Free The Third Coincidence by David Bishop Page A

right for his computer area, and spun on his heels when he saw an autographed picture of Tommy Lasorda, longtime manager of his favorite team, the L.A. Dodgers, hanging above his monitor. A card, wedged into the edge of the frame read: “From a fellow Dodgers fan, Nora Burke.” The already smitten Millet ran his hands through his undisciplined hair.
    After everyone got something to drink, they settled in around the conference table.
    “Tell us about the meetings you and Frank had with security at the Fed and the Court,” Jack said to Nora.
    “Security at the Fed had nothing out of the ordinary. Chief Wig- gins at the Court gave us this.” She held up a CD and scooted it down the table toward Millet. “Crank calls and threatening letters during the past five years.”
    “Set that up so we can cross-reference names,” Jack told Millet, “also misspelled words, colloquialisms, whatever with anything we may get later.”
    “Wilco, Jackman, I’ll also rig these computers so we’ll know if anyone tries to hack in. And, while I’ve got the floor, I went through the financial records and newspaper morgues for all the folks work- ing at the Court or the Federal Reserve here in D.C. I included the other property owners on Santee’s Winding Trail Road. In one word, nothing, zip, well, I guess that was two words.”
    “Anything more from the Poconos on Santee?” Colin asked. “The case officer’s just waiting for his chief’s okay to officially
    book Santee as an accident,” Nora said. “To quote him, ‘It’d already be rung up thata way if Santee weren’t no big shot.’ ”
    Jack told them about his mysterious caller and what he had said
    68 David M. Bishop

    about Rachel, wondering as he did so, if he should have said some- thing first to Rachel. If she was upset by what Jack had said, she did not show it, although he had seen the glint of something in her eyes. “If my caller’s the killer,” he continued, “it likely eliminates Islamic extremists. Fanatical Islamists would not make such refer-
    ences to a woman.”
    “Did we ever really suspect al-Qaeda or Hezbollah?” Millet asked. “Not really, but we can’t fully discount it. . . . Colin, anything on your remaining phone calls? Or yours, Rachel?” When they both shook their heads, he asked, “Frank, Nora, you have anything to add
    to what you’ve already reported?” “Nope,” Frank replied.
    “Rachel,” Jack said, “what’s the latest on alerting the possible tar- gets to alter their habits?”
    “We’re beating our heads against the wall on that one. Oh, they’re frightened. No doubt of that, but they’re also vain and used to feeling private and secure.”
    Jack’s insides told him that would soon change.

    chapter 16

    Almost a week has passed without another government official being assassinated: is it luck or is the beefed up security working?
    —Portland Oregonian, June 8

    Mabel, the senior maid, stuck her head inside the housekeeping office at the Resort at Depoe Bay. “It’s after two, girl, and them hon- eymooners still ain’t gone.”
    Joyce Griffith, the director of housekeeping, knew guests often left without stopping at the front desk, leaving the hotel to charge the credit card imprinted at check-in. After calling the cottage and re- ceiving no answer, she followed Mabel to the cottage, moving slowly because Mabel’s bunions had been giving her a fit this week.
    “It smells ugly.” Mabel said, after she opened the door.
    “Ugly’s not a smell, Mabel,” Joyce said, covering her nose with one hand. “Makes me think of week-old ribs and molasses sauce.”
    When they pushed through the door and saw what was inside, Mabel was the first to scream. A moment later Joyce made it a duet. They held each other and, too frightened to stand still, began to bounce.

    In the parking lot, Jack suggested they all go for some dinner. Nora recommended Bisby’s, a local eatery where patrons barbequed their own steaks over an