"That's right."
Amy Grabe was the SAC--the special agent in charge--of the FBI's San Francisco field office. Dance knew the sharp, focused law enforcer well. The west-central region of the CBI extended north to the Bay area, so she'd had a number of opportunities to work with her. Dance's late husband, an agent with the FBI's local resident agency, had too.
Overby continued, "If we don't get Pell soon, they've got a specialist I want on board."
"A what?"
"Somebody in the bureau who handles situations like this."
It was a jailbreak, Dance reflected. What kind of specialist? She thought of Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive.
O'Neil too was curious. "A negotiator?"
But Overby said, "No, he's a cult expert. Deals a lot with people like Pell."
Dance shrugged, an illustrator gesture--those that reinforce verbal content, in this case, her doubts. "Well, I'm not sure how useful that'd be." She had worked many joint task forces. She wasn't opposed to sharing jurisdiction with the Feds or anyone else, but involving other agencies inevitably slowed response times. Besides, she didn't see how a cult leader would flee for his life any differently than a murderer or bank robber.
But Overby had already made up his mind; she knew it from his tone and body language. "He's a brilliant profiler, can really get into their minds. The cult mentality is a lot different from your typical perp's."
Is it?
The agent in charge handed Dance a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it. "He's in Chicago, finishing up some case, but he can be here tonight or tomorrow morning."
"You sure about this, Charles?"
"With Pell we can use all the help we can get. Absolutely. And a big gun from Washington? More expertise, more person power."
More places to stash the blame, Dance thought cynically, realizing now what had happened. Grabe had asked if the FBI could help out in the search for Pell, and Overby had jumped at the offer, thinking that if more innocents were injured or the escapee remained at large, there'd be two people on the podium at the press conference, not just himself alone. But she kept the smile on her face. "All right then. I hope we get him before we need to bother anybody else."
"Oh, and Kathryn? I just wanted you to know. Amy wondered how the escape happened, and I told her your interrogation had nothing to do with it."
"My . . . what?"
"It's not going to be a problem. I told her there's nothing you did that would've helped Pell escape."
She felt the heat rise to her face, which undoubtedly was turning ruddy. Emotion does that; she'd spotted plenty of deception over the years because guilt and shame trigger blood flow.
So does anger.
Amy Grabe probably hadn't even known that Dance had interrogated Pell, let alone suspected she'd done something careless that facilitated the escape.
But she--and the San Francisco office of the bureau--sure had that idea now.
Maybe CBI headquarters in Sacramento did too. She said stiffly, "He escaped from the lockup, not the interrogation room."
"I was talking about Pell maybe getting information from you that he could use to get away."
Dance sensed O'Neil tense. The detective had a strong streak of protectiveness when it came to those who hadn't been in the business as long as he had. But he knew that Kathryn Dance was a woman who fought her own battles. He remained silent.
She was furious that Overby had said anything to Grabe. Now she understood: that was why he wanted CBI to run the case--if any other agency took charge, it would be an admission that the bureau was in some way responsible for the escape.
And Overby wasn't through yet. "Now, about security . . . I'm sure it was tight. Special precautions with Pell. I told Amy you'd made sure of that."
Since he hadn't asked a question, she simply gazed back coolly and didn't give him a crumb of reassurance.
He probably sensed he'd gone too far and, eyes ferreting away, said, "I'm sure things were handled well."
Again, silence.