CHAPTER 42 – RICHARD SETS UP A LITTLE CHAT OR TWO
Richard decided he and Dr. Orchard were due a little chat.
Briggs came round the bend in time to see Richard closing the gate at Hippo's and getting back into his car. For a lark, and following a hunch, Briggs eased his patrol car against the front of the strange car in front of the Loomis cottage. Richard took his cue, and pulled up to the back bumper, boxing in the suspect vehicle. The two of them got out of their cars and walked to each other.
"What are we getting into, do you know?" Briggs asked.
"I wish you hadn't asked a direct question like that. Doesn't leave me much honest fudge room."
"How's this, for direct question number two? Are you carrying the same gun, same place, and what else?"
"Same gun, same holster, same place, no other weapons but my karate-trained hands and feet, elbows and knees, etc. As for the first question, the one about what we may be getting into, I'm afraid this may turn out to be more or less a nuisance call. The harried-looking fellow inside who looks like he's prone to too many cocktails is one Dr. Wesley Orchard, secret services' senior psychologist. He had ties to Leonard Loomis, albeit somewhat remote ones. He has closer ties to a woman who shot a secret service chief recently – meant to kill him, no question. Luckily, she only managed to maim and sideline, but hardly anyone knows that yet, since we've stashed the fellow and are being secretive about his condition."
"Be careful where I repeat that, in other words?"
"Please. And thank you, especially since Orchard's one of those who's in the dark. Orchard is the direct supervisor of our young man of the package bomb, not to mention also the direct supervisor of the mysterious young woman who fired at myself and our friend Ian as she made her getaway. By the by, if you haven't got that report yet, on our lady of the cow pasture, now identified as supposedly on the side of law and order but prone to panic, I'll fill you in after we're done here. Oh, I almost forgot. That massive bombing which took down that block of flats in France recently? Orchard had a flat there, and might have been the target."
"So why's he running loose, or may I ask?"
"That brings us to man number two inside, likely wearing green suspenders, and equipped with arms that only bodybuilders have. This is Brett Hastings, on loan from the Prime Minister. The PM, amongst other people, is hoping that Dr. Orchard, beyond all odds, will lead us to something useful, or at the very least lure someone."
"Live bait?"
"But well protected in the assuming form of Mr. Hastings. By the way, I'm not warning you to tread lightly, by mentioning the PM. We're not to back off, if our hunches say slug. Hastings, by the by, has a nastier gun than I do, better hidden, but probably riles slower. Not to worry. He's got a head on him. But also a sense of humor that pops out at odd times. I hope you don't mind that too much, because he's next to invaluable for this kind of job. As far as I know, Orchard doesn't know that Hastings is anything other than the bodyguard who was next in line for an assignment inside the agency. One of an interchangeable product batch, you know."
"So why am I getting so much information all of a sudden?" Briggs asked (showing commendable sense, in Richard's opinion).
"For one thing, I've been checking around. Consensus is that when you aren't staring down a gun barrel right after discovering the mutilated body of a man you played world-class chess with twice a week, you're smarter and more dependable than you look."
Briggs staggered just slightly, but pulled himself together nicely.
"The second thing," Richard said, "is that Hastings and I will likely play off each other, possibly to everyone else's disadvantage, and I don't want any unnecessary misunderstandings whilst we try to shake some info loose."
"You say this Orchard has ties to Loomis, and to the young man who showed up with the bomb, and to the person who ran off right after the bomb went off?"
"Right on all counts," Richard said.
"Shake away," Briggs said, with a sly grin.
"You don't even have to play dumb if you don't want to."
"I might anyway. No skin off my nose."
"Whatever. Hastings and I are adaptable."
They headed for the front door. Hastings opened the door and waited for them, quite at his ease. You might have thought he lived there. "Hello, gentlemen," he said, graciously, when they got up to him.
"This is Briggs," Richard said, making introductions. "I've told him your name, your duties, and even that you lift weights."
"I know," Hastings said. "You stood too close to our car." He pointed to his hearing aid.
Richard stopped in his tracks. "Prove it," he said.
"In front of somebody from an outside agency?" Hastings said, mock horror-struck, as if he hadn't started it.
"Prove it," Richard repeated.
"One of an interchangeable product batch, you know," Hastings said.
"I'm an idiot," Richard said.
"We all have our little lapses," Hastings said. "Speaking of which, our big lapse was in the bedroom going through the wardrobe last time I looked. I need to take a peek to make sure he hasn't flown the coop or discovered Narnia or something."
"Oh, allow me," Richard said. He turned to Briggs. "Coming?"
Briggs had every intention of going into the bedroom, permission granted or not, but he nodded his appreciation of the kind invitation.
Dr. Orchard was rummaging deep in the wardrobe.
"Don't try to tell me you're here on official business, because I'm in charge of this investigation," Richard said, by way of greeting.
Dr. Orchard jumped, getting tangled in clothing and hangers.
Not Exactly Allies Page 42