Relic

= 34 =

Down in the temporary command post, D’Agosta froze in the act of rapping on Pendergast’s window. He peered in to get a better look.

Some tall guy in an ugly suit was moving around Pendergast’s office. His face looked sweaty and sun-burnt and he swaggered like he owned the place, picking up papers on the desk, laying them down somewhere else, jingling his pocket change.

“Hey, pal,” D’Agosta said, opening the door and walking in, “that’s FBI property. If you’re waiting for Mr. Pendergast, how about doing it outside?”

The man turned. His eyes were small and narrow, and pissed off.

“From now on, ah, Lieutenant,” he said, staring at the badge hanging from D’Agosta’s belt as if trying to read the number, “you’ll speak respectfully to the FBI personnel around here. Of which I am now in charge. Special Agent Coffey.”

“Well, Special Agent Coffey, as far as I know, and [239] until someone tells me different, Mr. Pendergast is in charge here, and you’re messing with his desk.”

Coffey gave him a thin smile, reached into his jacket, and pulled out an envelope.

D’Agosta examined the letter inside. It was from Washington, putting the New York Field Office of the FBI, and one Special Agent Spencer Coffey, in charge of the case. Stapled to the directive were two memos. One, from the Governor’s office, formally demanded the change and accepted full responsibility for the transfer of power. The second, with a United States Senate letterhead, D’Agosta folded up without bothering to read.

He handed the envelope back. “So you guys finally snuck in the back door.”

“When will Pendergast be back, Lieutenant?” said Coffey, sliding the envelope back into his pocket.

“How would I know?” said D’Agosta. “While you’re poking through his desk there, maybe you’d like to check his appointment book.”

Before Coffey could respond, Pendergast’s voice sounded from outside the office. “Ah, Agent Coffey! How delightful to see you.”

Coffey once again reached for the envelope.

“No need,” Pendergast said. “I know why you’re here.” He sat down behind his desk. “Lieutenant D’Agosta, please make yourself comfortable.”

D’Agosta, noting only one other chair in the office, sat down with a grin. Watching Pendergast in action was something he’d grown to enjoy.

“A madman is apparently loose in the Museum, Mr. Coffey,” Pendergast said. “Therefore, Lieutenant D’Agosta and I have both come to the conclusion that tomorrow night’s opening party must not be allowed to proceed. This murderer works at night. He’s well overdue for another attack. We cannot be responsible for more people being killed because the Museum is kept open for, shall we say, pecuniary reasons.”

“Yeah,” said Coffey, “well, you’re not responsible [240] anymore. My orders are that the opening proceeds as planned, and on schedule. We’re bolstering the police presence with additional field agents. This place is going to be more secure than the Pentagon lavatory. And I’ll tell you something else, Pendergast: once this little party is over and done with and the big shots have gone home, we’re gonna wrap this sucker. You’re supposed to be hot shit, but you know something? I’m not impressed. You’ve had four days and all you’ve caught is your own dick. We’re through wasting time.”

Pendergast smiled. “Yes, I expected as much. If that’s your decision, so be it. You should know, however, that I will be sending a formal memorandum to the Director, stating my own views on the matter.”

“Do what you want,” Coffey said, “but do it on your own time. Meanwhile, my people will be setting up shop down the hall. I’ll expect a briefing from you at curfew.”

“My closing report is already prepared,” Pendergast said mildly. “Now, Mr. Coffey, is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Coffey said. “I expect full cooperation from you, Pendergast.”

He left the door open behind him.

D’Agosta watched him walk down the hall. “He looks a lot more pissed off now than before you came in,” he said. Then he turned toward Pendergast. “You’re not just going to give in to that jerk-off, are you?”

Pendergast smiled. “Vincent, I’m afraid this had grown inevitable. In a sense, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. This isn’t the first time I’ve trod on Wright’s toes this week. Why should I fight it? This way, at least, no one can accuse us of lack of cooperation.”

“But I thought you had pull.” D’Agosta tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Pendergast spread his hands. “I have quite a bit of pull, as you put it. But remember, I’m off my turf. Because the killings were similar to those I investigated in New Orleans several years ago, I had good cause to be here—as long as there was no controversy, no call for [241] local involvement. But I knew that Dr. Wright and the Governor had been at Brown together. With the Governor making a formal request for FBI intervention, there’s only one possible outcome.”

“But what about the case?” D’Agosta asked. “Coffey’s gonna build on all the work you’ve done, and take the credit himself.”

“You assume there’s going to be credit here at all,” Pendergast said. “I have a bad feeling about this opening, Lieutenant. A very bad feeling. I’ve known Coffey for a long time, and he can be relied upon to make a bad situation worse. But you notice, Vincent, that he did not send me packing. That he can’t do.”

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to lose the responsibility,” said D’Agosta. “My main goal in life may be to keep the mower off my ass, but I always figured you different.”

“Vincent, I’m surprised at you,” Pendergast said. “It has nothing to do with shirking responsibility. However, this arrangement does allow me a certain degree of freedom. It’s true that Coffey has the final say, but his ability to direct my actions is limited. The only way I could come up here initially was if I took charge of the case. That tends to make one more circumspect. Now, I’ll be able to follow my own instincts.” He sat back in his chair, fixing D’Agosta with his pale stare. “I would continue to welcome your help. I may need someone inside the department to help expedite a few things.”

D’Agosta looked thoughtful for a few moments. “There’s one thing I could tell about this Coffey right from the get-go,” he said.

“What is that?”

“The guy’s dipped in green shit.”

“Ah, Vincent,” said Pendergast, “you have such a colorful way with words.”