Misplaced (88 page)

The
backseat
of
the
go
v
ernment
v
ehicle
made
him
nervous.
To
keep
from
chewing
his
cuticles,
he
clenched
his
hands
into
fists
.
Mor
e
tha
n
once
,
h
e
notice
d
Gibso
n
observin
g
him
.
A
single mantra kept him calm;
Find Celeste Barton-Szabó
.

Traffi
c
w
a
s
heavy
.
Ther
e
w
a
s
no
t
a
wor
d
o
f
con
v
ersation
durin
g
th
e
half-hou
r
dri
v
e
t
o
th
e
fi
v
e-stor
y
building
,
whic
h
w
a
s
no
t
a
s
fa
r
fro
m
downtow
n
a
s
h
e
woul
d
ha
v
e
thought.
Inside,
the
men
directed
him
to
sit
behind
a
folding
table
in
an
interrogatio
n
roo
m
wher
e
the
y
aime
d
a
camer
a
a
t
hi
m
an
d
then
left
the
room.
They
w
ere
trying
to
unner
v
e
him
by
making
him
w
ait;
it
had
been
some
se
v
enty-fi
v
e
minutes
now.
Poor
Agent
Gibson—i
f
h
e
onl
y
kne
w
tha
t
mos
t
o
f
hi
s
lif
e
ha
d
bee
n
spent
w
aiting.

A
t
las
t
th
e
doo
r
swun
g
ope
n
an
d
th
e
pai
r
entered
.
H
e
leaned
for
w
ar
d
i
n
th
e
chair
,
sho
t
the
m
a
concerne
d
look
,
an
d
asked,
“Why am I here?”

“T
ell
me
about
your
relationship
with
Max
Cotts,”
Gibson
demanded.

“
W
e
’
r
e
casua
l
busines
s
acquaintances,
”
Miele
y
ans
w
ered
,
unperturbed.

“When
w
as the last time you saw him?”

“I spoke to him about ten days ago.”

In
person?”
Until
now,
the
other
agent
hadn’t
said
a
word.
He
smelled
of
coffee
and
spearmint
chewing
gum,
and
Mieley
imagine
d
the
m
i
n
th
e
cafeteria
,
drinkin
g
coffe
e
an
d
making
jokes
about
him.
They
looked
like
bookends.
They
w
ere
clean—
cu
t
go
v
ernmen
t
types—an
y
inklin
g
o
f
personalit
y
ha
d
lon
g
ag
o
been extinguished.

“No
,
w
e
spok
e
b
y
phone
.
Why
?
He’
s
no
t
i
n
som
e
kin
d
of
trouble, is he?”

“Only if you consider being dead, trouble.”

Leanin
g
for
w
ar
d
i
n
th
e
chair
,
Mieley’
s
e
y
e
s
opene
d
wide.
“Dead? My god! How did he die?”

“That’
s
wha
t
w
e
’
r
e
hopin
g
yo
u
ca
n
hel
p
u
s
with
.
Phone
records
show you
w
ere one of the last people to speak to him.”

“When did this happen?”

“What
w
as your con
v
ersation with him about?”

“What are you really asking me,
Agent Gibson?”

“Why do you think you
’
re here, Mr. Mieley? It appears you
w
er
e
ou
t
o
f
stat
e
recently.
”
Th
e
agen
t
deftl
y
manipulate
d
his
words into an accusation.

“Since when is it against the law to tra
v
el?”

“It
seems
you
visit
El
P
aso
regularly—at
least
three
times
so
far this
y
ear. Why?”

“I
ha
v
e
a
lad
y
frien
d
there
;
married
,
unfortunately
,
s
o
I
hop
e
w
e
ca
n
kee
p
thi
s
bet
w
ee
n
oursel
v
es
.
Y
o
u
thin
k
m
y
tra
v
el
schedule
has
something
to
do
with
Max?
Really,
gentlemen,
I
find
your questioning disjointed, to say the least.”

Agen
t
Gibson’
s
fac
e
ha
d
al
l
th
e
char
m
o
f a
snarling
Doberman.
“For
someone
who,
by
all
out
w
ard
appearances,
is
unemplo
y
ed, you seem
to li
v
e quite
w
ell. How do you support
yoursel
f
?”

“My family owns se
v
eral large farms.”

“How did you know Max?”

Miele
y
thre
w
u
p
hi
s
arms
.
“I
s
i
t
agains
t
th
e
la
w
t
o
ha
v
e
recreationa
l
pursuits
?
I’
m
sur
e
yo
u
kno
w
tha
t I
studied
Egyptology
.
Doesn’
t
i
t
mak
e
sens
e
t
o
yo
u
tha
t
Ma
x
an
d
I
would
know each other?”

“I
suppose
it
does.
What
did
you
talk
with
him
about?
Y
ou
said it
w
as a phone con
v
ersation, correct?”

“Y
ou
’
r
e
th
e
on
e
takin
g
notes.
”
Miele
y
coul
d
no
t
allo
w
his
v
eneer
of
composure
to
crack;
he
sat
back
and
closed
his
e
y
es.
“Ma
x
fostere
d
m
y
lo
v
e
o
f
Egyptology
.
Occasionally
,
w
e
got
together.
I
hadn’t
seen
him
much
in
recent
y
ears.
From
time
to
time, he
’
d call.”