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A part of me is crying for the whole world too, we’ve got so much in the world but just as much misery and pain.
Chapter Ten
Xander
“You’re gonna have a very cranky Mrs. Patterson on your case, Hank,” I threaten him gently, smiling as we head to the station.
“I’m supposed to be helping Gillian get things set right for the family’s homecoming, a day early don’t you know?” I ask, resting my palms flat on my thighs, deciding to try and enjoy the ride instead of feeling like I have no real say in the matter.
“She is rather particular,” The Sargent remarks. “What needs doing at the place?” he asks, keeping our conversation light.
He whistles through his teeth, shaking his head when I read off the mental list.
“And all that by tomorrow?” he adds. “Still, we have little Orion at the station, that’s one thing off the list, I suppose.”
We eventually reach the local police station, not the one on campus as I might have expected.
Routine? I don’t think so.
The likes of Eames have been replaced by state troopers and some worn out looking detectives in suits.
There are a few diamonds in the dust though. A couple at least, I can spot FBI a mile away, even though their own silt.
“Uh, sorry for the pretense, Xander. But you being so… well. Big and all, we didn’t want a scene in case you didn’t wanna play nice,” Hank drawls, giving me another one of those looks.
The look a killer gets when it’s revealed and all the neighbors can’t believe it.
‘He was such a quiet man, so gentle. Always willing to help.’ That kind of thing.
“You did good, Hank,” I tell him, letting him know I’d have driven myself voluntarily if only I was told what all this is about.
That’s when Mr. and Mrs. Suit step forward, introducing themselves as special agents with, yep. The FBI.
“We’d like a word, Professor Sexton. This way,” Mr. Suit tells me, avoiding eye contact and holding his hand towards a corridor full of interview rooms.
Mrs. Suit seems more interested in my chest and crotch. I can feel her eyes on my ass while I walk in front of her too.
Sorry, lady. Already all accounted for and definitely not for sale.
“Can I call you for a ride home, Hank?” I holler over my shoulder, but he’s leaving already and pretends not to hear me.
The feds get straight to their point, file after gruesome file is opened as they start their preamble telling me the story of their most wanted man right now.
Likes to hang out in the woods. Like college girls, that sort of thing.
I look at my watch, blowing out some air and apart from being a little cranky I missed breakfast, I’d really appreciate a call to Gillian right now.
Surprisingly it’s Mrs. Suit whose the bad cop and she leans over in front of me, spreading out her fan of gory crime scene photos, maps, and the like.
“We’ve traced you to within fifty miles of each of these sites in the past ten years within weeks of the crimes. Last night you were seen carrying a young girl through the woods to your cottage,” she snarls.
I’m waiting for the rest, but that’s the floor show.
“If that’s all you can dig up on someone in a decade and you’re paid by the hour, this country would be broke. Oh, wait—” I hear myself drone, moving to stand up.
Mr. Suit’s unhappy with this.
“Sit down, Mr. Sexton. We’re far from done here,” he says calmly, his eyes registering my own lack of interest in whatever mistake it is they’ve spent so much time putting together.
The door to the interview room opens quickly but silently and in walk a couple of more suits.
But the proper kind.
The kind I usually work with.
“Actually you’re both done here,” one of them announces, voice dark.
My guys are all black suits, dark aviators, spirally little earpieces. The whole bit.
Before anyone else can speak, the two FBI agents looking like they just saw their own career deaths, I ask anyone who’s listening what I’d like to happen next.
“I need the cell number of a Gillian Parker, a student at the college. She was taken to the college medical center this morning.”
“Right away colonel,” one of my guys lets me know, hardly even moving his mouth when he speaks.
“Colonel?” asks the FBI agents in tandem, looking from me to each other and then to me again.
“Like I said,” dark-voiced suit announces for a second time, sounding bored with having to say it twice. “You’re both done here.”
“I think you might both be done is right,” I add, not hiding my annoyance. “And yeah, it’s Colonel Xander. Not the kind you think, either,” I add for effect.
My second suit returns, sliding a ready cell phone with the number I need, waiting for me to press call while both of them begin boxing up all the FBI’s case notes, files, and anything else they’ve brought with them.
