The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (read any book txt) 📕

“I was racing around the building with my badge held high to alert pedestrians. I still held the badge when I hit the ground. When he saw it, he went for his gun.”

The sergeant nodded. “Ms. Wilson, when he exited the elevator, what made the man suspicious?”

“His eyes flitted left and right. Not a normal behavior for a civilian. He was purposefully relaxed, walking away at a leisurely pace.”

“That was suspicious?”

“Not in Des Moines, but in New York, yeah. You don’t stealthily surveil your surroundings and then casually stroll toward an exit. He wasn’t as good as he thought he was. He stood out because people heading for the same exit passed him on both sides. Besides, with the delay of getting over here, I had to choose a suspect fast. He was my best prospect.”

“Why were you seeing Mr. Methow?”

“He’s a lawyer with good connections in the publishing business,” Evarts said, going with Wilson’s cover story. “My wife is an author and—”

“What has she written?”

“All nonfiction. She’s an academic. She writes mostly about Abraham Lincoln. Quite Contrary—Mary Lincoln Critiques Her Husband was her first bestselling—”

“I read that. Good book.”

He turned away. Patrol officers had arrived, and the sergeant directed them to cordon off the area, control the crowd, and search for witnesses.

When his attention returned to Evarts, he asked, “Why did she see Mr. Methow?”

“My wife wanted to re-secure the rights to her backlist … that’s a term for books published years ago. Basically, she—”

“That’s good enough,” the sergeant said. “Now explain what you witnessed.”

“Here or in Mr. Methow’s office?” Evarts asked, wondering why this officer would be more concerned about the assassination than the street killing at his feet.

“Mr. Methow’s office. My lieutenant wants to know what the hell happened up there. Evidently, all of Mr. Methow’s good connections weren’t in the publishing business.”

Evarts and Wilson told the same story in sequence. When they finished, the sergeant walked away to speak to his lieutenant. The coroner arrived and began the preliminary examination of the body.

Evarts worried that Baldwin would tell a different story. That could delay their release and he needed to talk to O’Brian. He asked a patrolman if he could make a phone call and was told no. Then he noticed Wilson hand in her jacket pocket was moving. She was texting blind. He hoped she was good at it.

“I hope your father-in-law can handle this?” Evarts said.

“He’s not as healthy as he once was, but I know how to break it to him.”

The sergeant returned and faced them. “You’re both under arrest. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Chapter 55

With his hands cuffed behind his back, Evarts could not find a comfortable position in the back of the squad car. Wilson, on the other hand, sat unmoving, as if this were an everyday occurrence.

“Don’t ball your hands in fists,” she said. “Stretch your fingers out flat.”

Evarts willfully ignored her instructions. “How will your father-in-law take this?”

“If I haven’t lost my touch, we should know shortly.”

“Cute,” Evarts said irritably.

She was right. In about five minutes, they were gingerly extracted from the cop car and uncuffed.

“You’re free to go,” the sergeant said as he handed them back their IDs, guns, phones, wallets, and keys. “Evidently, Mr. Methow is not the only one with connections.”

“Why were we arrested?” Evarts asked.

“Your story didn’t jive with your wife’s.” He handed Evarts a card. “Be at the station tomorrow to give your statement.” He grinned. “Chief, you might want to rehearse tonight so everyone’s on the same page.”

He walked away.

As they marched away from the police cordon, Evarts called his wife as Wilson called O’Brian. She had been released and had taken a taxi to the hotel. He told her they would meet her there in fifteen minutes. Evarts stepped into the street to hail a cab.

By the time a cab pulled over, Wilson had finished her conversation.

“Did you tell your father-in-law about our trip to Jakarta?” Evarts spoke cryptically because of the taxi driver.

“I did. He’s anxious for us to tell him about it. Wants us back as soon as we can manage it. Oh yeah, he said he handled the flight to Bermuda. We’re not to worry about it.”

“Good. Did you tell him about our appointment tomorrow morning?”

“He said he’d get it cancelled. No problem.”

They pulled up in front of the hotel and jumped out to hurry inside. As they rode the elevator to their floor, Wilson said they should pack immediately and catch a cab to La Guardia.

Evarts found his wife pacing in their room.

“What happened to you? The damn cops wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“I’m a damn cop,” Evarts reminded her.

“You’re damned if you don’t tell me what happened? Right now, dear, or I’ll have to break your only bottle of Macallan’s over your head.”

“Good idea,” he said as he poured himself a drink.

Then he told her everything. He discovered that when they asked why she was meeting with Methow she had said it was classified government business. When she heard their story, she got annoyed with herself for not thinking of such an obvious alibi. Evarts reminded her that with friends in high places, it didn’t matter. Then he told her that they had to pack and get to the airport. She packed them both while he ordered a car from a limousine service.

In short order, they were in a black Lincoln Town Car heading for La Guardia. Evarts requested that the driver raise the privacy screen.

He collapsed against the seatback, closed his eyes, and said, “Damn.”

“At least we all survived,” Baldwin said.

Evarts didn’t open his eyes. “Yes, we did. Thank you again, Diane. Good police work.”

“Coming off an adrenaline high?” Wilson asked.

“That and frustration.” He opened his eyes to look at Wilson. “You know, we lost our only contact with the Templars.”

“Do you think they’ll send someone else,” Baldwin asked. “Methow said they would when we foiled his rescue in Santa Barbara.”

“My bet is that they’ll decide we’re too damn