"Right!" said Hildebrand. "I'll just go make sure the fire is still lit under the detective working on this."
"Who is that?" asked Hooks.
"That would be Detective Sergeant Harper," said Hildebrand.
"That's the man who's interviewing my Chantal," said Governor Custer. "I hope he's not giving her the third degree."
The governor, as it turned out, knew about as much about law enforcement investigations as he knew about running the great state of New York. In short ... only what he'd seen on TV or in the movies.
"I'll make sure of that," said Chief Hooks, who knew there was no chance whatsoever of anybody leaning on the governor's wife, but wanted to look capable and in control.
The woman everybody seemed to be so worried about was lounging comfortably in a chair in an interview room. It was the same room that was referred to as the interrogation room. It all depended on who was being talked to at the time. And, in truth, Jean Custer was being treated more or less like any other interviewee that Harper had ever worked with.
There were a few minor exceptions. The chair she was sitting in, for one thing. It had been appropriated from Chief Hooks' office, because it was leather covered and had arms on it. It was a comfortable chair, something the run-of-the-mill interviewee would never have seen, much less sat in. The other thing was that instead of a styrofoam cup with tap water in it, Mrs. Custer had a dew-flecked bottle of Perrier at her fingertips. That also came from Chief Hooks' office, out of the little refrigerator that the taxpayers of New York City had paid for. They'd paid for the Perrier as well, for that matter, even though it was listed in the official expenditures as "office supplies."
Jean Custer examined the man sitting in the hard-backed gray government surplus chair across the table from her. She would have described him as "grizzled" to her friends. She wasn't quite sure what that word actually meant, but it sounded impressive. She would also have said he was handsome, though not out loud. She'd never admit she found any man other than her husband handsome ... not in public. He was wearing a gun, which made her damp between her legs.
She'd always had a fantasy about men with guns. That was one of the reasons she'd left the scene of her attempted kidnapping so quickly. She had been so mortified, after she'd finished beating Larry within an inch of his putrid life, and after Moe had stopped firing that pistol, to discover that she needed to change her panties. She hadn't been that excited in years, and as soon as she'd gotten home, she'd called her husband. He was already aware of the incident, of course, and had been frantically trying to call her on her cell phone. He hadn't been able to reach her because she'd been calling all her friends, shouting things like, "They tried to
kidnap
me!" as she passed cars right and left on the freeway, almost running two of them off the road.
She'd moaned that she needed him, and, of course, he'd left his office to return to the mansion-accompanied by his executive aide and press secretary-where she'd presented him with a little blue pill, right in front of his entourage.
"What's this?" asked Governor Custer, who knew exactly what the vaguely diamond shaped pill was, but didn't want to admit it in front of his employees.
"They tried to kill me." She burst into tears. "I need to be loved and comforted."
The governor just thought that the mess between her legs was anticipation of what he was about to do ... as soon as the pill took effect.
Meanwhile, in the governor's "home office," the press secretary and executive aide were killing time.
"We might have an opportunity here," said the press secretary.
"That's kind of obvious," said the aide. "How often does someone try to kill a governor's wife?"
"No, I mean about the Viagra," said the press secretary impatiently. "Bob Dole shilled Viagra. I bet he got a ton of money for doing that. And if we set something up between them and the governor, we might get a cut of the deal."
"Don't joke about stuff like that," said the aide, mildly horrified that the press secretary wanted to announce to the world that the governor of the state of New York had erectile dysfunction.
"I'm not joking!" said the press secretary. "Think about it. Custer is always saying he's a man of the people. If he goes out in favor of Viagra, sales will go up fifteen or twenty percent! And, if we do it the right way, our bank balances go up fifteen or twenty percent, too."
The aide did some hasty figures in his mind. His wife spent money like it came from a water tap. Suddenly, the idea didn't seem so crazy any more. Something occurred to him.
"You've got the wrong angle," he said softly. "What we need is for Chantal to come out in favor of Viagra. That would leave their current profits in the dust."
Chapter Five
Jim Harper surveyed the woman who was surveying him. She was a tasty dish, no doubt about that. He wondered if the techs recording everything through the one-way mirror on the wall behind him had repositioned their cameras, like they sometimes did when a good looking woman was being interviewed. He couldn't see Mrs. Custer's legs, but if she wasn't careful, the techs would find out if she was going commando or not. He didn't need that kind of crap, so he adjusted his chair to one side, to block the camera's view, in case the techs had been so idiotic as to try that. He knew a filing cabinet prevented them putting the camera low on the other side.
"I'm Jim Harper. Thank you for being so gracious about all this," he said, opening the interview. "I'm sorry to have had to ask you to come in for a statement."
She waved a hand in the air, and then settled long, sculptured nails down on the tabletop again, with a series of audible taps.
"I never mind doing my civic duty," she said, blinking at him several times.
"I'll try to make this go as quickly as possible," said Jim. "If this goes to court, you'll be called to testify, of course, but your statement now will help the prosecutor plan his case." He leaned back, signaling her in body language that she wasn't being pressed. "Just tell me what you remember."
"And so I defended myself," said Jean Custer. "I took off my other shoe and hit the miserable man with it to make him leave me alone."
Jim held up a hand, trying to stop her. She was talking about Larry. She had already described how she had stomped Curly's foot, apparently unaware that the spiked heel of her shoe had gone completely through his foot. She had also described how she had kneed Larry in the groin.
