Free A Killing Sky by Andy Straka Page A

stayed focused on the detectives. “You may have a point there, Bill—about the escalation, I mean.”
    Abercrombie's eyes did a napalm. “Listen up, Pavlicek!” He moved right in front of me and shook his finger in my face. “I've got the governor demanding answers, the papers and TV stations beginning to call.”
    “Then I guess you called the congressman and the young woman's mom,” I said.
    “Of course I did. Left a message for the girl's mother. And I spoke with one of Congressman Drummond's people in Richmond. Fortunately, his flight was still over the Atlantic. The air force is diverting their plane to Iceland so Drummond can catch a different flight back to Dulles. Stopped a whole goddamn trade mission.”
    “Proud of you.” I began to shake my head. Ferrier and Upwood stood like statues.
    “You have a problem with that, my friend?” Abercrombie calling me “friend” was like Custer mailing a Christmas card to Sitting Bull.
    “What, you mean besides the fact you may have just compromised the entire investigation?” I said.
    “Frank … “ Ferrier was saying.
    Abercrombie turned to his detectives. “I want this idiot taken into custody. Arrest him, charge him—I don't care what you do, but I want him held.”
    “But, Chief,” Ferrier said.
    “Thanks… friend,” I said.
    The chief and I had never actually come to blows, but we came close now. He balled his fists, turned to glare at me, and his whole face contracted like a prune. He must have thought better of charging me, though. Either that or he thought it might not look dignified for the chief of police to be brawling in the middle of his own headquarters, especially with his white shirt and khakis on. Breathing heavily, he turned to Ferrier.
    “I don't have time for this douche bag, Bill. I want him out of our hair and away from this investigation.” He spun around and stormed out of the room.
    Ferrier was right behind him. “Hold on a second, Chief.”
    They walked down the corridor together, out of earshot. Ferrier seemed to be patiently explaining something while Abercrombie's voice kept blowing. I picked out a couple of impressive-sounding phrases like “obstruction of justice” and “probable cause.”
    Meanwhile, I was an instant pariah in the big room. The two or three other detectives who'd been on the phone or doing paperwork across the way, having bent an ear toward the entire exchange, now went back to their tasks as if I'd become the invisible man. Even Carol turned to straighten some papers on her desk and began writing something down on a yellow legal pad.
    Ferrier returned and without saying a word grabbed me by the arm and quickly walked me back to the elevator. Surprised, Carol seemed to be undecided what to do for a moment, but then made the choice to tag along with us.
    “Man's an emotion suppressor. Guys like that can be dangerous,” I said.
    “Yeah?” Ferrier said. “Well, you better start doing a little suppression yourself—of the tongue kind.”
    “I never saw anyone stand up to Abercrombie like that before,” Carol said under her breath.
    “Don't encourage him.” Ferrier finally let go of my arm when we were in the elevator. “Listen, Frank. I'm not going to BS you. You know as well as I do that this thing's about to snowball. I'm not asking you to tell us everything you know, but I am asking you to think about what you're getting into.”
    “Sam Spade's dead, Spencer's fiction, and the rest of us are just flesh and blood,” I said.
    “Something like that. You better watch yourself.”
    We all watched the elevator lights blink the changing floors.
    “I used to hate this job, especially when there was no body,” I said.
    They said nothing. The elevator doors slid open in the parking garage.
    “Am I free to go now?”
    Ferrier gestured with an open hand, as if that should be obvious.
    For a moment, I thought about telling them about the old Post articles concerning the hit-and-run, but decided I'd