it a hundred-dollar offense to use a handheld phone in the car. After a couple of tickets, I learned my lesson and had Bluetooth installed. I clicked the button on the steering wheel. âHello?â
âDr. Henderson, itâs Jamie Weston. You wanted to talk to me?â There was a thump and she said, âHey, watch it.â
âWhere are you? It sounds like quite a crowd.â
âOutside the Metro station by my office. Itâs like a cow barn this time of day. So what can I do for you?â
âIâd like to see you, if you have a few minutes. Your office is on 6th Street, right? Iâm only a few blocks from there now.â
âUm, Iâm on my way to get coffee. Letâs meet there.â The crowd noise around her was dying down. âSo . . . what do you like?â
That was an odd way to put it. Not, âWhat can I get you?â or âWhat would you like?â Maybe it was only an innocent slip, but it left me wondering. With a patient Iâd unlock that door, usually with something unexpected. âWhat do I like? How about . . . quiet walks on the beach.â
âWhat?â She laughed. âI meant coffee.â
âSure you did. Black, medium.â
âSimple things for a simple man.â She gave me the address of the coffee shop and hung up.
By the time I got there, sheâd bought the coffee and found a table. She spotted me through the window and waved. Her eyes were puffy, and she was wearing the same blue pantsuit as yesterday. Sheâd probably spent the night waiting for Scottie in Mount Pleasant. Being tired didnât kill her smile, though.
âDoctor Henderson, have a seat. So youâve heard from Mr. Glass?â
I eased into the chair. âWhat makes you think that?â
That smile again. âWhy else would you leave a voice mail for me at six forty in the morning?â
âI did speak to him, and I donât think heâs a threat to anyone.â
She took a sip of her coffee. I caught the syrupy scent of hazelnut. âI appreciate your opinion, but if you saw the e-mails he sent, youâd know we canât leave it there.â
I didnât want to get into the detailsâwhether Iâd read the e-mails, if Iâd actually met with Scottie or just had a phone call. âScott isnât any kind of master criminal. You seem to be devoting a lot of energy to such a small fish.â
She cocked her head to the side, making a silent question.
âI know you staked out his house last night. I drove up there looking for him, and I saw you and Agent Cade in your car across the street.â
âThat was you,â she said. âI had a bet with Cade. You just cost me ten bucks.â
I took out my wallet and laid a ten on the table. âThatâll cover it. Now tell me: Why all the attention to a case like this?â
âFirst you tell me why this matters to you. You said youâd barely met the guy.â
âYou know Scott was injured as a boy. Shot in the head.â She nodded slightly. So theyâd dug into his background. I was going to bet they hadnât connected me to the shootings. My nameâHendersonâwouldnât give them a clue.
âI assume youâre worried about the e-mail messages Scott sent to Eric Russo.â She gave the slight nod again. âScott found out that Russo talked to the woman who shot him only an hour before it happened. Itâs natural for him to want to follow up, to see if Russo remembers the conversation or if there is anything else he can tell him about that night. Even though itâs been years, itâs normal to want that kind of information. It helps with closure.â
âIt sounds like you had a pretty useful talk with Mr. Glass.â
âHe told me about Russo and filled me in on some research heâd done. He said in addition to Russo, heâd contacted some people from Braeder Design
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley