chapter seven
"ID?" Benson put out his hand. As if he didn't know who I was.
Officer Morita handed him my wallet. Benson made a show of holding up the various cards for examination. He glanced up to see me glaring at him then went back to the job without a flicker of response. I was seated at Grenier's desk with my hands cuffed behind me. Benson finished and threw the wallet on the desk.
"So," he said, then he looked pointedly at the mess in the room. "What's a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this?"
Benson had taken his own sweet time arriving at the scene — over an hour to be precise — during which I'd been sitting in this chair trussed up like the Christmas turkey. I was in no mood to play games. "Not what it looks like. Obviously."
"It's not so obvious to me." With a pencil he lifted my lock picks from the desk where the uniform had dumped the contents of my pockets. He dangled them in front of my face. "These are nice."
"Does it look like I used them? Go check the back door."
"Maybe you were in a hurry."
"You think I could have done all this damage and not have a speck of dust on me? Come on, Benson, you know better than that."
"You were making a call when my officers came in. Mind telling me where?"
"It didn't go through."
He watched me for a second then he clicked his tongue and shook his head. "You'd think with all that technology they'd be able to connect two people in a conversation, wouldn't you. But there you have it. It didn't go through."
I shrugged, as much as one can shrug when confined with handcuffs. "It happens."
"It sure does, but I'll tell you what. Why don't we see if it happens twice." He pulled latex gloves from his pocket, snapped them on, and pressed the speakerphone button so we could both hear the progress of the call. He poked redial, crossed his hands in his lap, and settled in to get comfortable
I was liking Benson less and less. The call began in the usual way with a series of beeps as the number dialed.
"Area code 613. Where's that at?" Benson asked affably.
The phone was now in the click and buzz stage as the signal connected over land, space, and sea. I was having trouble concentrating on Benson's questions. "Ottawa."
"A friend of yours?"
The phone connected and began to ring. I could feel my underarms start to seep. "Something like that."
Benson leaned over the phone. "Duncan Carmichael. It says so right here on the call display. Now there's an amazing coincidence. Both you and Yves Grenier know a Duncan Carmichael, and here you are in Dr. Grenier's house, a restricted crime scene I might add, dialing Duncan Carmichael on Dr. Grenier's phone." Then he dropped the good-cop act. "Care to tell me what's going on?"
The phone continued to ring. Where the hell was Duncan? Why wasn't he picking up? "Did you call my contacts?" I could see from his face he hadn't. "Jesus, Benson."
But that just ticked him off. "Guess your guy isn't home." I felt myself relax … a moment too soon. Benson gave his head a regretful shake. "And that is really unfortunate."
I didn't want to ask, but I knew the longer I put it off the longer I'd be sitting here in cuffs. I sighed. "Okay Benson. Why is it unfortunate?"
"Because that was your one call. Now we're going for a ride."
The doors clanged open down the hall and I pulled myself upright. I hadn't slept a wink. Between the noise of college boys on March Break puking out their double Mai Tais and a seriously pissed-off pick-pocket railing against the state of American justice, it was hard to just float off into the nether regions. That, and the fact that I had to go to the bathroom but was damned if I was going to pee on video, was enough to keep my eyes open and my brain running on overload throughout the night. I only hoped the person coming down the hall was going to spring me before I wet my pants.
It was a uniform, and she stopped at my cell. She put the key in the lock and swung in open. I was already off the bed and heading for the open door when Benson came around behind her. "Leave it open," he said with a dismissive nod. He had a package of stuff in his hands.
"Have a seat," he said to me.
I did. I was better off sitting anyway. Benson opened the large zip-lock bag. He carefully removed a sheet of fingerprinting ink and laid it on the edge of the desk. That was followed by a folded piece of paper, which he opened and smoothed out right next to the ink: a fingerprinting form.
The bastard. He was going to print me, and that meant I was going to be formally charged. The good thing is that I'd had lots of time to think in the past few hours, so I was ready for this.
He surveyed the table, gave a satisfied nod, then looked up at me. "How'd you sleep?"
That would have been pretty obvious from the state of my face, but we were both playing a game. "Like a baby."
"The beds aren't too bad," he said, and he took a seat next to me, too close for comfort in my opinion.
I shifted back toward the wall. "Did you make those calls?"
"To your police buddies? I sure did."
"And?"
He gave a shrug. "They think you're okay. You don't play by the rules, but I'd kind of figured that one out on my own. Problem is, I still have a B&E on my hands and you're my best suspect."
The moment of truth had arrived. It's not that I trusted Benson, but I was running out of options. "Duncan Carmichael," I said. "The guy I called last night?"
"The one in Grenier's directory?"
"Did you call him again?"
He shook his head.
Duncan had sold me down the river. He'd lied about Grenier, and then when I needed him most he'd abandoned me without a word. I didn't owe Duncan anything other than a good swift kick in the ass, which I planned to deliver personally when I got on the next flight back to Canada. So now it was my turn.
"He works for the Minister of Industry and Science. That's who sent me out here."
He gave a whistle of appreciation, although the sarcasm managed to sneak its way in. "The Minister of Industry and Science. Is that like a congressman?"
"More like a senator — a federal politician who heads up a big department. Duncan is the special policy advisor on scientific affairs. He's the one who briefed me."
"Big mucky-muck, huh? So he briefed you on what?"
"Why don't you ask him?" I reeled off Duncan's office number.
He pulled out his cellphone. "You must know this guy well. I mean, you know his number off by heart."
"Not as well I thought," I said just under my breath.
He'd poked in the number and now he had the phone up to his ear. "Technology works." He ran his hand over his bristle. I could hear a woman's voice pick up in the background. That would be Duncan's assistant. Benson introduced himself and asked to be put through to Mr. Carmichael. "He hasn't." He said it as a statement, then he glanced at me. "I have a woman here named Morgan O'Brien. She says she's working a case for your department, something to do with an astronomer named Yves Grenier. Does that ring a bell?" There was a pause and he put his hand over the phone and gave me a reassuring wink. "She's going to check around." It took a minute or two then the voice came back on. "I see," said Benson. He nodded firmly. "I understand. Thank you so much. The weather? Hot and sunny, just like always. You too. You have a good day, you hear." He bleeped off the phone and put it on the desk beside the fingerprinting kit. "Duncan Carmichael is on an extended leave of absence, and they've never heard of Morgan O'Brien. Looks like you're on your own."
My stomach suddenly felt shaky, or was it the pressure of my