The Magician Murders (The Art of Murder 3)
Jason glanced at the windows. The drapes were drawn, but he could see the dark shadow behind the yellow fabric. Nighttime, then. He looked toward the large LED clock on the wall next to the door.
Seven thirty.
Hell. Sam should be mid-flight by now. Not that he wasn’t glad Sam had postponed his trip, but…
“What time are you flying out?”
“I’m not,” Sam said.
“You’re not? What about Seattle?”
“Seattle can wait.”
“Since when?”
Sam frowned. “Do you honestly think I’d fly out under these circumstances?”
“Well… No.”
Sam said drily, “You could sound a little more convinced.”
“I mean, if I was at death’s door. But I’m not. And we both know the job takes precedence.”
They did both know it. They’d had one particularly memorable conversation on this very subject, so why Sam should look almost pained at hearing Jason acknowledge it was puzzling. He ought to be relieved that Jason was—so far—still accepting the terms of engagement.
Sam said brusquely, “Anyway, it’s Saturday now.”
Jason tried to sit up. “It’s Saturday?”
Sam put a big hand on his shoulder and pushed him back against the mattress. “Yes. So relax.”
“How the hell long was I— I was out two days?”
“Roughly.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You’re okay,” Sam said. “All that Thiopental floating around in your system is what caused the prolonged unconsciousness. It’s also why you weren’t injured more badly.”
Huh? That was kind of confusing. But there wasn’t a chance to question it because Sam was continuing, “I’ve spoken to your doctor. You’re going to be fine. They’ll probably discharge you tomorrow. You just need to take it easy for a bit. Give yourself a chance to—”
“But I don’t even know what happened,” Jason broke in. He was unexpectedly indignant. “You questioned me and then charged out of here—”
“Okay.” Sam looked pained. “Jason—”
“The only thing I know for sure is I was shot full of sodium pentothal. Which, for the record? Not pleasant.” He could add a splitting headache to his list of miseries.
“I realize that.”
“Were there witnesses? How did I manage not to get thrown in the fucking trunk of that Porsche? I look like I was hit by a semi.”
“If you’ll let me get a word in, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have.”
The flash of resentment was already fading, not least because Jason still didn’t have the energy for prolonged outrage. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to squish the steady throb in his skull.
Watching him, Sam said, “I’m sorry I ‘charged out.’ I promised Stafford SO they’d have your account of Thursday night ASAP.”
Jason lowered his hands, started to speak. Sam said, “And I’m sorry there wasn’t time to…help you fill in the blanks. Obviously, I needed to get your version of events before I risked contaminating your memory with eyewitness accounts.”