Natalie stood. “Thanks. That’s what I’ll do.”
He turned back to his work. “When in doubt, Benoit, follow the money.”
“DID YOU KILL Agent Gisella Sanchez?”
“No.” Zach sat with a blood pressure cuff on his right arm, two pneumographs strapped around his chest, and galvanometers on the first and third fingers of his left hand.
He had agreed to take a polygraph test in hopes that it would speed the investigation along. He knew he was telling the truth. He needed to convince them of that fact so that he could get back to work.
So far the experience had been tedious rather than intimidating, perhaps because he knew he was innocent. They’d brought in the FBI’s top polygraph expert, a small bald man whose thick glasses gave him the appearance of a mad scientist—or Mr. Magoo.
“Whom did you pay to kill her?”
“No one. I had nothing to do with her death.”
“How was she killed?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you and Agent Sanchez work together to steal cocaine from the Zetas?”
“No.”
“Was it your idea to steal the drugs?”
“I didn’t steal the coke.”
“Did you have sexual relations with journalist Natalie Benoit?”
“Yes.” Zach felt his pulse spike. “Are you going to ask me if it was good?”
So, somehow Pearce knew about him and Natalie. Chiago’s report must have been very thorough. They would use questions like this—questions to which they already knew the answer—to monitor his responses. It gave them a better idea of how his body responded when he told the truth and when he lied.
But, of course, he was telling only the truth.
“Did you have sexual relations with Agent Sanchez?”
“Good God, no.”
On it went for two long hours. They asked him variations on the same questions again and again, Pearce no doubt watching from the other side of the one-way mirror. Zach was about ready to tell them that he was finished with this bullshit, when the examiner finally turned off the machines and removed the blood pressure cuff.
“How long till we have the analysis?” Zach pulled off the galvanometers himself.
“Just a few days.” Thin fingers unfastened the pnueumographs. “Be careful. That’s delicate equipment.”
Done being probed for the day, Zach left the building, headed to his small apartment, and dressed for a run, hoping to burn off the tension, frustration, and anger that had been building inside him since he arrived in D.C. First, the investigation. Then the old man’s surprise visit.
You sure know how to have a good time, McBride.
It was early evening, but still warm and humid. Tucking his cell phone into his shorts pocket, Zach set out for the National Mall, running down Independence Avenue past the U.S. Botanic Garden to Third Street and left on Madison Drive. He set a fast pace, focused on his breathing, threading his way through pedestrians, bicycles, people without noticing them, his mind filled with random images.
Gisella smiling and handing him a Coke. Endless darkness and pain. Natalie looking pleadingly up at him while that Zeta bastard groped her. Carlos and his gold chains. His father’s angry face and flying fist.
Then his thoughts began to change.
Natalie removing his blindfold, setting him free. Natalie asleep beside him in the shade, her face flushed from the heat. Natalie naked and beautiful beneath him. Natalie reading a statement on national television, looking into his eyes.
You are my hero.