Excerpt
As I looked about, I recognized a few Metro detectives in plain clothes questioning people in the lobby. Happily, my old nemesis, Murder Squad Detective Mark Tremaine, was not among them. But after searching the crowd a few moments, I spotted Phil Adamson talking to a stocky young man in a black windbreaker I thought I remembered as an FBI agent. Oh, for the good old days when the feds only wore conservative blue suits. At any rate, obviously something major had taken place.

I steered Jill toward where Phil stood, his face pinched into its usual dour expression. Though not impressive to look at—tall, gaunt, with thinning brown hair and a beak of a nose that appeared slightly out of joint—Adamson was a sharp, intelligent cop. Assigned to Homicide, he and his colleagues investigated other violent crimes in addition to murders.

As he turned away from the FBI guy, I tapped him on the shoulder.

He looked around, raising both eyebrows. “What the hell are you doing here, McKenzie?”

I grinned. “Having lunch with the client you sent our way, Phil. Thanks for the recommendation. What’s happening?”

He glanced toward Jill. “Hi, Miz McKenzie.” After looking around to check nearby faces, he lowered his voice, which had a somber, gravelly quality. “Somebody just shot Dr. Elliott Bernstein. Very dead.”

“The Fed chairman?” I recalled reading in the paper that he would be in town for a meeting at the local Federal Reserve Bank and to speak at the securities dealers convention.

“Right,” Adamson said with a nod. “Looks like an execution.”