Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“Secret Service has primary jurisdiction,” Petrocelli said. I looked at Agent Holmes. She could have been playing poker in the Irish Spring commercial.

“Your jurisdiction is concurrent with ours over federally insured financial institutions,” the red-haired poodle-cut said.

“I’m sure my counterpart at Treasury will be happy to cooperate with the Bureau on this,” the gray-haired Trask said, his brow furrowed with parallel lines. “Of course, as assistant director, I’ll be coordinating your efforts on this case.”

“With all due respect, assistant director,” Petrocelli said, making an authoritative if meaningless gesture with one hand, “our superiors at Treasury may not agree to share jurisdiction over certain aspects of this matter.”

“I don’t think they’ll have much choice.” It was Jergins. Always the diplomat.

I looked at Derry. His eyes were closed. Perhaps he was thinking about early retirement.

“Excuse me,” I said. Everyone looked at me. “Are we going to talk about my client? What are the charges? Do you intend to question her and when?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment, ma’am,” Petrocelli said. I wished he would stop calling me that. “We need to work out the logistics. I still think we should question Ms. Hayes as a group.”

“And I still think we should question her separately,” Ms. Poodle Cut said.

Derry spoke. “The decision’s been made.” He opened his eyes. “We’ll question her in shifts. Agent Jergins will go first. Agent Simmons will follow. Then the Secret Service. I’ll sit in on all sessions.”

Trask, the assistant director, leaned forward. “That wasn’t my—”

Derry cut him off with a look that would have stopped a speeding freight train. “Meanwhile,” Derry continued, “I’ll talk to Ms. Hayes myself.”

“Are we sure we want to proceed just yet?” the DC mumbler said. “Isn’t the Maryland AG interested? What about DOJ? Or the FTC?”

“Or the SPCA?” I asked. Everyone looked at me as if I’d passed gas, except Agent Holmes, who continued to play poker.

“Unlike the federal government, we can’t drag things out forever,” Derry said, giving Mumbles a pointed look. “Get your act together and let me know when you’re ready to see her client.” He turned to me and said, “Let’s go.”

Derry strode down the hall with me double-timing beside him. “Sorry about that. This was, supposedly, decided.”

“Quite a crew in there.”

“Too damned many cooks.” He reddened a little. It was the first time I’d heard him swear.

“You don’t need them to go forward with your own charges.”

“Sure, but I’m getting pressure from above to cooperate with them. I’d like to see the chief handle these ... people.”

I got the feeling he might have chosen a word other than people if I’d been a fellow cop. Or a man. “Hard to coordinate,” I said.

He shook his head. “It’ll get done. Meanwhile, let’s take care of business. Your client’s looking at possible identity theft and murder charges.”

“The identity theft charge is iffy at best.”

“We have what we have. She worked at the bank. She and Garvey could have worked together.”

“Tom Garvey was a computer expert. He could have accessed those records himself.”

“Or maybe she helped him. When she kicked him out, maybe he threatened to tell on her. Maybe she killed him to protect herself.”

“And maybe I’ll win a million bucks in the next Lotto. You’re grasping at straws. Who says there’s a connection between the crimes? Besides, wouldn’t Garvey also have been implicated?”

Derry shrugged. “So maybe he thought he could cut a deal. I don’t know.”

“Far as the murder goes, aren’t there other suspects? What about the roommate? For that matter, the Mob guy could have done it.”

“The Mob wouldn’t leave a body lying around. As for the roommate—” He shrugged. “So far, we have nothing to go on.”