Chapter 106
I WAS SITTING on a cold, metal examination table, waiting to find out if I was going to be discharged. I had second-degree burns all over my face, and I’d been salved and bandaged to the point that I looked like a bad impression of Boris Karloff in The Mummy.
My left foot also throbbed. Apparently, when I fell behind the MINI Cooper, my left foot had remained out past the tire, in the path of the blast. The heat from the flames had melted my sock. It was tender but didn’t hurt as much as my face.
Maggie Chin stepped into the room. “How are you feeling?”
I said, “Scared.”
“What are you scared of?”
“Mary Catherine.”
“Your wife?”
“She’s been on me about being more careful. This won’t go over well. I think I might have to stay here a few days. Maybe in an isolation ward.”
“Then I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“What’s that?”
Maggie said, “She’s on her way to the hospital now.”
“Who ratted on me?”
“You mean, who informed your wife you’d suffered an injury at work? I did.” She sat in the only chair and had a smug smile on her face. “Walter gave me her number.”
I groaned, but I could tell our little banter was over. Maggie was clearly anxious to tell me something.
“I want to fill you in on an additional aspect of the case,” she said.
“You can’t distract me from my fears. But I’m listening.”
“I spoke to the FBI agent on the scene. An agent from counterintelligence was at your office in record time.”
“Go figure.”
“He wanted to know what happened. All I told him was that one of the bombers blew up Marku. I reasoned that would confuse the whole Bureau for a few days until ATF sent over a copy of my official report.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “You’re evil.”
“Fun-loving.”
“Dangerous.”
“Quirky.”
“A damn good partner.”
Maggie smiled and said, “Okay, you got me.” She stood up to leave, then turned and said, “One more thing I need to discuss with you. But it involves disturbing a crime scene and could be a crime in itself.”
“Now you have me curious. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She held out her hand and opened it.
I silently reached across and gingerly picked up the round metal disc about the size of my thumb. I turned it over and saw the image of Saint Christopher. I felt a hitch in my throat. It was the medal my late wife had given to me on our first anniversary. I looked up and managed, “Thank you.”
Maggie also held up a twisted melted ball of plastic.
I said, “What’s that?”
“The key chain with the pictures of your kids. It wasn’t made of titanium like your Saint Christopher medal. Sorry.” She dropped the misshapen ball into my other hand.
We both started laughing, until we cried.