they were talking about coffee. There weren’t a whole lot of people around, cops or otherwise. She thought this was odd until she realized it was Saturday morning.
Margaret raised her head. “But he’s dead, my husband is dead. Gone. And there wasn’t any warning, nothing at all.”
“I know. Put your head down, ma’am, and breathe nice slow deep breaths. Just like that.” Sherlock nodded to Callie. “You try not to worry either. Take care of your mother. Once you’re moved into the Kettering house, we’ll come and talk.”
Margaret whispered something to her daughter.
Callie said, “My mother would really like a cup of tea.”
“No problem,” said Captain Halloway. “If your mother is up to it, we’ll go upstairs to my office. It’s nice and quiet and warm.”
He took Margaret Califano’s arm and led her to the elevator.
“I’ll be up in a moment, Mother.” Callie turned to Sherlock. “I’ve never seen her like this before in my life.”
Sherlock said, looking at Margaret Califano as the elevator doors slid shut, “It’s tough for a child to see a parent fall apart like that, I know. And how are you holding up, Ms. Markham?”
“Call me Callie. I’m not in shock yet, but my mom’s awfully close. Thank you, Agent Sherlock, for getting the house for my mother. But really, I don’t need to go to this house in Colfax. My mother has four very close women friends who will stick close to her if you let them, provide her all the support she’ll need. They’ll be a real comfort to her.
“I think it would be better that I stay here, keep busy, work with you to find out who killed my stepfather. Of course I’ll stay at a hotel, maybe under a different name, so the media won’t bother me.”
“No way, Ms. Markham,” Detective Raven said. He’d been speaking to Savich, and he spoke without even looking at her.
“My mother needs protection and comfort and support, I don’t. Actually, I think I’d like to have the media find me.”
Ben said, “Nobody but an idiot wants to deal with the media.”
Callie drew a deep breath, fanned her hands in front of her. “I thought you would have known. The thing is, I’m one of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Detective Raven, that you know I was Justice Califano’s stepdaughter, but you haven’t bothered to check out what I do for a living. I’m an investigative reporter for The Washington Post. I’m one of the vultures.”
“Well, sh—” He wanted to curse big time, but didn’t.
“So some would say,” she agreed, “what almost came out of your mouth. Nice save.”
“So you caught a reporter jerk in bed with another reporter jerk and you’re the third reporter in this triad?”
“Hey, another good save. You didn’t call me a jerk.”
“The boot doesn’t fit just yet. Damn, what are we going to do with you? Why don’t we go sit down in one our primo interview rooms?”
Callie looked him up and down. “As long as it’s warm. My feet are wet. Yes, all right, let’s go talk. But I want some tea before you sweat me.”
Savich laughed. Officer Nancy Kreider said, “Personally, I’d kill for some coffee.”
“That would be okay, too,” Callie said, then felt a rush of misery. She cleared her throat, aware that they were all looking at her. “The thing is my stepfather believed coffee is the first cousin to evil tobacco and wouldn’t let it through the front door. I once brought a thermos of coffee to their house, had to swig it on the sly.”
Officer Kreider patted her arm. “I’ll send someone to get us coffee and bring it to the interview room.”
Sherlock pulled two teabags out of her purse. “Dillon wouldn’t exactly call coffee a first cousin to evil tobacco, but close enough. Could we have some hot water?”
Callie walked down a corridor of dirty linoleum, the color of lettuce, streaks of muddy water making puddles here and there where the linoleum had caved in, thinking that a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America had been strangled, and they were talking about coffee. There weren’t a whole lot of people around, cops or otherwise. She thought this was odd until she realized it was Saturday morning.
