Power Play
Page 42
Blessed had whispered, “I will, Mama, I will, I promise.”
Now he whispered again into the dark air of his motel room, “I will, Mama, I will.”
Perry’s condo
Vanderbilt Street, Washington, D.C. Wednesday night
Perry was standing in the middle of her living room, barefoot, still wearing that black glove of a dress she’d worn to the restaurant. It hadn’t taken him long to get there, not after she’d yelled into the phone, “My Harley! Someone trashed my Harley!”
Before he’d come into the condo, he’d gone around the side to see another officer with a Maglite standing over the remains. The beautiful machine wouldn’t see life again; something like a sledgehammer, he thought, heavy, repeated blows. Rage in those blows. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it one bit. This was a serious escalation from the note in the Post’s men’s room.
He looked over at her, arms crossed over her chest, seriously pissed, ready to rip someone’s face off. He couldn’t blame her. When she spotted him she was looking ready to blow. He looked at the dress, then up at her face. “I’m hoping you didn’t put butter on your dinner roll. You couldn’t afford one more pound on your butt in that dress.”
She grinned, couldn’t help it, and let her hands fall to her sides. It was her turn to look him up and down. Black Nikes on his big feet, a leather jacket pulled over his Redskins sweatshirt, his hair standing on end. She felt the rage ease off, began to feel relief that he was here, and wondered why.
Davis patted her face and turned to Detective Ben Raven, Metro PD. “Good to see you, Ben.”
Ben Raven shook his pen at him. “Sullivan, Perry said she called you. You looked at the Harley?”
Davis nodded. “It’s a shame. It was a fine machine.”
“Looks like trespassing and felony destruction of private property. Unfortunately, she‘s been less than forthcoming with me about who might have done this, and why. I’m also wondering why you’re here.”
“Maybe she thinks of me as the real cavalry, Ben. Hey, Black, why did you bother calling him if you’re not talking?”
Perry was down on her knees at that moment, black dress and all, striking a match at her fireplace. She had it going in a few seconds, rose gracefully and eyed him. “Ben’s wife, Callie, is an investigative reporter at the Post, and a friend of mine. As I was telling Ben, I need a police report for my insurance, and trust him to try to keep this quiet.”
“Yes, I understand that,” Ben said, “but why keep it quiet? You know who did this, don’t you, Perry?”
“Ask Agent Sullivan. I’ve been told not to talk, Ben, sorry.”
“Well, Sullivan, are you going to talk? Or are we waiting for Savich?”
“Yeah, probably, since I called him,” Davis said. He studied her face, knew she was okay now. “You’re as tough as your mother, even though you’re short.”
Perry let out a little laugh, and the two other cops who’d come into her living room turned and looked at her. Davis imagined they were thinking, Really, she’s lost her Harley and she’s laughing?
Perry sat down in a deep wing chair near the fireplace, watching the officers speak in low voices to Ben. She was cold, and knew it was a mix of anger and fear of the monster who’d destroyed her Harley, who’d also probably left the graffiti in the men’s room. Why?
Ben Raven said, “Davis, I know the Bureau has an interest here, because of Ambassador Black. But this is a property crime, and Perry doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger. We’re happy to accommodate her, gather the evidence for our report, and leave it at that. But you don’t want to appear to upstage me, it isn’t nice.”
Perry rose. “He won’t do any upstaging, Ben. Now, is anyone up for coffee?”
• • •
It was after midnight before Ben Raven left Perry’s condo and Davis sat with Savich and Perry in her kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee. “Sorry there wasn’t any tea, Savich, even in her junk drawer. You wouldn’t believe what she has stashed in there, but not a single tea bag.” He paused. “Raven’s not happy, but he knows enough to keep out of it.”
Perry said, “Callie tells me he mutters around the house sometimes, sorting through a case. He’s got to know everything about everything, or he’s seriously annoyed.”
Savich said, “I spoke with Ben. It’s true he isn’t happy since he likes to dive headfirst into a case like this, but he’s going to back off. His report will describe a simple property crime, nothing more.”
