28
HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Savich was surprised to be called to his boss’s office in the middle of the day. Mr. Maitland’s wasn’t the largest office in the Hoover Building, nor was it filled with standard-issue desks and chairs. It showcased excellent American antiques Mrs. Maitland had selected. A large glass cabinet stood against a wall, filled with mementos of benchmarks in Maitland’s career, framed photos with the great and famous and of his family—Savich’s favorite was the one taken last year with Maitland’s four sons, all big, strong bruisers, surrounding their mother, who was small and blond but unquestionably the leader of the Maitland pack.
Maitland had asked Savich to have a seat when his longtime secretary, Mrs. Gold, showed Captain Juan Ramirez and Detective Aldo Mayer in. Savich saw it, the look of intimidation on Mayer’s face at being called to the emperor’s turf.
Maitland shook Captain Ramirez’s hand, nodded to Mayer. “Thank you for coming. You know Special Agent Savich?”
“A pleasure, Agent Savich,” Ramirez said, and shook his hand.
Maitland did not ask them to sit, nor did he offer coffee. He said, “I asked you to come over this morning, Juan, because your detective here has pulled a stunt that rivals any stupidity I’ve seen in my long career.”
Mayer took a step forward, his face flushed angry red. “Listen here, I pulled off a Metro guard who, I might add, I never approved in the first place.” He jerked his head toward Savich. “He did an end-run around me, went to his good buddy Ben Raven, got a police guard assigned to a guy in a fricking coma. A coma? Like we don’t even know who he is, much less if he could be in danger.”
Savich said quietly, “He would have been murdered last night if Kara Moody hadn’t been there to protect him.”
Mayer knew this, of course, but it only gave him pause. He plowed forward. “Look, I did everything right, everything according to the book. I notified your secretary that since you claimed the case for the FBI, you could provide your own guards.”
His words hung in the tension-filled room. Maitland’s voice remained calm as he asked him, “What time did you notify Ms. Needleham?”
“I don’t remember, could be it was late, but I’d forgotten about our poor officer, still on duty at the hospital. I only wanted to get him home; he didn’t belong there. He never did.”
“What time did you call her, Detective Mayer?” Maitland asked again, still calm but there was a touch of the spurs in his tone. “Well?” Maitland stood tall behind his huge mahogany desk, his arms crossed, looking at Mayer like he wanted to throw him out the window.
Mayer looked down at his feet, then at his captain. “I don’t remember.”
Savich said easily, “Ms. Needleham, Shirley, emailed me at precisely eleven thirty-three last night. I hadn’t checked my email, wouldn’t have until this morning, if I hadn’t gotten a call that an attempt had been made on John Doe’s life.”
The only sound was Mayer’s hard breathing. Captain Ramirez remained silent, looking straight ahead, not at his detective. Savich continued, his voice as calm as night. “I know you were interested in John Doe, wondered who he was, really, and what had happened to him, just as I was. But because of your dislike for me, Detective Mayer, you put him at dire risk. Are you really trying to justify that?”
Mayer couldn’t help himself, it came spewing out. “You proved on Sunday that you’re a publicity-seeking glory hound. So you took down a young guy who’s certifiably crazy. Big deal. I would have brought him in if you hadn’t interfered, if you hadn’t wanted the spotlight, the media attention!”
Captain Ramirez took a step forward in front of Mayer. He said formally, “I wish to apologize for my detective’s negligence that could have cost a man his life. Agent Savich, what would you like me to do?”
I’d like to break a rib or two myself, or better yet, give him to Sherlock. He said, “Detective Mayer, let me ask you a question. Would you have felt responsible if John Doe had been murdered last night?”
Mayer looked like he’d been shot. “I never thought there was any danger to him! I thought you were just—”
“Just what, Detective?” Maitland asked.
“I thought Savich was throwing his weight around, rubbing my nose in how he could talk Detective Raven into anything. He did the same thing on Sunday! It pissed me off—”
Maitland interrupted him, “Answer his question, Detective Mayer.”
Mayer’s face was so red Savich was afraid he’d stroke out. No one said a word. Finally, he whispered, “Yes. Yes, I would have felt responsible.”
Captain Ramirez said matter-of-factly, “Do you now admit Agent Savich was justified in requesting a police guard?”
Stone silence. Captain Ramirez merely looked at him, waited.
Mayer said finally, “So he turned out to be right, in this case.”
Maitland said, “And if Agent Savich hadn’t taken a personal interest in this young man, do you think John Doe would still be alive?”
Mayer turned on Savich, but there was nothing more he could say.
Time to end it. Mayer was heaving with anger, with guilt, with humiliation. He was a man with a long career—a good cop, no, an excellent cop—and he’d finally admitted his mistake.
Mr. Maitland said, “Detective Mayer, you should know Savich didn’t call for this meeting, I did. I wanted to hear your apology myself. You have an excellent and fair captain, and he will decide whether to take any disciplinary action.” Maitland leaned forward, his big hands splayed on his desktop. “If I were Agent Savich, I doubt I would have behaved as well. I strongly suggest you get over yourself and stop the self-justification because there isn’t any.” He paused, nodded. “Captain Ramirez, thank you for coming.”
When the door closed behind the two men, Maitland said, “I’m thinking maybe Detective Mayer cares more about John Doe than he hates you.”
Savich said, “Maybe you’re right. But I do know that his hatred of me is hardwired. We’ll see what he does now. Thank you for dealing with this, sir.”
Maitland came around his desk, sent his fist into Savich’s arm. It hurt, but Savich smiled. “I know, boyo, that you would have let it go, but I couldn’t. Mayer had to be called out, he had to be brought to book. If there’s a next time, I can guarantee he won’t be so lucky.”