“I’m not saying don’t do it. Just be careful.”
“I don’t consider Tyler Wingo dangerous.”
“I’m not necessarily talking about him.”
She glanced out the window. “They’re calling for snow today.”
“Great, Washington drivers have a hard enough time driving in the sunshine.”
“While I’m with Tyler, why don’t you try another angle on the Pentagon?”
“I’ll see what I can do. But those guys usually close ranks pretty fast.”
He shot a reproachful glance at her messy desk. “Come on, Michelle? Can’t you do something about that crap? Even a symbolic gesture would be appreciated.”
She smiled brightly, picked up a single piece of paper amid the mounds of it, and dropped it into the trash can next to her desk. “Feel better?”
“It’s a start.”
Later that afternoon Michelle pulled into the parking lot next to the Panera, cut her engine, and stared across the street at the high school where Tyler was a student. It was a relatively new school, but was still probably bursting at the seams with students. The Washington area just couldn’t seem to keep up with the population growth.
She slipped the page out of her jacket. It was the Washington Post article with Sam Wingo’s picture. He was a good-looking man, she thought. Ruggedly handsome, strong features, intense eyes, his face stamped with the years. He looked a little like Sean, she realized. By comparison most of the other faces of the dead on the page were tragically young. They had barely had a chance to live their lives, and now there were no more chances left to them.
She checked her watch. At three sixteen on the dot she saw Tyler Wingo emerge from a door at the school and start to walk in her direction. The chilly rain had turned into light snow. In deference to the weather Tyler wore a hoodie.
She climbed out of her truck when Tyler passed by.
“Hey,” she said.
He turned and spotted her. “Where’s your partner?”
“Following up some other leads.”
They walked into the Panera together. The place was busier than last time. Michelle figured that it would start to fill up even more since the school had let out. It really was a gold mine, having a coffee shop with a pretty full food menu located across from a high school and perpetually hungry teens.
This time they both got bottles of water. Michelle added a muffin.
“Haven’t really eaten today,” she explained.
They took seats at a table in the rear. Michelle opened her bottle, took a drink, and then attacked her muffin.
“So what did you find out?” Tyler asked.
“You saw the newspaper today?”
“No.”
“Sorry, I guess teenagers don’t read print media anymore. Anyway, your dad’s picture was in it.”
She pulled out the page and slid it across to him. “Just for positive ID.”
Tyler glanced down at the page and then looked away. “That’s him.”
“Small-arms fire with his unit in Kandahar,” said Michelle.
“Yeah.”
“Hi, Tyler.”