Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3) by D.W. Moneypenny Page A

attention?”
    He shook his head. “No, just started at the beginning of the list and Mrs. Ackerman was willing to have us stop by. The husband, Arthur, was the passenger on the flight. She said he couldn’t come to the phone, but said he would be here anytime we wanted to stop by. I couldn’t really tell if she was just reserved or reluctant to talk on the phone.”
    “Did she act like anything unusual was happening?”
    “Not particularly.” He stepped from the truck and pointed to a concrete path to the building. Both ignored the misty rain and made no attempt to rush through it. When they got to the entrance, they found it locked, but next to it, mounted on the wall, was a silver panel of buttons, each labeled with a number. Bohannon pressed 322, and a moment later a woman’s voice barked out of the speaker, “Yes?”
    “Mrs. Ackerman? It’s Detective Bohannon. I talked to you earlier.”
    A muffled buzz, followed by a click, came from the door.
    They entered what appeared to be an ancillary foyer with two elevators and a set of stairs leading to the upper floors. Bohannon took the stairs, and Mara followed. The place looked well-appointed, with clean carpets and fresh paint, but not excessively luxurious. After crossing two flights of stairs and a landing, they entered a door labeled Floor 3 . A dark-haired woman in her thirties stood ten yards down the hall in front of the open door of her condo.
    “Detective Bohannon?” She extended a hand, as they approached.
    “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ackerman.” Bohannon shook her hand and pointed to Mara. “This is Mara Lantern. She’s an intern working with the department doing a ride-along with me today. I hope that’s okay with you.”
    Mara glanced at Bohannon, making a point of catching his eye, but didn’t contradict him.
    Mrs. Ackerman shrugged. “No problem. Come on in.” She led them into a large living room and pointed them to a large sectional couch tucked into the corner. “Would you care for something to drink? Coffee or a soft drink?”
    “No thanks. We don’t want to take up too much of your time. We’d just like a minute or two with Mr. Ackerman, to ask him a couple questions, and then we’ll be on our way,” Bohannon said.
    She stood across from them on the other side of a coffee table made of four lacquered blocks pushed together, about to take a seat in what looked like a leftover section of the couch. She paused midsit. “Oh, I’m sorry, but that is not possible.”
    “You did say he would be here, didn’t you?” the detective asked.
    “Yes, I did. And he is.” She took her seat. “But he cannot answer any questions.”
    “I’m not sure I understand. Why would you tell us it was all right to stop by, if he couldn’t talk to us?”
    “I wasn’t aware you wanted to speak with him. Frankly I was hoping you were bringing answers, not more questions,” she said. “I had assumed you were looking into my husband’s case, that Dr. Marcus had contacted you.”
    Mara leaned forward on the couch. “Mrs. Ackerman, why can’t your husband answer questions?”
    “Because he’s hibernating—at least that’s what the doctors think it is.”
    Bohannon blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say hibernating ?”
    She stared back at the detective, peeved. “You mentioned looking into some cases of strange occurrences. I assumed you were referring to my husband’s condition.”
    “In a roundabout way, that’s true, ma’am. I just didn’t know about the specifics of your husband’s situation. You see, several of the passengers of Flight 559 have exhibited, I guess you could say, unusual behaviors or characteristics following the crash. We’ve been checking up on some of them.”
    “Unusual behaviors? Like what?”
    “For example, a few weeks back, I encountered a woman who could crawl up the side of a building effortlessly. She even jumped from its roof, a three-story building, landing without a scratch.” He paused for a reaction