Free The Consignment by Grant Sutherland

trail of thought was catching up with mine.
    “Rossiter never told you Trevanian had placed the order?”
    “It’s his company.”
    “You’re his sales manager. What reason could he have for keeping you in the dark, just sidelining you like that?” When I suggested that there could be a million reasons, she said, “All right. Name one.”
    I was silent.
    “Then let me name one,” she said. “Rossiter’s found out who you are.” I turned my head in denial. Rita made a face. “Don’t do the brave soldier number on me. This is a real problem. If the order turns out to be a breaker, how do we stay on top of it? We can’t if you’ve been sidelined.”
    “We will.”
    “How?” When she saw I had no reply, her lips went tight. She pulled a notepad from her briefcase, tore out a page, and gave it to me. “Those are some of the questions I prepared, things I was going to ask you about the Trevanian deal. How many can you answer?”
    The questions were extensive. Mostly they concerned preliminary paperwork and correspondence between Haplon and Trevanian that I should have seen. Some pieces I should have written myself. But I hadn’t seen any of it. I couldn’t answer a single one of the questions. Folding the torn page, I slipped it into my pocket.
    “Well?” said Rita.
    “I’ll find out.”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “I’ll get copies of the correspondence,” I told her. “Whatever you need. Just leave it with me.”
    A young couple came by, pushing a baby in a stroller. When they sat down on the next bench, Rita got up and we walked over to the granite mausoleum, then paused by the engraved maps of Grant’s campaigns, a temporary exhibition. Maps and campaigns that I’d pored over for interminable hours as a West Point cadet, now long forgotten. Rita studied the maps.
    “Did Channon tell you about the two orders Dimitri put through the system for Trevanian?”
    I nodded. Channon had told me just that morning when I reported to him on the phone. I told him I was going to see Rita. Channon mentioned the old orders and warned me not to get dragged into any wrangle with Rita about Dimitri’s work, he said he was concerned that Customs might make their own decision to shut Hawkeye down.
    “And did he tell you I wasn’t happy about them?” she said. “Even at the time?”
    “He mentioned it.”
    “Then maybe he also mentioned that Customs came within a whisker of totally withdrawing our support from Hawkeye.” My head swiveled, I looked at her. “That’s right. And now Trevanian’s back on the scene, Dimitri’s dead, and you can just imagine what I’m thinking.”
    “Without your support, there’s no operation.”
    “I know,” she said.
    My heart fell. “We do still have your support.”
    She looked at me. She didn’t reply.
    “Rita?”
    “I kept telling Channon that Dimitri wasn’t being straight with me.”
    “You don’t know he wasn’t being straight.”
    “Maybe if Channon had paid some attention, Dimitri wouldn’t have wound up dead.” She turned away from the maps and strolled along by the wall, and I went with her. She clutched her briefcase to her chest. She was clearly troubled, not only by what had already happened, but by what else might occur. She seemed to be puzzling out how she should proceed. At the end of the wall, she stopped and faced me. “Why do you want to go on with this?”
    “Because it’s not finished.”
    “That’s all?”
    “Trevanian’s order looks like a breaker. What more do you want?”
    “So going on with it, that’s your duty.”
    “If you like.”
    “Not revenge?”
    “On who?”
    “That’s what I’m wondering.”
    We looked at each other. Then I said, “If you were going to withdraw your support, you would have done it by now.” She shrugged. Probably, she conceded. When I asked her why she hadn’t, she shrugged again. I turned it over.
    “Trevanian got two dirty orders out under your nose,” I said. “That must hurt.”
    She