All that was fine, because when she took those actions, she really
had
been defending herself. But when she took her other shoe to Larry, he'd been down, helpless, unarmed, and no threat to her whatsoever. Technically, what she'd done to Larry with her shoe was assault, because she no longer had any need to defend herself. She wasn't under attack at that point. Furthermore, the six inch spike had torn Larry up enough that it could be viewed as a deadly weapon, which would make it aggravated assault.
"I don't need all that," he said quickly.
"Nonsense!" she said, her voice lilting. She looked a little flushed ... excited. "I want other women to know that a woman can defend herself. That miserable little man will think twice before attacking another woman. I made him pay for what he tried to do to me."
She'd made him pay, all right. She'd almost killed him. The doctors still didn't know if they could save his left eye, and he was still on IV nourishment, because the hole she'd driven through one cheek hadn't healed enough yet to allow him to chew food.
Jean Chantal Custer insisted on making what was, in reality, a full and detailed confession to having committed aggravated assault on Larry Higginbotham. Jim groaned inside. If the defense ever heard this, there would be hell to pay. He wondered who was on the other side of the glass listening to this. That became clear when the door burst open and a somewhat wild-eyed Chief Hooks stood there, mouth open. Harper did groan then, but what the chief said next wasn't what Harper had expected.
"I just want you to know, Mrs. Custer," he said breathlessly, "that we're doing everything in our power to identify and arrest the mastermind of this egregious infringement on your liberty."
"What?" Jim looked at the man like he was crazy.
"You didn't catch them all?" Jean Custer's voice held a mixture of concern and anger.
"Yes, we did," said Jim, looking at her and speaking soothingly.
"We'll find the man who planned all this and bring him to justice, along with his three underlings!" gasped Hooks, shooting a warning look at Harper. "Detective Harper is unaware of recent developments, but you can be sure that you are safe and will remain so."
Harper's eyes went hooded. If there were new developments, then he needed to get right on them. Particularly if the Chief of Police thought it was important enough to disturb a formal interview. He had pretty much everything he needed from the victim. He had planned on just chatting with her, because she was definitely eye candy, but that was just fluff. If there was another criminal to catch, he was interested in doing that. He turned to Mrs. Custer.
"Thank you again for coming in. You've been most helpful. I'm sure Chief Hooks would be happy to see you back to your husband."
Outside the room, Harper approached Captain Hildebrand, who had been standing with the governor.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Why didn't you tell me there was a mastermind involved in this case?" asked Hildebrand. "I got caught flat footed in the conference room!"
"What mastermind?" Harper felt a tightness in his chest begin to develop.
"The chief says those three are too stupid to have planned this themselves," said Hildebrand.
"That's it?" Harper's mouth fell open. "He broke into my interview and said all that shit, because
he
thinks they're too stupid to have come up with this by themselves?"
"He's probably right," said Hildebrand, defensively.
"He's a fucking moron," snorted Harper. "I talked to those idiots - and I agree they're idiots. In fact they're too stupid to take orders from somebody smarter than they are. There is no mastermind, except for the one in Hooks' mind ... and now in Mrs. Custer's mind, as well. What a fucking mess!"
"Don't you take that tone with me, detective," said Lonny Hildebrand stiffly. "You just get your ass out there and find a mastermind. If the chief of fucking police says there's one, then there
is
one, as far as I'm concerned, and you'd better fucking find him."
Harper looked at his boss like the man had sprouted a third eye.
"You're as fucking nuts as he is," he sighed.
"You take that back!" snapped Hildebrand. "You take that back or you're fucking fired!"
Jim Harper was saved from an impossible situation by the approach of Jean Chantal Custer. Her arrival caused a very sudden silence between the two men.
"Detective?" Her voice was high and sultry, somehow. "I meant to ask you about that man ... the one who saved me. Have you found him yet?"
"No ma'am," said Harper. "We're still looking. We have a few leads on his car."
"When you find him, I want to thank him personally," said Chantal.
"I can't really make you any promises that we
will
find him," said Harper. "He seems to want to remain anonymous."
"My husband and I will offer a reward, if you think that will help," she said.
"A reward." Harper's mind was whirling. Who offered a reward for a witness? The guys in the crime lab had come to the conclusion that the accident was just that ... an accident. There was no evidence that the mysterious driver had intentionally hit Moe in an effort to stop the kidnapping. If anything, the evidence matched that of a hit and run type accident. "The man may not know that he helped you," he said carefully. It wouldn't do to let this woman know that if her "savior" was ever found, he might be arrested on a hit and run charge. Not that it would go anywhere ... but the wheels of justice were often in a very deep rut.
"Then we
will
offer a reward," said Chantal. "That should get him to come forward. He saved my life, Detective, and I take that very seriously."
Harper wasn't about to argue with Mrs. Governor, especially since her husband and the idiot Chief of Fucking Police were standing ten feet away, watching the scene.
Kris looked at his tray again, but nothing else had magically appeared on it. He turned off the TV. He decided that, in the life he could no longer remember, he hadn't been interested in morning television. It was mindless, vapid in a way that made him wonder why any advertiser would sponsor it.
He was in the midst of hypothesizing that sponsors of morning TV had decided that anyone who watched it was such an idiot that they'd buy anything, when the door opened slowly. A very odd looking young woman stuck her head in.
