The Apostrophe Thief Read Free Page B

subordinates. She shook her head angrily. Too much trauma in the last twenty-four hours; she wasn’t thinking straight.
    But Internal Affairs wasn’t probing into Ninth Precinct politics and the two men had Marian go over her story one more time. Eventually they were satisfied and told her she could go. “All we need is Holland’s corroboration and it’ll go down as a righteous kill,” Connelly said. “We ought to be able to wrap this thing up today.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “That was good shooting, Sergeant.”
    So it was over. As she got up to leave Lieutenant Baxter’s office, it occurred to Marian that the interrogation would have gone even more smoothly without the complicating presence of the FBI. They would be checking into what happened every bit as thoroughly as Internal Affairs. It was the joint police-FBI investigation that had thrown Holland and her together in the first place. Holland was an FBI agent—correction: yesterday Holland was an FBI agent, as dissatisfied with his job as Marian was with hers. Today he was … what? A free man? Unemployed? While Marian had only thought about resigning, he had actually done it.
    So it was with her thoughts full of Holland that she opened the door and found herself face-to-face with the man himself. Two other men were with him—FBI, of course. A tired-looking Holland stared at her with eyes like dark bruises, and she felt a quick surge of that same craving that had propelled them toward each other the night before. Marian caught her breath and pushed the feeling down. Holland was pressing his lips together … doing the same thing?
    But before either one of them could speak, one of the other men said, “Sergeant Larch? I’m Agent Greer, and I must inform you there’s to be no communication between you and former agent Holland until this inquiry is completed. Do you understand?”
    Irritated, she said, “Of course I understand.”
    â€œThen I must ask you to come back to Bureau headquarters with me. I’ve cleared it with your captain.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œYes, please.” So polite.
    Holland gave her a wry half-smile and stepped into Lieutenant Baxter’s office for his turn with Internal Affairs. The other FBI man followed him in.
    â€œDo you have a raincoat?” Agent Greer asked. “Nasty out.”
    Marian collected her raincoat and handbag and followed him down to the parking lot. The cold drizzle hadn’t let up; Marian shivered inside her coat. How could it turn cold that quickly? Yesterday had still been late summer.
    Greer drove her to Federal Plaza and escorted her to an upstairs room of the FBI building. There he made a quick round of introductions and discreetly disappeared.
    The room was larger than Lieutenant Baxter’s office, and cleaner. Marian sat at a small conference table and calmly looked around at the not-new, not-old furniture, the flag in the corner, the President’s picture on the wall. She felt detached from it all and even from herself, somehow not involved with this person who had come here to lie to the FBI.
    This time her interrogators numbered four instead of two, but the procedure they followed was the same as the one she’d just been through. Tell the story, tell it again, now tell it a third time. Answer the questions, provide details, go over it once more. The only real difference from her session with Internal Affairs was that this time she did not mention she’d been acting on her own.
    When it was over, the man who seemed to be in charge told her that her story corroborated Holland’s. “We’re satisfied that you did the shooting, and it was clearly self-defense.” Unexpectedly, he snorted. “It’s just that we had trouble believing Holland didn’t execute an old enemy when he had the chance—I think he’s capable of it. Between you and me, Sergeant, I’m glad