The investigators - By W.E.B. Griffin Page 0,203

asked.

“Out in back.”

“Good. So’s mine,” Matt said.

He politely gestured for Susan to precede him out of the bar.

When they were in the parking lot, Matthews pointed at his car. Matt nodded.

Matt led Matthews to his unmarked Plymouth, unlocked the trunk, opened it, handed the keys to Susan, and then reached inside and came out with a briefcase.

“What’s that?” Matthews asked.

“It’s a briefcase full of money, Jack,” Matt said. “Let’s go sit in your car.”

Matthews’s eyebrows rose high in exasperation.

They walked to his car, a new Chevrolet four-door sedan with Maryland license plates.

“What’s with the Maryland plates?” Matt asked.

“My car collapsed,” Matthews said. “I borrowed this one.”

He unlocked the car, Matt got in the front seat and Susan in back.

“Okay, Matt, now what the hell is going on?”

“To answer the question I am sure is foremost in your mind, Jack: Yes, Miss Reynolds and I are emotionally involved.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Keep that in mind. It bears very heavily on all of this.”

“Matt, I’m going to have to report that,” Matthews said. “Jesus Christ! I can’t believe this, even of you!”

“You’re going to have a lot to report,” Matt said, then pushed the briefcase across the seat to him. “I transfer to your custody, Agent Matthews, preserving the chain of evidence, one leather briefcase.”

“What’s in that?” Matthews asked, not touching it.

“Said briefcase was given to me by Miss Susan Reynolds,” Matt said. “It contains a sum of money given into Miss Reynolds’s custody by one Jennifer Ollwood.”

Matthews looked over the seat back at Susan.

“On several occasions, Miss Ollwood has told Miss Reynolds that she fears for her life, and for that of her infant son—”

“What infant son?”

“Miss Ollwood has borne a son to Mr. Bryan Chenowith,” Matt said. “Mr. Chenowith, of course, is a fleeing felon wanted on charges of murder, so Miss Ollwood takes his threats to her and her child quite seriously.”

“What the hell are you up to, Matt? What’s going on?”

“Miss Ollwood has told Miss Reynolds that the monies she placed in Miss Reynolds’s care came into her hands from Mr. Chenowith. Naturally fearing for her own life, Miss Reynolds did nothing about the money until questioned by the authorities—me—whereupon she immediately and unhesitatingly turned the evidence over to me.”

“That’s not going to get her off, Matt,” Matthews said. “If that’s what you’re thinking. They’re going after your girlfriend as an accessory after the fact. The fact that she received what she knew to be stolen property—”

“She didn’t know it was,” Matt said. “All she knew was that it came from Bryan Chenowith. It was not until I suggested to her that it might be the loot—”

“ ‘Might be the loot’? Jesus!”

“—from the banks Chenowith has been knocking off that this occurred to her. She was naturally—being a respectable citizen from a somewhat sheltered background—very distressed to consider that she had been used.”

“Matt, that’s not going to work. Christ, they’ve got film of her—you saw it—of her meeting with Chenowith in the Poconos!”

“We’re going to give it a shot, Jack,” Matt said.

“What I’m going to do right now—Christ, do you realize what a spot you’ve put me in with Davis?”

“What we’re going to do right now, Jack, is go arrest Jennifer Ollwood,” Matt interrupted.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re going to arrest Jennifer Ollwood.”

“You know where she is?”

“I know where she’s going to be,” Matt said. “And once we have her in custody, I will lead the FBI to where Miss Reynolds has shown me we can find Mr. Chenowith and his pimply-faced sidekick.”

“If you think I’m going off with you, alone, to arrest that woman, you’re out of your mind.”

“Okay, then you stay here in your car and wait for me to bring her to you.”

Matt reached up and snatched the keys from the ignition switch.

“Don’t be childish!” Matthews said, as much in disgust as anger. “Give me the keys back!”

“I figure it will take you five minutes to find the police station, and another ten before you can find someone who will both believe the wild story you’re going to tell him and has enough authority to act on it, and another ten minutes—minimum—before they can locate an unmarked Plymouth. By that time, I’ll have the Ollwood woman in the back of my car.”

“And then what do you think is going to happen to you?”

“Then I will lead the FBI to Chenowith.”

“That’s not what I meant. And you know it. You’re going to go to jail, Matt.”

Susan inhaled audibly in the backseat.

“For what? For arresting

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