Page 91 of The Shadow Friends

“We need to deal with these people,” he said. He didn’t need to say who these people were.

She sighed. “I’ve been saying that for a while.”

Minnihan glanced at Mike, then looked at Jo. She got the hint and stood up.

“Let’s talk in the back room,” she said.

Purity PD’s interview room was little more than a windowless cave with scuffed white walls, a table, and four chairs. Over the years, it had also become storage space, and they had to squeeze around unused video equipment and boxes of office supplies to reach the chairs. They sat down facing each other, and the harsh ceiling lights emphasized the bruise-like shadows of fatigue under Minnihan’s eyes. Jet lag must be a hell of a thing, she thought.

“These people—” he started.

“They call themselves the Martini Club.”

“Whatever they call themselves, they’re out of control. Behaving like vigilantes. What are you going to do about them?”

“For the moment, I can’t do anything. They had permission to be in the Slocums’ house, so they weren’t trespassing. And they legally own their weapons.”

“They had me zip-tied!”

“They didn’t know you were a federal agent.”

“You just tolerate having these people in your town?”

“They’re law-abiding citizens.” For the most part. “And the truth is, they’ve come to my assistance in the past. Maybe they do it in unconventional ways, but they have been helpful.”

“You’re just going to sit back and let them do their thing?”

“Have they broken any laws?”

“It’s clearly on their to-do list!”

“And I’ll have the handcuffs ready.”

He glared at her. “I see that small towns operate differently.”

His phone rang, and he looked down at his screen. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked out of the room. She glanced at her watch. Checked her phone for messages. Wondered if she should check in with Maggie Bird and company to find out the latest, but they were probably tucked in bed by now, catching up on their sleep. She should be too.

The door opened, and she looked up, expecting Minnihan. Instead it was Mike standing there with a quizzical look.

“What’d you say to him, anyway?” Mike asked.

“What?”

“He took off like a bat outta hell.”

“He didn’t even say goodbye. I have no idea what happened.”

“Maybe it has something to do with that BOLO the state police just put out.”

“Who’re we on the lookout for?”

“Andrei Petrov. That waiter at the Cod Cove Resort, the one from Belarus. He’s disappeared, and they think he’s gone on the run.”

How could I be so wrong? Jo thought as she drove to the cottage that Andrei Petrov had shared with two other resort employees. When she arrived, she saw three vehicles parked in the driveway, and she pulled up behind a black SUV that she knew all too well. State Police Detective Alfond would be annoyed to see her. He always was.

She walked up to the front porch, where a barefoot young woman sat smoking a cigarette and looking thoroughly pissed off. Her short black hair stood up like porcupine quills ready to be launched at anyone who approached too closely. Wrapped around her forearm was a tattoo of a dragon with green scales, spitting red flames.

The woman squinted up at Jo. “How many cops does it take to search one frigging room?”