Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“I’ll be present when you question her.” It was not a request.

Derry bobbed his head in brief acknowledgment. “When was the last time you spoke to Ms. Hayes?”

“Last Friday.”

“On the phone or in person?”

“In person. She c

ame to the office.”

“And you haven’t spoken to her since?”

“No. Why?”

Derry leaned back in his chair. He appeared to think about whether to answer the question.

“There’s a problem,” he said. “She seems to have disappeared.”

“What? Just vanished?”

“She hasn’t been home and hasn’t shown up for work all week.”

An angry sizzle interrupted my thoughts. The odor of burnt coffee filled the room. My cup was overflowing onto the hot plate.

“Shit.” I jumped up and exchanged the cup for a carafe. Coffee was everywhere. In haste, I ripped a couple of pages from a writing pad and daubed at the mess, grinning sheepishly at the cops.

Derry’s mustache twitched into a brief grimace. Jergins stared.

“Well, I have no idea where she could be,” I said, swiping at drops that had landed on my blouse.

Both cops studied me, maybe waiting for more. I sat down and drank my coffee. The air conditioner clicked and roared in the background.

Jergins cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Ms. McRae,” he said, in a gruff, rat-a-tat voice, “it’s extremely important that we get in touch with Ms. Hayes as soon as possible. Her life may be at risk.”

“Why? And what’s the FBI’s interest in this?” I looked directly at the bony fed.

Jergins’ nostrils flared as if he’d detected a bad smell. From the look in his beady eyes, you’d have thought I was the source.

“Has your client ever mentioned the name Gregory Knudsen?”

“No. Who is he?”

“What about Christof Stavos?”

“What about him?” I asked, a little annoyed that he’d ignored my question.

“Have you heard that name? Ever?”

“Nope. Never ever.”

Jergins did that pigeon move with his head again.

I resisted the urge to imitate him.

He said, “Mr. Stavos is a sick and dangerous man. It’s absolutely essential that Ms. Hayes get in touch with us as soon as possible. For her own safety, if nothing else.”

“Why?” I asked. “Who is he?”