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Chapter 23
I woke upwith what felt like a hangover. An emotional hangover. It was probably a good thing I hadn’t drunk alcohol. I could barely imagine feeling any worse than I already did.
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling of my standard hotel room. I thought about all the hotels I’d stayed at over the past twenty years. Most were exactly like this. Clean, cold, and dull. White ceiling paint dotted with a sprinkler head and a fire alarm.
I’d slept in fits last night. I had called Mary Catherine a little on the late side. I had to break the news to her before I went to bed. I felt pain as intense as a smack in the face when I had to say out loud that they had found Emily’s body. After all the years of seeing bodies, I never get used to the way they seem discarded. Especially a body that’s washed up onshore. They’re often mistaken for trash. It’s a sad and unthinkable situation.
Mary Catherine cried and, trying to support me, attempted to sound brave. I told her I was fine but tired. She accepted that, and we kept the call unusually short.
I knew the only way to find peace in this situation was to go at it hard. No matter what the DC Metropolitan Police thought. No matter how the FBI might react to me going rogue. I knew my time in DC was limited. Sooner or later the FBI would find out I was here and complain. So the first thing I did was call someone not with the FBI. Someone who got me: Roberta Herring.
Roberta agreed to meet me at the entrance to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, a short walk from my hotel. As I made my way through the lobby, a local TV news story caught my attention.
The reporter narrated a montage. Emily as a young agent, walking a crime scene. Cut to the crime scene around her body. Finally, an ambush of Emily’s mother. I cringed when I saw the reporter shove a microphone in Mrs. Parker’s face and ask how she felt about her daughter’s death. I didn’t go to Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism, but that seemed like a pretty obvious question.
Mrs. Parker didn’t acknowledge the reporter. As he followed her up the porch steps, the reporter yelped. Then the sound dissolved into dogs barking or growling. I don’t know which one bit the reporter, but I was definitely a fan.
As soon as the story ended, I walked out the front doors of my hotel. Fresh air and the brief autumn sunshine did me some good. I was wearing my Holy Name basketball windbreaker while my sport coat was still at the hotel dry cleaner. I thought about making them do it a second time just to be on the safe side.
I waited on the museum steps. Looking through the windows, I could see the lunar module LM-2 sitting directly under the Spirit of St. Louis. I’d have to check this place out when I had more time.
I could see Roberta strolling toward me from almost a hundred yards away. I felt a little like a spy, checking each way for countersurveillance.
Before she even sat down, Roberta said, “I can tell when you’re jumpy. I knew that the news of Emily’s death would hit you hard, but I’m sensing something else.”
I told her about my visit from the DC police as well as my run-in with The Burning Land.
Roberta smiled and shook her head. “He peed right on your back?”
All I could do was nod.
She chuckled. “I’d hate to be him in the near future.” She looked out over the pedestrians walking in front of the museum, which was an hour from opening. “The DC Special Investigations cops who tried to scare you are sharp and hardworking, but they don’t play particularly well with others.”
I went over a few things I’d figured out. Nothing that was going to help nail Emily’s killer.
Roberta said, “I’ve been listening to gossip. Something I don’t normally do. Anytime I hear someone mention Emily Parker, I pay a little extra attention. It looks like she did have a wild side. The three names I hear the most are Justice Steinberg, an oil lobbyist named Minshew, and the congressman from—”
“Delaware. And his name is Marty Bryant.”
She looked at me and smiled. “Sometimes I forget you’re smart enough to keep your mouth shut and your own ears open. Those seem like three pretty solid leads. I’m confident you can do something with them.”
