Free The Jury Master by Robert Dugoni Page B

park? Why would he just take off, Ray, just leave the scene?”
    “Coop’s a rookie, Mole. Rookies do stupid things; you know that. He probably spooked when he realized he was out of his jurisdiction, and didn’t feel like coming back here to get his ass bit and lose vacation time filling out the paperwork. You of all people know the saying about ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission.’ Hell, I think you
invented
it. Coop will come crawling in here Monday asking forgiveness. I’ll chew on his ass then. Until then, as for this Branick thing, last I checked, the Justice Department was pretty well staffed, okay? So that there is no misunderstanding, I’m going to say this slowly. Close . . . your . . . file. If you have anything in the works, call it off.”
    “What am I supposed to do with it?” Molia liked to let Franklin have the last dig. It soothed his ego.
    Franklin didn’t disappoint him. “Take the file, put it on your chair . . . and sit . . . on . . . it.” Franklin started out of the office, then turned in the doorway. “I’m serious, Mole. I don’t want to hear even
rumors
you’re working on that file.”
    Molia raised his hands as if under arrest. “No problem. I got enough to keep me busy.”
    “Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Franklin said, the sound of his shoes slapping against the linoleum as he walked down the hallway. When he rounded the corner he looked back through the wire-mesh window. Molia stood, closed the manila file, placed it neatly on his chair, and sat on it.

11
    T INA PLUCKED THE message slip from Sloane’s hand and eyed it as if suspicious of her own handwriting, then handed it back. “I don’t know.”
    Sloane laughed. “I take it he didn’t leave a message?”
    She took the slip again, considered it further, gave it back. “Does it say he left a message?”
    “So who is he?”
    “How should I know? Probably the latest twenty-three-year-old go-getter with the hot stock tip of the week. You get about five a week now.”
    He smiled. “Maybe we could find out for sure?”
    “Call the number.”
    He raised his eyebrows.
    “Oh, I get it. ‘We’ means ‘me.’” She plucked the slip from his hand with a roll of the eyes and walked out the door, talking under her breath.
    A minute later she walked back in.
    “That was fast.”
    “Maybe not fast enough. Dianne just called. His Highness wants to talk with you about your meeting with Transamerican Insurance Monday morning. You want me to block out the next three hours of your day for that blowhard?”
    Sloane was in no mood for a meeting with Bob Foster. “What did you tell her?”
    “I gave her the runaround, said you were in the bathroom. If she calls again, I’ll tell her you slipped out before I could give you the message.” She gave him a smug smile.
    He grabbed his windbreaker off the back of his chair. “You’re a genius.”
    “Talk’s cheap. I want a raise.”
    “I’d stop and put in a request for you, but I don’t want to make a liar out of you to Dianne. Have a nice weekend.”
    She put a hand on his chest like a school crossing guard, handed him the file with his insurance papers, and stuck three letters under his nose, along with a pen. “Hold on a minute, Mr. Top Gun. I need your autograph.”
    He scribbled his name, handing each letter to her. “What am I signing here?”
    “Nothing important. Pay raise for Tina. Paid vacation for Tina. My annual review. I took the liberty of filling it out for you.”
    He handed her the pen. “How did you do this year?”
    “Great as always.”
    “Good for you.” He slipped the folded pink message slip into his pocket, knocked the painting on the wall crooked, and gave her a wink as he stepped past her, disappearing into the hallway.

12
    T OM MOLIA WAITED until late afternoon, when Clay Baldwin wouldn’t perceive it as anything more than the simple act of getting an early jump on the weekend. He even slid the damn magnet from the IN to the OUT