The slight bulge at her waist showed where she kept her pistol.
Decker had on faded jeans, a rumpled flannel shirt, and a windbreaker.
Brown eyed his clothing and said, “I take it the Bureau has suspended its dress code for you?”
“Bogart already told you, I’m not a real agent.”
“Your phone call was interesting,” she continued.
“As I’m hoping your answers will be. So whose gambling debts were they?”
“As I already told you, I haven’t decided whether you’re on or off this investigation, so I can’t possibly answer that.”
“As I’ve already told you, I don’t think that’s within your power to decide.”
“Did you forget the phone call the SecDef can make?”
“I checked on that,” said Decker. “That won’t be happening. That was bullshit on your part and you know it.”
She sat back. “Can you at least buy a girl a cup of coffee while you accuse her of dishonest things?”
Decker rose, bought a black coffee, and carried it over to her.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. She took a sip and smiled. “Good and hot and just coffee. I could never understand all the crap people put in their cup.”
Decker studied her and took a drink of his own coffee. “When I was a cop back in Ohio, I ran into someone who reminded me of you.”
“Another cop?”
“No, she was a criminal. Con artist. Really good at what she did.”
“You flatter me, Decker.”
“Then I must have said it wrong.”
“I was raised in Alabama by God-fearing parents. They instilled a sense of honor and integrity in me.”
“Alabama?”
“Yes.”
“So they’re fans of To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“You got that from my name?”
“Harper Lee, yeah.” He leaned his bulk in toward her. “So last night didn’t you say you owed me? If you don’t want to pay the debt, enjoy your coffee and I’ll get on with my day.”
When she said nothing he started to rise.
“Just hold your horses,” she finally said, motioning for him to sit back down. She looked around the nearly empty café as Decker dropped back into his chair. “This is not the ideal place.”
“Then let’s take a walk.” He eyed her cup. “As you can see, I got your coffee to go. Just in case you came over from the dark side.”
Out on the sidewalk a breeze swirled Brown’s hair around her shoulders. The wind also caught her jacket and revealed her sidearm. Decker saw this and said, “A Beretta. That’s what Dabney used to kill Berkshire.”
Brown buttoned her jacket closed. “So this is the route he took?”
“You know it was. We were talking gambling debts.”
“How do you know they weren’t Walter Dabney’s?”
“Because you never said they were. And I’ve decided to take you quite literally.”
“I actually always try to be as vague as possible.”
“So much for honor and integrity. So was it Natalie?”
She shot him a glance. “What makes you say that? Have you met her?”
“You could say that, although we never actually spoke, principally because she was in an alcoholic stupor.”
“But what makes you think it was her with the gambling problem?”
“Her three sisters were distraught about their father, but none of them got so drunk they passed out. And she had farther to come, and was the last to arrive, which means she had more time to process the news. But she was shit-faced in the morning while her sisters were out making funeral arrangements and her mother was downstairs all by herself. I understand everyone is different, but, other things being equal, it struck me as odd. And the other sisters were angry about what happened. They were in disbelief. But Natalie didn’t look angry or surprised. And even though she was drunk, there was something in her expression, in the eyes, really, that made her look…guilty.”
“And you can tell when someone looks ‘guilty’?”
“I was a cop for twenty years, so I had a lot of practice,” he shot back.
They walked along for another minute in silence. They passed by the guard shack and Decker nodded at the uniformed man inside. He was the same security officer from the morning Dabney had shot Berkshire.
Across the street, workers were hauling construction materials through the open doorway of a building that was being renovated. Taped to the front window was a building permit. D.C., like New York, was constantly being stripped down and rebuilt. Decker had traveled to New York once, where a cab driver had told him that there were only two seasons in the Big Apple: winter and construction.
“What secrets were sold? You said they were critical enough to trigger something worse than 9/11.”
“I was not exaggerating when I made that comparison with 9/11.”
“So if the stakes are that high, why wouldn’t you want the FBI helping?”
“Need to know is not some bullshit line you hear in the movies, Decker. It does have real purpose.”
“Meaning what?”