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37
Sherlock
26 Federal Plaza
FBI New York Field Office
New York City
Thursday
Sherlock locked her eyes on Angela Storin when she walked into the conference room. She saw what she’d expected to see, a plain, proper woman of a certain age who looked faded, disapproving, ultimately forgettable. She wore a baize suit, baize low-heeled pumps, no jewelry. Her eyes were a flat light brown, hard to get a read on her with the oversized black-framed glasses. She wore her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and no makeup. Sherlock stared at her for a long moment, hoping to see a flash of nerves, a hint of some anxiety, but there was no outward sign the woman felt anything at all other than boredom. Storin looked back at her, placid and disinterested as a cow.
Special Agent Kelly Giusti slowly rose. “Mr. Clooney, Ms. Storin, this is Special Agent Sherlock, who has kindly come up from Washington for our meeting.” Abel Clooney rose, shook her hand. “Agent.”
Sherlock gave him her sunny smile. “Counselor.” He looked like Matlock in the old TV series, with his silver hair and his comfortable paunch, artfully minimized in a dark pin-striped thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit. He looked pleased with himself, quite happy to be who he was, confident he’d close down whatever this latest summons of his client would bring. He was giving Sherlock an appraising look, doubtless deciding how to deal with her. Clooney knew who she was, of course, but why ask her in particular?
Sherlock nodded to Benjamin Varno, the federal prosecutor. He was younger than Clooney, tall and fit with hair as black as sin, with only a few silver flecks at his temples. He was endowed with an evangelist’s deep voice that would resonate in the courtroom. He knew what was coming, of course, and looked hungry for blood.
Clooney sat down again, leaned back, and tapped his Mont Blanc pen on the tabletop. He said to Sherlock, “I do not understand why you are here. There are no terrorists for you to take down.”
Sherlock said, “Believe me, Mr. Clooney, if I never see another terrorist in my lifetime, I will consider myself blessed. It was all a case of being in a certain place at a certain time.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I was asked to provide a new eye.” And she said nothing more.
Clooney said, “New eye? Not that it matters. Agent Giusti, I agreed to this meeting because I’m hopeful we can clear up any remaining concerns you have about Ms. Storin’s involvement in this tragic incident in Brickson and finish this witch hunt. Then you can all turn your attention to finding the real murderer. We have offered plausible alternatives: a patient or one of their family members who might have blamed Dr. Madison for an injury or a loved one’s death seems the most logical. You have focused on my client for long enough, wasted valuable time. It must stop. When we’ve answered your questions, when my client and I leave today, I expect your assurance she’s been cleared of all suspicion and this harassment will stop.”
Varno said, “That will depend on your client’s answers, Mr. Clooney. We have a lot to cover, so let’s proceed.”
“Ms. Storin,” Sherlock said and she smiled at her. Storin started, blinked behind the glasses, and remained silent, still the continued picture of disinterest. Sherlock said, “Ms. Storin, even though I’m new to this case, they’ve told me a lot about you.”
Say something, I want to hear your voice.
“I’m sure they have, Agent Sherlock, and yes, I’ve heard of you as well. Some people think you’re important,” Storin added with a touch of impatience in her voice and a dismissive shrug.
Storin’s voice was low, sort of husky, really quite lovely.
Kelly rose. “Ms. Storin, you have stated on record that your Walther PPK was stolen two weeks prior to the three murders at the Madison house, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You further stated that your first husband, Mr. Martin Orloff, purchased the gun for you and showed you how to use it, but you rarely touched it. Is that correct?”
“I told you he showed me how to fire the gun, so I knew how it worked. I never used it again, as I’ve told you several times already. I’ve also told you I don’t approve of guns, the reason I never wanted it in the first place.”
“You found the gun missing and reported it stolen to the Brickson police. Is that correct?”
Storin merely nodded and studied a fingernail.
Clooney began tapping his Mont Blanc pen on the conference tabletop. “What is the point of going over all this again, Agent Giusti? Move along. Let’s get this done.”
Kelly nodded. “Let me remind you, Ms. Storin, that lying to a federal agent is a felony.”
Storin gave her a flat-eyed stare. “I have no reason to lie to anyone.”
Sherlock saw Mr. Clooney’s hand close over Storin’s—to keep her from saying more? Probably.
