Patriot Lies (Jack Widow Book 14) Page 12

  Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.

  Haspman asked, "So, that's what led you to me?"

  Tunney said, "That's right. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you."

  "Sure. But why? Are you guys investigating this as a crime?"

  "No. Nothing like that. It's up to Metro to reopen this case as a homicide. Not ours. We're just PIs. Our interests lie in finding Eggers' heirs, if any."

  "I don't understand? Heirs?"

  "Eggers left behind a large inheritance."

  "Really? A homeless man?"

  "Yeah. It's weird. We know. But he did. We're trying to find his daughter."

  Haspman folded his hands in front of his face and rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair.

  "I'll take it," he said and chuckled.

  Tunney smiled back.

  "Believe me; I'm sure we'd all take it if we could. But anyway, that's why we're here."

  "Not sure how I can help you."

  "We just have to follow every thread. We're not trying to solve a murder here. That's up to Metro. I'm sure they'll be calling you next."

  Haspman looked at them, blankness on his face. He made no reaction to the news.

  Tunney said, "So, I'm just going to start asking questions. That okay?"

  "Fire away."

  "Is it normal for a sitting fire marshal to be called in to overlook a possible arson homicide?"

  "Well, it was no homicide—first off. Not when I looked at it. I don't know what evidence you found, but when I was there, it was an accidental death. I saw the empty bottle of booze. And the cigarettes on the ground. Even found the one he smoked before he died."

  "You found the cigarette that killed him?"

  "Yes. It was right there on the ground with the others."

  "The fire didn't burn it to a crisp?"

  "It was hardly anything. Just the butt. Must've fallen out of his mouth when he fell asleep. He must've been piss drunk."

  "Which explains the empty bottle of booze you found?"

  "It was whiskey. A cheap brand."

  Widow finally spoke.

  "The bottle was whole?"

  Haspman glanced at Widow, made eye contact.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "The bottle of whiskey you say was at the scene; it was one whole bottle?"

  "Oh, yes. It was empty. Just lying there on the sidewalk."

  "What brand?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Was the label still on it? What was the brand of whiskey?"

  "It was a cheap brand. Not the kind I go for. It was what they call rotgut."

  Tunney asked, "Remember the name?"

  "Old Crow."

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Haspman said, "But to answer your earlier question, no. It's not normal for me to go to a scene like that. Usually, it's one of my guys. We have fire investigators who work with police and FBI all the time."

  "So, why were you called?"

  "That night, I was here. And it's only down the street."

  Widow asked, "Anyone here with you?"

  Haspman looked at him again. He looked stone-cold. No reaction.

  He asked, "Why does that matter?"

  Widow said, "I'm just asking."

  "You insinuating something? You think I'm lying?"

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Tunney said, "No one's saying that. He's just asking to confirm the times and all. Anyone else here to confirm the time the call came in for you?"

  "You can check the call logs for that. You'll have to get them from the phone company, though."

  Haspman looked away for a moment and then back at Widow.

  "No one else was here. Not in my office. The phone rang, and I answered it."

  Tunney nodded and wrote something down.

  He looked back up at Haspman and asked, "You were here? The time of death was very late at night. Why were you here so late?"

  "It wasn't late at night that I was called over. It was early in the morning."

  Tunney wrote something else in his pad. Then he flipped back a page. He acted like he was reading something, but Widow could see there was nothing on the page. It was just chicken scratch, another old cop trick.

  Tunney said, "The time of death was three a.m. You usually here at three a.m.?"

  "The time of death might've been that early, but I wasn't called over till around five a.m."

  Widow asked, "The fire burned two hours?"

  Haspman shrugged and said, "It was out by the time I got there. Must've burned itself out."

  Widow thought about Eggers burning alive. Obviously, he didn't burn for two hours straight. He would've been dead in seconds, but the thought of his body burning for some time up to two hours before someone came along to put him out enraged him.

  Tunney redirected the line of questions.

  "Isn't that pretty early to come to the office?"

  "Fire departments all around the country are twenty-four hours. And so are we. Makes no difference the time."

  "Still, that seems early for an executive to be in the office. Every director I’ve ever worked for didn't come in before breakfast. No way!"

  Tunney chuckled a bit.

  Widow realized that Tunney was using him to play good cop bad cop, the oldest trick in the book. It was a well-known trick, maybe the best known. But it lasted for as long as it had for a reason. It worked—sometimes.

  Tunney was the good cop, and Widow was the bad cop—the carrot and the stick.

  Haspman said, "Coming in early and leaving late is why I'm head of the entire department. And it's why I'll remain in this position."

  Haspman lifted a hand and pointed behind his head with a thumb. He pointed at a wall of medals and framed certificates.

  "That's why I have all of those," Haspman said. He dropped his thumb and hand, and placed both out in front of his face, touching fingertips like he was making a pyramid with his hands.

  Tunney nodded along.

  Widow said, "How long will you keep this job when word gets out that you made a wrongful determination of death? How long will people tolerate your complete miss of a homicide?"

  Haspman moved his hands away from his face, breaking the pyramid. He sat up, agitation on his face. He pointed a finger at Widow.

