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Chapter 36
Dennis
The flight had been mostlyturbulence-free, and the ride into town was a quick one in the darkness.
Yet when sunlight began filtering around the edges of the blackout curtains Wednesday morning, I’d only managed a bit of fitful sleep.
After showering, I went downstairs for an early breakfast. I needed something to keep me busy. My thoughts had bounced from what Jennifer had confessed Monday night to the Patty Hearst scenario as it related to Debbie, and back again. As the cycle repeated, I only felt worse.
Hearst had been raped and threatened with death. And yet she’d still gotten jail time for participating in a bank robbery with her captors. That didn’t bode well for Debbie.
The text from Liz Parsons arrived while I was eating.
PARSONS: Noon meet at 601 4th St. NW ask for Boxer
I tapped out my response.
ME: I’ll be there
If I had to wait till lunchtime to get started, I could hit the gym and burn off a little nervous energy while muddling through my feelings about Jennifer and what she’d done. When it rained it certainly poured.
I took a minute to call my sister Kelly.
“Hey, Dennis,” she answered. “I hear from Serena you’ve got a new girl.”
Just what I didn’t need.
I ignored the jab. “I flew in last night for a customer meeting. Want to do dinner?”
Her hesitation was palpable. “Dinner?”
“Yeah, you know, food, wine, family.”
“Sure.” Her voice betrayed her.
“Is everything all right?”
“Sure. I’ve just got stuff going on.”
Whatever stuff she had going on, I needed to hear about it.
“It’s your town—you pick a place, and I’ll call you later.”
I gave her a brief Josh update, and we ended the call.
* * *
After my workout,I left the hotel for my walk to the FBI field office, which wasn’t far. A few blocks down Massachusetts Avenue and a right turn on 4th Street brought me to the building. Just like every other government building in town, it was built with granite, not the steel and glass that would’ve been common in California. They loved their granite here in DC. Even the curbs of the streets were granite blocks instead of the simple formed concrete we used on the west coast.
I took the right-hand doorway marked visitors, which led to the expected security check—much like going through the airport, except these guys all packed weapons.
Telling them I was here to see Boxer got me a reprimand for not calling him Special Agent. Apparently everybody in the FBI was a Special Agent.
I was escorted to a conference room on the fourth floor, where Parsons and Newsom were eating sandwiches.
Parsons looked up. She noticed me looking at their roller bags in the corner. “We didn’t get a meal on the flight.”
“I told you I’d beat you here.”