Now he whispered again into the dark air of his motel room, “I will, Mama, I will.”
Perry’s condo
Vanderbilt Street, Washington, D.C. Wednesday night
Perry was standing in the middle of her living room, barefoot, still wearing that black glove of a dress she’d worn to the restaurant. It hadn’t taken him long to get there, not after she’d yelled into the phone, “My Harley! Someone trashed my Harley!”
Before he’d come into the condo, he’d gone around the side to see another officer with a Maglite standing over the remains. The beautiful machine wouldn’t see life again; something like a sledgehammer, he thought, heavy, repeated blows. Rage in those blows. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it one bit. This was a serious escalation from the note in the Post’s men’s room.
He looked over at her, arms crossed over her chest, seriously pissed, ready to rip someone’s face off. He couldn’t blame her. When she spotted him she was looking ready to blow. He looked at the dress, then up at her face. “I’m hoping you didn’t put butter on your dinner roll. You couldn’t afford one more pound on your butt in that dress.”
She grinned, couldn’t help it, and let her hands fall to her sides. It was her turn to look him up and down. Black Nikes on his big feet, a leather jacket pulled over his Redskins sweatshirt, his hair standing on end. She felt the rage ease off, began to feel relief that he was here, and wondered why.
Davis patted her face and turned to Detective Ben Raven, Metro PD. “Good to see you, Ben.”
Ben Raven shook his pen at him. “Sullivan, Perry said she called you. You looked at the Harley?”
Davis nodded. “It’s a shame. It was a fine machine.”
“Looks like trespassing and felony destruction of private property. Unfortunately, she‘s been less than forthcoming with me about who might have done this, and why. I’m also wondering why you’re here.”
“Maybe she thinks of me as the real cavalry, Ben. Hey, Black, why did you bother calling him if you’re not talking?”
Perry was down on her knees at that moment, black dress and all, striking a match at her fireplace. She had it going in a few seconds, rose gracefully and eyed him. “Ben’s wife, Callie, is an investigative reporter at the Post, and a friend of mine. As I was telling Ben, I need a police report for my insurance, and trust him to try to keep this quiet.”
“Yes, I understand that,” Ben said, “but why keep it quiet? You know who did this, don’t you, Perry?”
“Ask Agent Sullivan. I’ve been told not to talk, Ben, sorry.”
“Well, Sullivan, are you going to talk? Or are we waiting for Savich?”
“Yeah, probably, since I called him,” Davis said. He studied her face, knew she was okay now. “You’re as tough as your mother, even though you’re short.”
Perry let out a little laugh, and the two other cops who’d come into her living room turned and looked at her. Davis imagined they were thinking, Really, she’s lost her Harley and she’s laughing?
Perry sat down in a deep wing chair near the fireplace, watching the officers speak in low voices to Ben. She was cold, and knew it was a mix of anger and fear of the monster who’d destroyed her Harley, who’d also probably left the graffiti in the men’s room. Why?
Ben Raven said, “Davis, I know the Bureau has an interest here, because of Ambassador Black. But this is a property crime, and Perry doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger. We’re happy to accommodate her, gather the evidence for our report, and leave it at that. But you don’t want to appear to upstage me, it isn’t nice.”
Perry rose. “He won’t do any upstaging, Ben. Now, is anyone up for coffee?”
• • •
It was after midnight before Ben Raven left Perry’s condo and Davis sat with Savich and Perry in her kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee. “Sorry there wasn’t any tea, Savich, even in her junk drawer. You wouldn’t believe what she has stashed in there, but not a single tea bag.” He paused. “Raven’s not happy, but he knows enough to keep out of it.”
Perry said, “Callie tells me he mutters around the house sometimes, sorting through a case. He’s got to know everything about everything, or he’s seriously annoyed.”
Savich said, “I spoke with Ben. It’s true he isn’t happy since he likes to dive headfirst into a case like this, but he’s going to back off. His report will describe a simple property crime, nothing more.”