  "I did what any good investigator would do! That man fell asleep with a lit cigarette, covered in booze! He killed himself! Pure and simple!"

  Tunney put up his hands.

  "Okay. Okay. No one's saying you didn't do your job correctly here."

  Haspman's composure was cracking, and Widow knew it.

  Haspman said, "I'm a busy guy. If all you're going to do is grill me about your dead friend, I have better things to do."

  Tunney said, "No. No. No one's doing that. I apologize if it seems that way. We're just here for your side of it."

  "How is this supposed to help find the man's heir, anyway?"

  Tunney ignored the question because he didn't have an answer, and he didn't want to admit it because once he did, the jig was up.

  "Can you tell us why you were called to investigate and not one of your guys?"

  "As I said, it was very early in the morning. Our FIs don't work that late."

  Widow asked, "I thought you were twenty-four hours?"

  Haspman stared at Widow. There was anger in his eyes, which could've been fake, or maybe not.

  "Not the arson investigators."

  Tunney said, "Please continue."

  "It was late or early, however you wanna look at it. And I saw no reason to bother one of the FIs with it. I thought it would be a quick look over. That's how it was pitched to me over the phone."

  "A quick look over?"

  "Sure. Metro called asking for help. They said it was a homeless man in the park, on a bench. It was nighttime. The officer who called said it looked like he burned himself up. So, I figured it was your emblematic accidental fire."

  "Emblematic?"

  "Typical. Do you know how many
homeless people die every year in this city from accidental deaths?"

  "From fire?"

  "Not fire. Usually, they sleep outside and freeze to death. Others fall asleep in the road and get themselves run over. Just last week, a guy was run over while sleeping in the middle of Independence Avenue."

  Widow raised an eyebrow, something he'd done before in a meeting like this, normally back when he was in the Navy. Normally it happened when he was in meetings with higher-ups who were talking out their asses. This wasn't much different.

  But he stayed quiet.

  Tunney asked, "Eggers was a veteran. Did you know that?"

  "I didn't. Not till I read about it in the paper. I'm sorry for his death, but it was an accident."

  "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

  Haspman looked at Tunney and then glanced a Widow again.

  Tunney said, "You hot, Haspman?"

  "Fire Marshal."

  "What's that?"

  "It's Fire Marshal Haspman, thank you."

  Tunney nodded

  Haspman asked, "Why did you ask if I was hot?"

  Tunney raised his writing hand, the pen tucked between his fingers and pointed at Haspman's face.

  "Got some sweat on your brow."

  Haspman reached up and wiped it off. Afterward, he just sat there, quiet a long minute, like he was thinking.

  Tunney spoke first.

  "You okay, Fire Marshal?"

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Suddenly, Haspman looked at his watch. He held it in his gaze another long second. Then he stood up out of the chair, fast, like he might take off running right there, but he didn't.

  "I'm going to have to call this meeting short, gentlemen. I've been more than cooperative. I don't have any more time for you."

  Tunney asked, "Are you sure you can't tell us a bit more?"

  Haspman stepped away from the chairs and over to his desk, leaving Tunney and Widow to face the wall of medals and certificates and the window that overlooked the alley.

  Widow didn't stay like that for long. He had the sudden suspicion that Haspman might be going for a gun in a desk drawer. He jumped up and twisted around and faced Haspman at the desk. He locked eyes with him, in case he made a move for a drawer or anything else that was out of sight.

  But Haspman didn't go for a desk drawer or a gun. Instead, he jerked his office phone out of its cradle and dialed one digit.

  Someone must've gotten on the other end fast because he spoke into it almost instantly.

  "Grace, call downstairs and get the Capitol Police up here, now!"

  Haspman slammed the phone down into the cradle.

  Tunney folded the notebook and put it and the pen back in his coat pocket. He pulled himself up out of the chair and joined Widow's side.

  He looked at Haspman.

  "We say something you didn't like, Haspman?"

  Haspman stared back at them. This time, he didn't correct Tunney with the whole Fire Marshal Haspman thing.

  "I said, I'm done. That's it. You won't be wasting any more of my time today. And you can tell that lawyer you represent that I'll be talking to my attorney about a libel lawsuit if he tries to badmouth me with the press or anything else. I don't ever want to see you again! Either of you! You have less than a minute to get out of my office before the Capitol Police come up here and arrest you!"

  Widow stepped forward; his feet stopped just in front of the huge desk.

  He stretched himself up tall, as tall as he could. He raised his head, extended his neck, and swelled every muscle and bone in his body, stretching himself out to look bigger and longer than he was normally.

  In the wild, grizzly bears do this same thing when they perceive a threat. They stand up on their hind legs and stretch themselves out to full height in an effort of intimidation.

  It works every time.

  Widow was no different, and neither was Haspman.

  Haspman started to shake and tremble. It wasn't a huge gesture, not like being dropped into freezing cold weather stark naked, but it wasn't far off either.

  Widow stared him down for a long second and then spoke.

  "We got longer than a minute. No one's gonna make it up here that fast. We have plenty of time. Enough to do whatever it is we want to do."

