Page 45 of Flash Freeze

“Sure thing.” Paulson turned back to his station.

Agents Ice and Hernandez pushed through the door, looking like kids who’d dropped their ice cream cones. “What?” Athena asked and walked to meet them.

“We finally caught up with Lucero,” Ice reported, “the guy from our ex-con arsonist’s list.”

“Only it wasn’t him,” Hernandez added in a deflated tone. “We couldn’t find him because he was spending the weekend in the drunk tank. Broke parole on an LSD bender. Galena Park cops picked him up around one Friday morning—no ID—out in front of Our Lady of Fatima directing traffic with an aspergillum and sprinkling the cars with holy water."

“He finally came down enough to tell them who he was, and his parole officer hauled him into court Monday morning. Judge ordered him straight into inpatient rehab,” Ice concluded. “So, he’s not our guy.”

Athena resisted the urge to crack a smile, picturing the dancing ex-con performing a blessing of the cars in front of the church. “Good follow-through on the suspect,” she said with a perfectly straight face. She glanced at the door when AUSA Harmon entered. The rest of her team continued to work on their desk phones or computers. “Mr. Harmon,” she addressed, surprised to see him back.

“ASAC Bouvier,” he reciprocated, inclining his head. “I’m authorized to offer Mr. Booker a deal, though not quite as sweet, for his cooperation in the case. The U.S. Attorney’s Office is fully committed to bringing whoever murdered EPA Inspector Nolan to justice. We simply cannot allow the lethal elimination of federal environmental overseers to go unchecked.”

“That works out well, since Mr. Booker informed my office he’s bringing his attorney with him,” Athena said.

“It’s getting downright blustery,” announced Bach as he strode in, a small pastry box in his hand. He set it on Shoop’s desk without fanfare and joined Athena and Harmon.

Athena watched pink flood Karen’s cheeks as she stopped working to open the box. She beamed at the contents. “Baklava,” she murmured in awe.

Bach threw a bright look over his shoulder. “From Abdallah’s,” he said, and returned his attention to Athena. “So, how do you want to handle this?”

“First, do you have anything as delicious as baklava from Abdallah’s for me?” She raised a curious brow.

Bach blushed and crammed his hands into his pockets. “I thought you liked BBQ.”

Hardening her features, Athena said, “I mean about the case.” Then, leaning in, she whispered, “And if you ever refer to Lieutenant Cash as BBQ again, I’ll ensure you never enjoy another dessert.”

He cringed. “Sorry.” Straightening, he spoke to both her and the U.S. attorney. “My office has investigated several individuals who received parking tickets in the area prior to Friday morning’s explosion. Since no unauthorized vehicles entered the front gate, I thought the bomber might have arrived on foot. One popped. Tyrell Jensen, a private security agent, employed by—you’ll like this part.” Bach winked, and Athena felt as light as a feather.

“Charles Whitmore.”

“You got it!”

“OK, tell your officers, ‘Great work.’ Now, Booker.”

Mr. Smith met them in the hallway. “I’d like to observe this one too.”

“Very well,” Athena said. “I suspect it might take a while.” Accompanied by Detective Bach and AUSA Harmon, she entered the interview room.

It did take a while, and then some. The first half hour was filled with introductions and formalities. Every time a question was asked, Booker wanted to confer with his lawyer. Two hours later they hadn’t learned anything new. Athena was done with this.

“Mr. Booker, you are under arrest for embezzlement, tax evasion, violation of safety laws, and bribing a city official. Since your attorney has been present this whole time, I’ll let him advise you of your rights.”

“What?” The sharp-looking young lawyer balked, eyes flying wide.

“You are wasting the Assistant U.S. Attorney’s time,” Bach replied. “He came here to offer your client a deal, and neither of you has given him a damn thing. We have Allied Logistics’ bank records. The money in that account had to come from somewhere, and you didn’t pay income taxes on it. We have Assistant Chief Velasquez’s testimony.”

“He doesn’t care about his employees,” Athena commented to Bach, as if Booker wasn’t in the room. “If he did, he’d use the money to correct the safety hazards instead of making payoffs.”

“Yes, Mr. Booker,” Harmon said. “Where did the half-million come from? Maybe CEO Whitmore found your number, the one required for you to do a little job for him?”

Rage wrestled with confusion on Justin Booker’s face. “I do care about my people,” he shouted. “And what does that rat bastard Whitmore have to do with anything?”

“Justin, calm down and be quiet,” his lawyer said, laying a hand on his arm. “What do you need to keep my client out of jail?”

“The person who set the blast and killed Inspector Nolan,” Harmon demanded.

Booker leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumped, and exhaled a defeated sigh. He wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s the God’s honest truth.”