Nolan knocked on the table to get her attention. “You were married to the guy for almost nineteen years. Tell me about him.”
Claire blinked away the useless tears. None of this was going to get Lydia back. What could Claire do? Lydia had said it herself: She wasn’t a superhero. Neither of them were. She turned her gaze to the large mirror that took up one side of the wall. Her reflection showed an exhausted woman with a dark circle under her left eye. Paul had punched her in the face. He had knocked her out.
What was he doing to Lydia?
“All right.” Nolan tried again. “How about this: Was he a Falcons guy or a Braves guy? Did he like sugar in his coffee?”
Claire stared down at the table. She had to get herself under control. Panicking was not going to get her out of this room. Nolan was playing nice for now. He hadn’t arrested her for failing to appear at the scheduled meeting. He’d let her voluntarily follow the police officer to the FBI building. Once he had her inside, Nolan had reminded Claire of the terms of her parole, but he hadn’t handcuffed her or threatened her with anything more dangerous than calling her parole officer to drug-test her.
So did this mean that Nolan was clean, or that he was working with Paul?
Claire tried to push down her fear about what might be happening to Lydia and concentrate on what was happening in this airless room right now. Nolan wasn’t asking any questions about the USB drive or the Fuller house. He hadn’t stashed her in a dirty motel where he could beat the information out of her. He wasn’t pushing her about Captain Mayhew or Adam Quinn or talking about how much fun it was to watch movies on rainy nights. He was drilling her about her fucking relationship.
Claire asked, “What time is it?”
Nolan said, “Time is a flat circle.”
Claire gave an exaggerated groan. She was going to start screaming if she didn’t get out of this room. She had Lydia’s phone stashed down the front of her bra. Claire had turned it off after calling her mother. She couldn’t text or call Paul. She didn’t know her lawyer’s phone number. She couldn’t call Rick after telling him to take Dee and run as far as he could go.
In the last twenty-four years, Claire had never once asked Helen for anything. Why on earth had she thought that reaching out to her now was a good idea?
“Claire?”
She finally looked at Nolan. “This is the fifth time you’ve asked me a variation on that same question.”
“Humor me.”
“For how much longer?”
“You’re free to go.” He indicated the door, and they both knew he meant free to go to her parole officer, because Nolan knew there were drugs in her system. Maybe he even knew that there was a gun in Claire’s car. She had stashed the revolver in the driver’s-side door pocket because that was slightly less obvious than hiding it in the trunk.
She said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll get a female agent to escort you.”
Claire clenched her jaw. Three times, she had asked to use the bathroom. Three times, a female agent had taken her to the handicapped restroom and watched Claire use the toilet.
She asked Nolan, “Are you scared I’m going to flush myself?”
“Maybe you’ve got some drugs hidden in your clothes? You’ve been hanging around your sister a lot lately.”
He had played this card already. Claire did not rise to the bait.
“Still, might be worth calling in a female agent to search you.” He was silent long enough to make Claire sweat. She didn’t care if they found the gun inside the Tesla, but Lydia’s iPhone was her only lifeline to Paul.
There was no passcode on the phone. She could practically hear Paul lecturing her on the importance of using passcodes.
Nolan slapped his palms down on the table. “Ya know, Claire, you should really start answering my questions.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m with the FBI. My side always wins.”
“You keep saying that, but I do not think those words mean what you think they mean.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Rockin’ a little Inigo Montoya. I like it.”
She looked at the mirror, wondering which Great and Powerful Oz was watching them. Johnny Jackson was her first bet. Captain Jacob Mayhew. Maybe even Paul. She could very well see him having the balls to walk into an FBI field office just to watch her squirm. Maybe they had invited him.
Nolan asked, “Would you say that your relationship with Paul was good?”
Claire gave in a little, because stonewalling hadn’t worked the last five times. “Yes. I would say that my relationship with my husband was good.”
“Because?”
“Because he certainly knew how to fuck me.”
Nolan took the baser meaning. “I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to climb behind the wheel of a Lamborghini.” He winked. “More of a Pinto man myself.”
Claire had never found self-deprecating men attractive. She stared at the two-way mirror. “Paul was good friends with Johnny Jackson. Do you know him?”
“The Congressman?” Nolan shifted in his chair. “Sure. Everybody’s heard of him.”
“He did a lot for Paul.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes on the mirror. “He gave Quinn + Scott billions in government contracts. Did you know that?”
“I did.”
Claire let her gaze travel back to Nolan. “Do you want me to tell you about Congressman Jackson and his relationship with Paul?”
“Sure.” Nolan’s tone was even. “We could start there.”
Claire studied the man closely. She couldn’t get a read off him. Was he afraid? Was he eager? “Johnny was an FBI agent back in the early nineties.”
“That’s true.”
Claire waited for more. “And?”
“He was one of the shittiest agents this office has ever seen.”
“I don’t recall reading that in his official bio.”
Nolan shrugged. He didn’t seem afraid that Jackson would break through the mirror and strangle him.
Claire said, “He’s been all over the press conferences with the Kilpatrick family.”
“I said he was a shitty agent, not a shitty politician.”
Claire still couldn’t read the man’s expression. “You don’t sound like a fan.”
Nolan clasped his hands together on the table. “On the surface, it seems like we’re making progress, but when I think back on the last few minutes of our conversation, I get the feeling that you’re questioning me instead of the other way around.”
“You’ll make a great detective one day.”
“Fingers crossed.” He flashed a grin. “I want to tell you something about the FBI.”
“You always win?”
“Sure, there’s that, and terrorists, of course. Kidnappers, bank robbers, pedophiles—nasty fuckers—but nuts and bolts, what we at the ol’ FBI deal in day to day is curiosities. Did you know that?”
Claire didn’t respond. He’d clearly given this speech before.
Nolan continued, “Local cops, they find something curious they can’t figure out, and they bring it to us and we either agree that it’s curious or we don’t. And generally when we agree, it’s not just the one curious thing, it’s several curious things.” He held up his index finger. “Curious thing number one: Your husband embezzled three million dollars from his company. Only three million dollars. That’s curious, because you’re loaded, right?”