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He shot Drex a smug smile. “Your friend Gif is temporarily safe from arrest, but the fat man is already being held at the sheriff’s office.”
“Thanks to you. But they’re not going to book him for a crime committed by a repeat offender out of state.”
“With a phone call from me, they’ll book him for obstruction in this state.”
Drex said, “Fine. Play hardball. Call now. Have Mike booked. You know what he’ll do? He’ll use his one phone call to speak to the SAC in Columbia. He’ll reiterate everything Locke has already told him. He’ll emphasize how crucial that coroner’s report in Florida is to these homicide cases here, and how you, for no other reason than to spite me, delayed our access to it. He’ll soon see that you’ve been more of an impediment to this investigation than Mike or I have been.
“At the very least, he’ll have the agents in the resident office here check you out, and you’d fare even worse. They would want to know why you’re not over there, lending assistance, instead of over here in the PD, distracting hardworking detectives from their two murder investigations.”
He paused. “Bill. Think. Wouldn’t you rather give me one more day of freedom than wind up looking bad? Stupid, spiteful, and bad?”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You think so?” Drex shrugged. “Then call my bluff.” He let the dare stand, then added, “The only reason I haven’t called that SAC myself is because I wanted to stay under the radar.”
“So you wouldn’t be jailed.”
“Well, that. I grudgingly admit it. But I wanted to keep a low profile because you know what these departments are like. When it comes to leaks, they’re sieves. I’ve been holding my breath, afraid word would leak to the media that we’ve tied these local cases to the one in Florida. If that got out, and Ford heard it, his ego would mushroom. He would—”
Drex stopped talking and looked hard at Rudkowski, whose complexion had taken on a rosier hue. “What?”
Rudkowski stayed stubbornly silent.
“What?” Drex stared him down, then lunged from his chair and leaned over the table. “Tell me you haven’t talked to the media.”
Rudkowski puffed up defensively. “I’ve agreed to grant an interview.”
“Oh, God no! When?”
“At noon.”
Drex swung around to look at the wall clock. “That’s only ten minutes from now.”
“Which is why we need to wrap this up. Anything else?”
“Bill, you can’t give that interview.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Who did you talk to?”
“A reporter named Kelly Conroe. She contacted me,” Rudkowski said, boasting.
Drex recalled the reporter he’d seen that morning reporting on Sara Barker’s murder. Pretty, perky, articulate, earnest. She’d struck him as eager. Someone who played to the camera, who would take the story and run with it.
Rudkowski was still talking. “Somebody here gave her my name as a spokesperson for the FBI. Which leaves you out, doesn’t it?”
“Get back to her, Bill,” Drex said. “Ask her to sit on the story until tomorrow.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“For the reasons I spelled out.”
“Ford’s mushrooming ego? I can’t even say that with a straight face.” He stood up. “I’m meeting her downstairs. Stay put until Locke comes for you.”
“Christ.” Drex turned his back, lowered his head, massaged his nape. “This is a nightmare.” Coming back around quickly, he said, “Okay, let this Kelly Whatever record the interview, but ask her to hold it until the late news tonight.”
“That’s not the way a news operation operates.”
