I opened my eyes to the darkness of an unfamiliar room. Glancing toward the sound, I saw my phone’s screen was lit and the black rectangle at the top of the screen showed I had an incoming call. I picked up the phone to see it was four o’clockon Saturday morning, and Rashad, the concierge from the Eye Street office building, was calling me.
“Yeah, Rashad.” I wiped my hand across my face, trying to get my wits about me.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, the police asked me to contact you. They want to speak to you. I told them you didn’t come back to the office last night. I’m sure they’ll turn up at your apartment.”
I sighed. “Thank you, Rashad. Did they give you a phone number for who is leading the investigation? Was anyone hurt? Was there much damage to the surrounding cars?”
“The lead investigator is Officer Patrice Mathers. I’ll text her number. She was a bit put out that you weren’t here, but I told her you’re a very busy man and I’d have you contact her. Thankfully, the bottom floor where you park was empty. We’re going to have to close that floor to parking until an engineer can check for stability issues. They towed your car out an hour ago, so I’d suggest you don’t wait too long to reach out. I’m sorry this happened, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“Me, too, Rashad. Of course I’ll handle any damage or inconvenience to the building. I’ll call the police right now and arrange to meet them somewhere for a conversation. Thank you, Rashad.”
We ended the call, and almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a text. I turned on the light and called the number. “Special Operations Division, Officer Mathers speaking.”
“Officer Mathers, this is Sean Fitzpatrick. The concierge of my office building passed along a message that you wanted to speak with me about my car exploding in the basement garage.”
“Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Thank you for calling. We’d like to interview you as soon as possible. We have your car at the Forensic Science Division in Southwest, and we need to talk to you about the preliminary examination,” Officer Mathers said.
“Yes, of course. I’ll get dressed and... Where do you want me to meet you?”
“How about the Eye Street, NW location? We’ll borrow a conference room there. Say eight o’clock this morning?” She sounded very professional, and I believed she was trying to be accommodating.
“I’ll see you then.” I ended the call and stared at my phone in complete disbelief at the events that had taken place. I was grateful nobody had been harmed, but I still had no idea if it was a random attack or if I’d been targeted.
I called downstairs to room service and ordered a pot of tea, certain that coffee would eat a hole in my stomach. I jumped in the shower and redressed in my clothes from the previous day. After my tea arrived, I called Mrs. Lambert, who had told me she was an early riser.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Lambert. This is Sean Fitzpatrick. I wanted to alert you that I won’t be in the office next week.” Hopefully, they’d have things figured out by then.
“Okay. How should I handle the meetings you have scheduled?”
“I’ll keep the meetings, but I hoped you could courier the briefing books to 5500 Pooks Hill Road, unit four-oh-four south in Bethesda. I’m housesitting for a friend, but not until Sunday afternoon.”Me, housesitting? Nobody would ever believe that.
“Okay. How about the lunches? You have four scheduled for this week. One on Monday. Then back-to-back on Wednesday, Thursday, and one with the Minority Whip on Friday. Shall I cancel those?” Of course Mrs. Lambert had my calendar, which was more than I could say for myself.
My laptop was at the office, and I didn’t have the calendar on my phone. Mrs. Lambert provided a summary of my upcoming week every Sunday afternoon.
“Move Monday’s appointments to Tuesday, and will you send my messenger bag with the briefing books? I left it in my office last night.” I didn’t want to go into detail about why I had an issue with going into the office.
“Does this have anything to do with the explosion last night?” Mrs. Lambert could see through me, beginning the day she started working at The Fitzpatrick Group.
“Yes, uh, there is that. I have an appointment to speak with the police this morning. How’d you find out?”
“I have my sources, Mr. Fitzpatrick. At least no one was hurt. I’ll get right on these details and send an update tomorrow afternoon. I’ll direct all press inquiries to legal. Goodbye.” The line went dead, though not surprising. Mrs. Lambert was all business.
At seven-thirty, I went downstairs and got a taxi to take me to the Eye Street precinct. I got out, feeling a bit grubby in my wrinkled clothes, but not willing to go to my apartment quite yet. I wanted more details about what had happened to my car and if they had any idea who the hell was responsible.
I asked for Officer Mathers and took a seat in the waiting area. Ten minutes later, a petite redheaded officer in full uniform walked to the waiting area where I was waiting alone.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick? I’m Patrice Mathers.”
I glanced around and almost laughed. “There are those keen investigative instincts at work.” It was a snide comment, but I was beginning to feel a little surly about the way my world had suddenly flipped upside down.
She opened a door for me to walk through and then led me to a conference room, inviting me to sit. “Would you like a coffee, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Officer Mathers tossed a file on the table before taking a seat across from me.
“No thank you. Let’s cut to the chase, please. What do you know about the explosion?”
Officer Mathers opened the folder and lined up four pictures on the table facing me. “Who was in the trunk, Sean? May I call you Sean?”
