on the bruiser at the plate.
Could Burton close it out or would they all watch as the white orb
disappeared into the stands?
As Burton walked out the door, more than a small part of him hoped it
was the latter.
SETH FRANK WAS WAITING AT HIS DESK, STARING AT THE clock. As the second
hand swept past the twelve the phone rang.
Jack sat in the phone booth. He thanked God it was as cold as it was
outside. The heavy, hooded parka he had bought that morning fit right in
with the bundled-up mass of humanity. And still he had the overwhelming
impression that everyone seemed to be looking at him.
Frank picked up on the background noise. “Where the hell are you? I
told you not to leave wherever you were staying.”
Jack didn’t respond right away.
“Jack?”
“Look, Seth, I@m not real good at being a sitting duck.
And I’m not in a position where I can afford to completely rely on
anyone. Understood?”
Frank started to- make a protest, but then leaned back in his chair. The
guy was right, flat-out right.
“Fair enough. Would you like to hear how they set you UPTI “I’m
listening.”
“You had a glass on your desk. Apparently you were drinking something.
You remember that?”
“Yeah, Coke, so what?”
“So whoever was after you ran into Lord and the woman like you said and
they had to be popped. You got away. They knew the garage video would
have you leaving right about the time of the deaths. They lifted your
prints off the glass and transferred them to the gun.”
“You can do that?”
“You bet your ass, if you know what you’re doing and you’ve got the
right equipment, which they probably found in the supply room at your
firm. If we had the glass we could show it was a forgery. Just as one
person’s prints are unique from another person’s, your print on the gun
couldn’t match in every detail the print on the glass. Amount of
pressure applied and so on.”
“Do the D.C. cops buy that explanation?”
Frank almost laughed. “I wouldn’t be counting on that, Jack. I really
wouldn’t. All they want to do is bring you in.
They’ll let other people worry about everything else.”
“Great. So now what?”
“First things first. Why were they after you in the first place?”
Jack almost slapped himself He looked down at the box.
“I got a special delivery from someone. Edwina Broome.
It’s something I think you’ll get a real kick out of seeing.”
Seth stood up, almost wishing he could reach through the phone and
snatch it. “What is it?$, Jack told him.
Blood and prints. Simon would have a field day. “I can meet you
anywhere, anytime.”
Jack thought rapidly. Ironically, public places seemed to be more
dangerous than private ones. “How about the Farragut West Metro station,
18th Street exit, around eleven tonight?”
Frank jotted the information down. “I’ll be there.”
Jack hung up the phone. He would be at the Metro station before the
appointed time. Just in case. If he saw anything remotely suspicious he
was going underground as far as he could. He checked his money. The
dollars were dwindling.
And his credit cards were out for now. He would risk hitting several ATM
machines. That would net him a few hundred.
That should be enough, for a while.
He exited the phone booth, checked the crowd. It was the typical hurried
pace of Union Station. No one appeared the least bit interested in him.
Jack jerked slightly. Coming his way were a pair of D.C. police
officers. Jack stepped back into the phone booth until they passed.
He bought some burgers and fries at the food court and then grabbed a
cab. Munching down while the cab took him through the city, Jack had a
moment to reflect on his options. Once he got the letter opener to Frank
would his troubles really end? Presumably the prints and blood would
match up with the person in the Sullivan house that night.
But then Jack’s defense counsel mentality took over. And that mind-set
told him there were clear, almost insurmountable obstacles in the path