The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

10:00 a.m.

Mike knew Nicholas was tense, angry, just as she was. She touched his arm as they watched the techs load Mr. Olympic’s body into the medical examiner’s van. “It’s always tough, the waste, the not knowing why,” she said. The van doors closed with a clang. “And now he’s dead and can’t tell us. But we will take care of Mr. Pearce, we’ll get him justice. You know that, Nicholas. Are you okay?”

He let out a deep breath. “Yes, I know that. I’ll be fine.”

Mike shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of the sun off the glass windows of Trinity Church, to their right. She saw a crowd was gathered a little farther down the street, in Zuccotti Park, watching them.

“Good.” She popped him in the arm, grinned at him. “You know, I really didn’t expect you to be Superman on your first day, but there you were, flying right out of the gate.”

“Talk about fast, Mr. Olympic would have gotten away from us if you hadn’t known that shortcut. This is strange, Mike, all of it. I mean, Mr. Olympic hung around, then he was so afraid when we got him, he popped cyanide in his tooth?”

“Or whatever it was. You’re right. Leave your cape on, okay?”

“I wonder, did Superman ever get a pilot’s license, or did he wing it?”

“He winged it, absolutely.” She glanced again at the growing crowd. “Let’s go back. Maybe there’s an update on the video, and we can see for ourselves what happened.”

“Yes, let’s. I’d like to see how Pearce was taken down.” He paused, gave her a long look. “You know, you could be Ms. Olympic.”

She said coolly, not looking at him, “I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.”

He pictured a younger Mike, all long, strong legs, blond hair in a ponytail, focused, determined— “Long distance or sprint?”

“Long distance.”

He believed it. He paused for a moment, frowned. “It’s strange. I feel like someone’s been watching us, but how could anyone do that? Forget it, come on, let’s get back.”

It took them only a few minutes to walk back to Federal Hall. Officer Wilson stood by the crime scene tape, keeping people out.

“We heard there was an incident with the suspect and he’s dead,” Wilson said. “What happened?”

Nicholas said, “Well, he led us on a merry chase, Tasered me, then managed to get himself dead when I caught up to him the second time.”

“Did you have to kill him?”

“No, it was something else entirely, something he ate, maybe. Next time, Wilson, you can chase him.”

“Nah, I’m not as young as I once was.” He gave Nicholas a manic grin. “You look worse for wear yourself, Agent Drummond. Anything we can do for you? You need a medic?”

“I’m fine,” Nicholas said. “What we need are the video feeds of the murder, if you have them.”

“Happens we do. The agent over there, Louisa? She has them downloaded.”

Louisa was sitting on the edge of the truck’s gate with a laptop balanced on her knees, her bobbed blond hair blowing a bit in the light spring breeze. She looked up. “Hey, you’re back. Good.” Then she really looked. “Whoa. You guys look like you’ve been in a war. What in the world happened to you two?”

“Not all that much, really, and the suspect is dead,” Mike said. “We really need that video feed now, Louisa.”

“Or yesterday, whichever is fastest,” Nicholas said.

“You got it. You’re in luck with the video. I’m almost done enhancing it. Like the witnesses said, the men actually argued for a while before he killed Pearce.”

She turned the laptop around and hit play.

The feed was grainy, angled down, so Mike knew immediately it had come from a traffic cam, but it was clear enough that they could see Mr. Olympic loitering on the corner when Pearce rushed into the frame. Pearce had been jogging. They watched him bend down to catch his breath, rub his knees, check his watch, and look around. When he didn’t see who he was expecting to see, he sent a quick text message on his cell.

Such mundane acts, Mike thought. He had no clue he was about to d

ie. She’d seen death videos too often, and it always made her sad and angry to watch a person’s life end violently.