Executive Treason by Grossman Gary H

Author:Grossman, Gary H. [Grossman, Gary H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION/Thrillers
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2012-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 44

Boston, Massachusetts

Roarke’s Secret Service credentials went a long way in defusing the momentary excitement. He explained to the police that he had been tracking a fugitive who, using a new identity, took a job at the coffee bar. Katie confirmed what she could, which helped. Unfortunately, for Roarke’s sake, more damage had been done in the minutes while he was chasing Depp.

Another Starbucks employee took it upon herself to clean up. That included wiping the pots, trashing the cup that Depp used as a diversion, and restoring everything back to spic and span, customer-friendly normal. The possibility of lifting usable latent prints quickly went from 100 percent to basically zero.

Also, despite Roarke’s protestations, the police were not inclined to declare Starbucks a crime scene. “You tell me what crime was committed here,” the officer declared. He walked away from Roarke and got himself a free coffee.

Ten minutes later, Roarke and Katie were back on the street.

“What now?” Katie asked.

“So much for surprise.” Roarke looked at the time. “Witherspoon would have been here by now. If he has a half a brain, he’s taken off.”

Katie shared the thought.

“Wait a second—Starbucks!” Roarke exclaimed.

“Yes,” Katie said.

“Why was Depp here?”

Katie never asked herself that question. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Katie. Here, across the street from your office.”

“Oh, my God!” She started shaking. “Me?”

Six minutes earlier, Donald Witherspoon approached his regular Starbucks. He was drawn to the commotion and pushed his way through the large crowd that had quickly gathered.

“What’s going on?” he asked no one in particular.

“The police are in there,” a woman said.

“I heard somebody had a gun,” added another.

Witherspoon saw another lawyer from the firm. He maneuvered close enough to call out. “Hey, Rog!”

The man, dressed in the same pinstripe uniform, turned to the voice. “Donald,” he said with no particular enjoyment.

Witherspoon worked his way closer to his colleague and the front of the crowd. “I heard ‘gun.’”

“Me, too. The police are in there now. Apparently there was some sort of chase. Don’t really know. See.” He pointed to the left side of building. “They’re talking to somebody now.”

They were about fifteen feet from the front door. He couldn’t see anything from his angle. Glare from the morning sun reflected off the glass. He sidestepped to the left and looked inside. A cop held a walkie-talkie to one ear. He had what looked like a license or ID card in his other hand.

“Did they catch anyone?” Witherspoon asked.

“Dunno. Just got here a few minutes ago.”

He continued talking, proposing a theory, but Witherspoon stopped listening. He felt his chest tighten with anxiety, and his heart begin to race. Beads of perspiration immediately formed on his forehead. His palms got sweaty. Kessler!

He could easily see her. She’d stepped away from the doorframe and faced the outside. Witherspoon turned 90 degrees and leaned behind the other lawyer, avoiding her line of sight. A few seconds later, he slid around ever so slightly and looked up.

Now she was gesturing in the direction of their law offices.

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