Free Snake Eye by William C. Dietz Page A

she missed most, having someone to share things with, someone who cared. The FBI agent was still making her way through downtown traffic when her cell phone chirped. She picked it up. “Rossi here.”
    There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of screams and gunshots. It was confusing as first, then the FBI agent recognized the sounds and knew she was listening to audio from the shootout at the University of Washington. There was an audible click as the recording ended followed by the sound of dial-tone. She might be finished with the ELA—but it seemed as if they weren’t done with her.
     
    Dexter s office was located just off the brand new lobby. It consisted of a small waiting area, a desk for the secretary/receptionist that he hadn’t hired yet, and a glassed-in area for himself. With his back to some nearly empty bookcases and a custom-made credenza, he could look across the surface of his gleaming rosewood desk to a pair of very expensive guest chairs and the window beyond. The blinds were open, which meant that he could see out onto the street where pedestrians battled a stiff breeze. Most were dressed in brightly colored REI parkas, heavy overcoats, and puffy ski jackets. Not a good time of year for girl watching.
    The door to the outer office sung open, but rather than one of the tenants, the man who entered was Dexter’s only employee. His name was Pasco, John Pasco, and his job was to keep the newly remodeled building in tip-top shape. The retired chief petty officer had silvery hair, a matching mustache, and wore khakis similar to those he had been required to wear in the Navy. The noncom had been in charge of maintenance for an entire hospital prior to wrapping up his twenty five-year career—which meant he had more than enough expertise to keep the Bayview Apartment complex going.
    The problem, if there was one, had to do with Pasco’s personality. He was rarely seen without a cell phone nestled next to his ear and had an unfortunate tendency to be both evasive and nosy. Or were such judgments premature? Good maintenance people were hard to find—and it would be best to wait and see. Pasco had just completed a telephone conversation as he entered the inner office. He flipped the phone closed and returned the device to his belt with all the panache of a gunfighter returning his pistol to its holster. The chair sighed as it accepted his weight. Dexter nodded. “Good afternoon, Chief…How’s it going?”
    In spite of repeated invitations to address his employer by his first name, Pasco insisted on calling the ex-officer “sir.” His eyes made contact with Dexter’s and slid away. “Pretty well, sir. The plumbing contractor is here…and he needs access to 6A.”
    Up until that point Dexter had insisted on letting workmen into 6A himself, lest someone accidentally discover the two-way mirror, but that was silly. The only way to access the other side was via the closet off his bedroom. And, judging from the other man’s demeanor, Pasco was getting curious. The maintenance man had keys to all die other units…What made 6A so special?
    Dexter opened a side drawer and rummaged through a box of carefully tagged keys. “Here,” the businessman said, as he slid a key across the surface of his desk. “Add this to your collection.”
    Pasco looked slightly surprised, as if he expected some resistance, but was quick to recover. “Yes, sir. Can I meet with you later? I have invoices for you to sign.”
    The outer door opened to admit an Asian couple. Dexter nodded. “Sure, chief…How does fourteen hundred sound?”
    That’ll be fine, sir,” the retired petty officer said, and turned to leave.
    Dexter was on his feet by then and followed Pasco out to meet his prospective tenants. Theman was tall, well put together, and wore casual clothes—expensive stuff that the ex-naval officer would never have been willing to try on much less buy. The woman looked younger, wore very little for such a cold