The Third Rail Read Online Free Page B

beside Mom held her arms up. Before the woman could react, Nelson lifted the girl so she was level with the cistern. He smiled again at the mother as her child sprinkled the water across forehead and cheeks. The mother reached for the child, hustling away once she had the girl back in her arms. Nelson watched them go. Then he crouched in a corner as the rest of the congregation filed out. A couple dozen took holy water. After a bit, the church was empty. Nelson walked outside and shuffled his way to the back of the building. He found his shopping cart, gritted his teeth, and began to push into the wind along State Street.

CHAPTER 9

    R odriguez and I walked into FBI headquarters at a little after noon. A young Asian woman in a blue suit took our names and guns in exchange for plastic IDs. Then she walked us through a door and down a hallway, where she passed us off to a young white man in a brown suit. He put us in a small office and told us someone would be with us shortly. An hour later, the door to the office opened. On the other side was a young black man in a gray suit. He took us another twenty feet to a conference room, filled with all sorts of men and women, clad in all sorts of suits. They all stopped talking as we walked in, and everyone seemed exceptionally good at not smiling.
    "This is Detective Vince Rodriguez and, I suspect, Michael Kelly?" The man speaking carried his sixty or so years alarmingly well. His face was largely unlined, his eyes clear, his hair an efficient salt-and-pepper flattop. He cloaked broad shoulders in a custom-cut three-button suit and walked with the natural grace of an athlete. On his left wrist, he wore a gold watch; on his left hand, a wedding ring. He shot his cuffs as he approached, flashing a set of FBI logos disguised as cuff links.
    "Dick Rudolph. Deputy director of the FBI."
    I shook the deputy director's hand and glanced toward Rodriguez, wondering how and why the FBI's second-in-command happened to be in Chicago, and how and why he didn't have better things to do than talk to me. Rudolph seemed to read my mind.
    "I'm in Chicago on some unrelated business, was scheduled to fly out this afternoon, when this thing jumped up. Sit down, Mr. Kelly."
    I took a seat beside Rodriguez. Rudolph staked out the head of the table and did his best to make me think I was at least the second-most-important guy in the room.
    "As you might imagine," Rudolph said, "the nature of these crimes has sparked concern along several different lines, including possible terrorist acts. The Bureau has stepped in to help, and I decided to sit in on today's meeting."
    Rudolph turned to the rest of the table. "Mr. Kelly is a former Chicago police officer. Now, a private investigator. As you all know, he was on the Southport L platform this morning and confronted our suspect in an alley. He also took the call from our suspect. You have copies of his statement and details on the call. We've asked Mr. Kelly to come in and see if he could be of any further help."
    His role apparently played, the deputy director sat back and waited. A woman across the table cleared her throat. She was thirty-five, maybe forty, with nervous eyes and a tough mouth that would have been attractive if it wasn't so disapproving. I'd seen it before. Battle fatigue from too many years in the Old Boys' Club.
    "Mr. Kelly, my name is Katherine Lawson. I'm heading up our field investigation." Lawson had long, thin hands that she folded in front of her as she spoke. Her fingers were devoid ofany jewelry, save a gold ring with a black stone that also carried an FBI crest. I guessed cuff links didn't work for her.
    "Did you, by any chance, recognize the man in the alley?" Lawson said.
    "He was wearing a ski mask," I said. "It's in my statement."
    "Voice?"
    I shook my head. "Sounded young. Plenty strong and looked to be in good shape."
    Lawson glanced down at her notes. "He asked if you were ready to die?"
    "That's right."
    "Any idea why he said