it, partly because he knew better than to get his fingerprints on it, and partly because it grossed him out.
I couldn't resist. "I believe it's your turn, Special Agent Michaels."
The door opened and Jimmy Belafonte, the big skunk, walked in. He looked at Michaels and shook his head.
I said, "What is this bullshit, Belafonte? You're not allowed to talk to me? You checked with the Arlington police and they confirmed they didn't investigate the double killing? Is that what you were signaling him?"
"That's what it meant," he admitted, avoiding my eyes, which was a good thing because they would've caused his whole body to explode in flames. He added, "And there's no bodies in the Arlington County morgue."
"So this is really weird," I said, as much to myself as them. "Look at the blood on that pen," I ordered Michaels. "If I'm lying, whose blood and brain matter is that?"
He stared at the pen. "You tell me."
It was my turn to shake my head. Interrogators are taught to never, ever lose control of the interrogation, no matter what. That "you tell me" was his half-assed attempt to regain the upper hand. I was now asking the questions and his procedures said he couldn't allow that.
"It belonged to a guy who was hired to murder my co-counsel."
"And where's his body?"
"How the hell do I know? We ran off before anybody came. But the cops came to the killing in my parking lot. I talked with them and I saw a meat wagon, and I've dealt with enough cops to know they were the real thing. The detective was named . . . uh, Christ, I can't remember his name. But I can describe him."
Michaels's nose was sticking in my face. "No need. We already know what he looks like. A middle-aged detective in a suit who asked a lot of questions, right?"
I rubbed my forehead. I fought the temptation to tell him what a stupid ass he was. This wasn't easy. "Somebody tried to murder me and Miss Mazorski because they want to keep the lid on something we discovered."
"And what would that be?" he asked, and from his tone I knew there was no way in hell he was going to believe a word I said, much less the exorbitant tale I actually had to tell.
I pushed aside my reservations and said, "We discovered that my client, Bill Morrison, is probably being framed for treason. We talked to a lot of people and left a lot of impressions in our wake, and somebody wants to erase some of those impressions."
"Uh-huh," he said dismissively. "Let's get back to these guys you killed. Who were they?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't check their wallets? Didn't get their names?"
"I said I don't know."
"But you told Special Agent Belafonte you knew things."
"Have you been listening to me?"
His expression did not alter the slightest bit. "You mean about the three dead guys that don't exist?"
I gripped the edge of the table. I gave him my screw-you look. "Michaels, let's rearrange the bidding here. They were professional hits."
"And their bodies disappeared? Come on, Major, you've got to do better than this. Help me out here. Convince me you killed these three guys."
Michaels and Belafonte exchanged quick glances, and while I wasn't sure what they meant, it was so characteristic of these things, and so condescending, it pissed me off even more.
"Are you going to charge me?"
"We're exploring that option right now," Michaels said, very cavalierly, like, Why don't you give me a hand here, because I'm having a tough time putting my finger on what crime you did.
I stood up.
"Sit down," he ordered.
"No. Unless you've got a warrant, I'm out of here."
Michaels looked at Belafonte, and Belafonte looked at me. In a very convivial tone he said, "Sean, maybe you should tell us more about the attempts on you and Miss Mazorski? What do you think happened to their bodies?"
I walked for the door, and Belafonte stepped in front of me.
I said, "Belafonte, move before I send your gonads into your ears and you spend the rest of your life with your earlobes getting hard every time you see a pretty girl."
He studied my eyes to see if I was kidding. I wasn't. I most definitely wasn't. He almost jumped aside.
I walked into the hallway and began swinging open every door I could find. Two or three rooms were filled with suspects and interrogators and lawyers, and they all looked up in astonished shock when I stuck my