Simple Genius

THE WOMAN LOOKED GOOD, Sean had to admit. Good and lethal. Hair and makeup were immaculate. Dress short and tight, heels high and thin yet lifting her petite frame only up to within eight inches of his six-two. Her legs were slender and firm, her chest large but soft and all her own, he knew from experience. Yes, she looked good, actually better than good, terrific, in fact. And he felt absolutely nothing for her.

Joan Dillinger seemed to sense this and quickly motioned him to sit down on a couch. She sat in a chair beside him and poured out coffee.

“Long time, no see,” she said pleasantly. “Catch any more mass murderers?”

“Not this week,” he said, attempting a smile as he spooned sugar in his coffee.

“How’s that obnoxious little girl you hooked up with? Mildred, was it?”

“Her name’s Michelle,” he answered. “And she’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

“And you two are still working together?”

“We are.”

“Wow, she’s really good with the cloak-and-dagger thing, because I can’t even see her.”

Now Sean became suspicious. Had Joan found out about what had happened to Michelle? That would certainly have been in keeping with her control freak personality.

He said casually, “She’s busy today. As I said on the phone, we just moved back into town, and I was wondering if you had anything you might want to throw our way on a freelance basis.”

Joan put down her coffee, rose and started walking around the room. Sean didn’t know quite why she did this, but it might have been simply to show off her body some more. A usually complex woman, Joan Dillinger could be oddly transparent when it came to things like sex and personal relationships. In fact, he strongly suspected she used the former in substitution for the latter.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to throw you some work on a freelance basis although I have a whole company of seasoned investigators to do any assignment that comes in the door? And I haven’t heard from you, in what, over a year?”

“It just seemed better to keep our distance.”

Her features hardened. “You’re not making it easy for me to help you here, Sean.”

“If you didn’t have anything, why meet with me?”

She perched on her desk and crossed her legs. “I don’t know. Maybe I just like looking at you.”

He stood and came over to her. “Joan, I really need some work. If you don’t have any to toss my way, fine. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time.” Sean set his coffee down and turned to leave. Only then did Joan seize his arm.

“Just hold on, big boy. You have to let a girl have her pout. It’s only fair.” Joan sat down behind her desk, all business now as she slid a legal agreement across to him. “Take a few minutes to read this. I know you’re a lawyer after all.”

“What’s the compensation?”

“Standard rates for this type of work, a reasonable per diem for expenses and a nice bonus if you crack it.” She ran her gaze over him. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’ve been on a diet,” he said absently as he read through the contract. He signed the agreement and slid it back to her. “Can I see the file now?”

“How about I buy you lunch and we can discuss it? I have some ideas and you have a few other documents to sign. Your partner will have to do the same thing.”

Sean tensed. “Well, the thing is, she won’t be working with me on this one.”

Joan tapped a pen against her blotter. “Tied up on something else, is old Mildred?”

“Yeah, Michelle is.”

Over lunch at Morton’s Steakhouse, they discussed the case, though Sean focused quite a bit on his meal.

“Off the diet, are we?” she said, eying his impassioned stabs with the fork.

He laughed shamefacedly. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

“If that were only true,” she replied sardonically. “Okay, here’s the case. And it might turn out to be a challenging one. A suspicious death. Man by the name of Monk Turing. He was found on property owned by the CIA near Williamsburg, Virginia. Either a murder or a suicide. You have to find out which, why and, if it was a murder, the all-important who.”

“Turing worked for the CIA?”

“No. Ever heard of a place called Babbage Town?”

He shook his head. “What is it?”

“It’s been described to me as a sort of quasi-think tank with potentially enormous commercial applications. That’s where Turing worked as a physicist. With the CIA involved and the FBI investigating the homicide because it took place on federal property it’ll take some delicate handling. I have some veterans here I could send down, but I’m not sure any of them are as good as you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. So who’s our client?”

“The people at Babbage Town.”

“And who are they?”

“You’ll have to find that out too. If you can. You game?”

“You mentioned a bonus?”

She smiled and patted his hand. “As in cash or professional services?”

“Let’s start with the cash.”

“Our policy is to split the bonus with the principal field agents on a sixty-forty basis.” She cocked her head. “You remember from last time, Sean.