  Haspman spoke. His voice cracked like a teenage boy singing tenor and suddenly finding out that he's now a baritone, only in reverse.

  "You can't come in here and speak to me this way! Threaten me! I don't know who the hell you think you are!"

  Widow didn't move. He didn't step forward. He didn't grab Haspman from over the desk and slam his head into it. He didn't do any of that, but the thought did cross his mind, and Haspman knew it. He could see it.

  It was in Widow's eyes. The only difference between Widow and the grizzly bear was that Widow stayed quiet.

  Silence filled the room until Haspman spoke first.

  "That guy burned himself up. Just like I said. The evidence is there."

  Silence returned a long moment until the office door swung open, and Grace, the head receptionist, entered.

  She looked at Tunney and then at Widow. She saw the stance. She saw the eyes.

  She said, "I've called downstairs. The police will be up in a moment."

  Widow recalled the cops in the lobby. They were armed.

  He breathed in and breathed out, resetting the grizzly stance back to normal.

  He looked at Tunney, who had his hands free. The pen and notepad were both back in his inside coat pocket. But there was something else in his stance. Widow hadn't noticed it before, but Tunney had his hands free, so he could go for his gun if he needed to.

  Widow realized that Tunney was also wondering if Haspman was going for a weapon somewhere in a desk drawer.

  Tunney said, "Let's get the hell out of here."

  Widow glanced back at Haspman. They made eye contact.

  Widow said, "Know what SHG stands for?"

  "What? No! I don't!"

  Widow felt like he was lying, but not because he was intentionally lying, rather because Haspman didn't take the time to even listen to the question. He didn't think about it. He simply responded like someone trying to dust him off.

  Tunney made the first move and walked out, passing behind Widow. He tapped Widow on the shoulder as he passed indicating a request to leave. He didn't thank Haspman for his time, as he would've done under normal circumstances. He didn't even look back at him.

  Widow followed but kept his eyes locked on Haspman, who trembled.

  Seventeen

  Tunney walked out of the DC fire department headquarters in a hurry. Widow stayed close but walked casually. They had come with questions and were left with more answers than they’d expected; none of them were stated in Haspman’s answers. Instead, they came from what he didn’t say more than anything he did say.

  Tunney walked straight out the front doors to the fire department headquarters and beelined to the BMW. He moved fast, faster than Widow would’ve expected of him.

  Tunney glanced back at Widow only once.

  “Come on. Let’s get going while we can.”

  But Widow walked at a normal speed, normal pace, normal tempo. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t worried.

  Tunney got in the car and fired up the engine. Widow got in just after. As soon as the passenger door was shut, Tunney reversed the BMW, pulled out of the space, drove down the street and turned at the first cross street. It was obvious that he wanted to get away from the building as soon as he could. He didn’t want any trouble with the Capitol Police, and Widow understood why. An entanglement with the cops could lead to more problems.

  He drove fast, but not over the speed limit. A car in the other lane honked its horn like it was for them. He wasn’t sure.

  Tunney said, “That was constructive. We nearly wasted the entire day with this asshole.”

  Widow said, “He’s hiding something.”

  “That’s for damn sure. And not just
something. It’s something related to Eggers. I think we both saw that. It was like you said; he met us. I didn’t think he’d meet with two guys right off the street like that.”

  “I knew he would. He couldn’t help himself.”

  Tunney said nothing.

  Widow said, “We should watch him.”

  “Watch him?”

  “Yeah. Like a stakeout. You know the kinda shit you FBI agents used to do.”

  “A stakeout? Widow, have you gone crazy? I don’t do stakeouts for possible murder cases. We’re not here to solve a murder. If it was murder, we should just let the cops do their job.”

  “You think Shaw is going to come down hard on the fire marshal? This guy will just use his influence to get Shaw moved to crosswalk duty.”

  “No. We stay out of it now. It’s not my job.”

  “Don’t you want to see justice done?”

  “I want to find Eggers’ next of kin and get them their inheritance. That’s my job. Not solving crimes. I didn’t even do that in the FBI.”

  “What did you do for the Feds?”

  “Not murder investigation.”

  Widow looked out the window for a second. Then he pointed a finger at a Starbucks up ahead.

  “Drop me off there.”

  “Drop you off?”

  “Yes. Pull over.”

  Tunney slowed the car, checked the rearview, and slid the car slowly to the curb.

  Widow unlocked his door and opened it and climbed out.

  “You’re done now?”

  “I’m going to see this thing through. You’re not interested in that, so it’s time for me to go alone. Thanks for everything.”

  Widow reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Aker’s phone and handed it back to him.

  Tunney waved it away.

  “Hold onto it. If you get yourself into a jam and need help, call me.”

  Widow nodded, thanked him, and shut the door. He turned back to the street and walked to Starbucks to get the main item needed when doing a stakeout—coffee.

  Eighteen

  At about the same time that Widow and Tunney were called into the fire marshal’s office, the same black Escalade that had followed Widow earlier drove onto the street in front of the headquarters and passed the entrance to the department. It drove past Tunney’s parked BMW.