The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The First District station of the Washington Metro Police was in a converted school building on M Street SW. It housed a state of the art forensic lab, offered community outreach programs and provided evidence storage. The D.C. police needed a lot of storage.

Selena parked her Mercedes next to a row of cruisers with the stylized flag logo of D.C. She put a card on the dash that identified her car as being on government business. Maybe it wouldn't draw a ticket.

The desk sergeant told her to wait for Detective Hanson to come and escort her. The station had a faint, stale odor of fear and stress and sweat, along with the kind of smell that seemed to be poured into institutional buildings with the concrete. After a few minutes a man came through a set of swinging doors on her left. He wore an off the rack gray suit and black shoes and had a pair of thick binders under his arm. He walked over to her. She stood.

"Doctor Connor? I'm Detective Hanson. Thanks for coming down."

He held out his hand. His grip was warm, firm.

Hanson was about Nick's height, six feet tall. He had black hair and blue eyes and a face that looked as though you might not want to get on the wrong side of him. His eyes had the same kind of look as Nick's, as if they'd seen much more than they'd wanted, none of it good. There was a thin scar on the bottom of his chin. She caught a faint whiff of aftershave.

"This way," Hanson said.

He led her through the doors and down a hallway to a room with a table and a large one way window on the wall. There were two chairs. There was a camera on the ceiling. The table was bolted to the floor. Hanson set the binders down on the table.

"Grab a seat. This is one of the rooms we use for interrogations. It's a lot quieter than the squad room and we won't be distracted here. Have you ever done this before?"

His voice was deep, pleasant. Selena liked it.

"No."

"It's straightforward." Hanson opened one of the binders. "These are photos of people you don't want to meet. We've got thousands of them, but I figured the best shot was to pull known associates of the men who attacked you."

He stopped and gave her an appraising look. "That was good work, by the way. Most women would be dead. Hell, most of the men I know would be dead. How did you do it?"

The question made her uncomfortable. "Oh, training. And luck."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Sensitive. Who would have guessed? He picked right up on how I felt. An interesting man.

"That's all right. I study martial arts."

"Guess that explains it. Okay." All business, now. "You can see, each page has pictures. Take your time, see if any of them look like the third man who was there. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, a soda?"

"Coffee would be fine."

"How do you take it?"

She felt something stirring. He's asking you about coffee. With something of a shock, she realized she was attracted to him. She hadn't been attracted to anyone since she'd met Nick.

"Cream, no sugar."

"Coffee's not great here, but it's hot. I'll be right back."

He left the room. Her thoughts were confused. Something had just happened, and she knew enough about herself to realize she would have to deal with it. But not now. She pulled the book of pictures closer and began studying the photos.