Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)
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“Wiseguy from New York.”
The phone rang.
I decided to let the voice mail get it. “Mafia? What would someone like that want with my client?”
Jergins leaned back, allowing himself a dramatic pause. “Did your client leave anything with you? A CD, maybe?”
“No.”
“And she never mentioned Knudsen?”
“Like I said, no.”
He nodded, still not looking satisfied.
“So, who is this guy, Knudsen?” I said. “And what’s on the CD?”
Jergins said nothing.
“Let’s get back to your client,” Derry said. “Did she ever mention anything about leaving town? Even a hint that she might?”
I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “Not that I recall.”
Derry appeared to ponder my response then said, “I guess we’ve taken enough of your time.”
Jergins looked like he wanted to subpoena every piece of paper in the room.
“Wait a second,” I said. “What’s going on? Obviously, someone’s been murdered, but is there more?”
Derry glanced at Jergins, who remained mute.
“There’s got to be,” I said. “Or why would the FBI be involved?”
Another look passed between the men.
Derry said, “Right now, I’m concerned about investigating a homicide.”
As opposed to what? I wanted to ask.
“This mobster—what was his name? Stavos?—he’s also a suspect?” I asked.
Silence.
Forget it, I thought. I might as well go outside and ask a fire hydrant.
As they stood up, Derry said, “You’ll let us know if you hear from Ms. Hayes.”
“Of course.”
Jergins pulled out a business card and thrust it toward me. It said he was with the field office in Baltimore.
“You hear anything about Knudsen, you let me know,” he said, in his clipped monotone. Probably picked it up watching too many reruns of Dragnet.
After they left, I checked my voice mail. Someone named Christy from my credit card company had called. I was up to date on my bill, and the message didn’t say anything about their “great new services.” Curious, I dialed the number and connected directly with Christy, who sounded like a college student working the phones during her summer break.
“Stephanie Ann McRae?” she said. The credit card was in my full name rather than the acronym I use as a nickname. “I’m calling to confirm your recent application for a line of credit,” she continued, sounding as if she were reading from cue cards.
“But I haven’t applied for more credit.”