perfectly still, cocked her head. Another moan, this one not as loud, but it sounded like someone in pain. She thought the moans were coming from behind one of the long metal shelves at the far end of the building. She waited but heard nothing. She started walking toward the sound, adjusting her eyes to the deepening gloom, and made her way down a narrow aisle with the huge empty shelves boxing her in. She paused, called out, “Anyone there?”
Another moan. She suddenly felt spooked. Something wasn’t right. She pulled her Glock from her belt clip, racked the slide, and walked forward, careful not to step on the scattered debris—cans, shards of paper, cracked and shattered bottles. She paused, listened, but heard nothing more.
“Where are you?”
She heard a gasping whisper, “I’m here. Back here. Help me.” A man? A woman? She couldn’t tell. She rounded the last cobwebbed shelf, stopped, and looked into a dim corner, empty, as far as she could tell.
“Talk to me, I can’t see you.”
She didn’t hear him coming. His blow was fast and hard to the back of her head. She was down.
21
HOOVER BUILDING
CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT
MONDAY MORNING
When Savich opened the door to the interview room at precisely 9:00 a.m., the stage would be set. Ollie and Ruth had appeared at Zoltan’s door and threatened to arrest her if she didn’t accompany them to the Hoover Building right away. Savich knew Ollie’s hard voice would work on Zoltan to good effect, and Ruth had doubtless given Zoltan her patented dead-eye stare. The two of them stood against the wall, arms crossed, flat-eyed, mouths seamed, looking ready to break out the brass knuckles.
Savich met Zoltan’s eyes when he entered, saw they were filled with anger and a flash of fear. Her fingers were beating a furious tattoo on the tabletop. She jumped to her feet, slapped her palms on the table. “Why did you have these FBI agents come to my house and order me to go with them? Why did you bring me here? I have done nothing wrong, yet those two rottweilers”—she pointed to Ruth and Ollie, who didn’t blink, and if anything looked even more threatening—“treated me like a criminal. Did you honestly think these two thugs were necessary? Did you think I would try to run? You could have simply called, asked to speak to me again. Of course I would have seen you.”
“Thank you for coming, Zoltan,” Savich said in his calm FBI voice. He paused a moment as he walked over to sit across from her at the interview table. He waved his hand. “Do sit down.”
Slowly, she sat back down, her eyes not leaving his face. She was wearing little makeup, and her dark hair was clipped at the back of her neck. She’d covered her dark green wool dress with a formal black blazer that gave her the look of a consummate businesswoman. He said nothing more as he watched her get hold of herself, watched her expression segue from outrage to calm seriousness, with a dash of bewilderment, an innocent woman unfairly attacked. It was well done. He appreciated her obvious talent.
She said, her voice as cold as an ice floe, “What do you want from me, Agent Savich? I have told you everything I know. Should I call my lawyer? Have her roast you for harassing me?”
Savich said, “You are not under arrest, Zoltan, as I’m sure my agents told you. However, a lawyer is your right, naturally.” He sat forward, bulleted out, “You’ve lied to me from the beginning. That’s very unwise of you, given it’s a federal crime. Are you ready to tell me the truth now?”
He saw fear spark in her eyes again. Excellent. She leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her, and her voice throbbed with sincerity. “I have told you the truth, and it remains the truth, Agent Savich. I am a medium, nothing more, nothing less. I only contacted Rebekah because her grandfather begged me to.”
Savich said quietly, “I am worried for you, Zoltan. I’m very glad you’re still alive. You have to realize what you know is a threat to those in this scheme with you. You failed in your assigned role and now you’re of no further use to them. You’re a liability. You may wish to believe you’re protecting yourself and your career by continuing your lies, but unless you’re completely honest with me now, and tell me who’s responsible for the attack on Rebekah Manvers,