WILSON ENTERED THE COURTHOUSE THROUGH THE HEAVY WOODEN doors and went to the directory on the wall and ran his finger down the list till he found Chief Price and tapped the name. Price had an office on the fourth floor and rather than the elevator Wilson took the stairs. He wore a gray suit and a black tie and his white shirt was starched.
He jogged up the steps with one hand holding his clipboard and the other holding his tie flat. By the time he reached the fourth floor his breathing hadn’t even changed.
Going down the hall he passed other officers. None of them saying anything to him, just nodding and then going on. There were secretaries in low heels with reams of paper clutched in their arms. Legal documents. Stapled affidavits. Some holding cups of coffee. One woman a little younger than him gave him a look and when Wilson turned back, she was still smiling.
The door to Price’s office was at the end of the hall. His name was stamped on the pebbled glass in gold leaf like the transom of a yacht. Wilson looked at his warped reflection in the glass and pressed his palm into the hair on the top of his head. Satisfied, he opened the door.
There was an anteroom where Price’s secretary’s desk was and when Wilson came through the door she looked up and before she could ask any questions Wilson spoke.
Good afternoon, he said. I’m Agent Philip Wilson from the Seattle bureau. Wondering if I might have a word with Chief Price.
It caught her off guard. She looked down at a ledger and when she did Wilson said,
I don’t have an appointment. I hope that is okay.
Well, she said. She stood up in her chair and looked in Price’s office. Price was on the phone.
He’s on the phone at the moment, she said.
Yes, Wilson said. I can see that. Do you might if I sit?
She held out a hand to one of the chairs by the door. Then she sat back down and just watched him. Wilson looked up and smiled thinly with his lips closed.
Can I get you anything? she asked.
No, thank you, he said.
Coffee?
I’ve already had my coffee.
Water then?
Wilson inhaled deeply like someone waiting out the questions of a child and then smiled that same thin smile. Said,
No. Thank you.
Okay, she said. She pretended to busy herself with paperwork. She’d glance up from time to time. Then go back to the paperwork.
Fifteen minutes passed and Price hung up the phone.
I believe he’s done in there, Wilson said.
He stood.
Thank you, Evelyn . . .
He squinted at the nameplate on the desk.
. . . Olson.
Evelyn went to Price’s door and knocked and then opened it and leaned in and said,
Agent Wilson here for you.
Who?
Agent Wilson. From the Seattle bureau.
Why is there someone from the Seattle bureau up here?
I have no idea, sir, she said. Then in a softer voice said, He just showed up. She shrugged her shoulders.
Okay, he said, send him in then.
Wilson stepped into the office with both of his hands on his clipboard and the clipboard turned on its side in front of him. He turned back to Evelyn with an impatient look as though annoyed that the door was still open.
Okay, Evelyn said. You boys let me know if you need anything.
Price nodded at her and Evelyn closed the door.
She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she? Price said.
Chief Price, Wilson said.
Mr Wilson.
Agent.
Price nodded at him. Okay, he said. Agent. Does Agent Wilson got a first name? We’re kind of big into first names around here.
Philip.
Philip Wilson.
Yes sir, Wilson said. But Agent Wilson will be just fine.
Okay. Agent Wilson it is.
Price sat back in his chair. He took off his hat and put it on the corner of his desk and then put his feet up.
So what can I do for you, Agent Wilson?
May I sit?
Be my guest, Price said.
Wilson smiled and sat. He opened a manila folder on his lap. He flattened his tie. He said,
Amy Barnhardt. Molly Summers.
Yes?
What can you tell me about them?
What do you want to know?
I want to know what you know.
You asking if I knew them personally?
Did you know them personally?
Price squinted at him.
I’m sorry, Agent Wilson, Price said. My hearing hasn’t been the same since my tour over in Nam, so you’ll have to forgive me, but sounds to me like you got yourself an agenda.
No more than anyone else.
Price combed his hair with his fingers. He said, Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.
No, Wilson said. Exactly the right one.
Price nodded and then said, Then let me ask you something.
Please, Wilson said.
I look twelve years old to you?
No sir. You do not. I’d put you at forty-five or so. Why do you ask?
Because it seems like you want to play some kind of game.
Far from it, Wilson said. By definition, games illicit an amount of fun for at least one participating party. And I’m not having fun, Chief Price. Are you? Is this fun for you?
Any hospitality still left in the chief dropped out and he took his feet from the desk and leaned forward on his elbows.
Why don’t you cut the shit, Price said. You probably think you’re dealing with some hick cop in some hick town in some hick county, but you ain’t. And you keep running your mouth like you are I’ll run you out myself. I’m busy and this bullshit you’re trying to spread is starting to stink.
Interesting metaphor.
You tell me then, Price said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Tell you what? Wilson asked.
Your theory on all this. You seem to have it all figured out.
Do you know what a theory is, Mr Price?
Price didn’t answer. He just sucked at his teeth. Trying his best to humor him.
A theory, Wilson said, is a principle intended to explain a fact or an idea. A hypothesis, on the other hand, is a proposed explanation for some phenomenon or another based on limited evidence.
Price only squinted at him.
So what is it, Chief Price? Do I have a theory or a hypothesis?
You got five seconds to ask what you want to ask.
Wilson leafed through some papers in the folder.
Those girls disappeared, Wilson said, looking down.
Five.
Both were found with high levels of ketamine in their systems.
Four.
Both were raped several times postmortem.
Three.
And I don’t believe in coincidence.
Two.
Wilson stopped leafing through the papers and set his hands squarely on the folder that was resting on his lap and looked up finally at Price.
And you’re the chief of police, he said. And these girls were murdered in your arguably erudite jurisdiction. And you’re counting down. Like a game. So?
One, Price said.
Wilson sat forward. There was a miniature replica Gatling gun askew on Price’s desk that Wilson turned so the barrel was pointing straight at Price.
Here’s my question, Wilson said. What can you tell me about Amy Barnhardt and Molly Summers?
Price sat back again in his chair. Mimicked the sarcastic smile of Wilson. Propped his boots back on the desk. He laced his fingers together. Rested his hands on his paunch.
It’s a goddamn tragedy, Price said. And we’re looking into it.
Price shrugged his shoulders.
The clock ticked on the wall. The traffic was muffled through the windows. Voices in the hall.
And what have you found, Chief Price? Wilson asked. In all your looking?
Tragedy, Price said again.
Okay, Wilson said. He stood. Thank you for your time.
Price stayed seated.
I hope you’ll reach out, Price said, if you happen to dig up anything we missed.
Oh, I will, Chief Price, Wilson said. I look forward to it.
Price stood and shook Wilson’s hand and squeezed hard. But Wilson did not blink. Didn’t bat an eye. Like he had just bought a used truck from Price. On the glass of the fourth-floor windows the rain began to tap.
You have a good day, Chief Price, Wilson said.
Only good days around here, Price said.
Wilson left Price’s office, closing the door slowly, quietly behind him as though an infant were asleep and he was afraid to wake it. But he did so in a strange way, watching Price the whole time, not taking his eyes from him. When the door was closed and the glass separated them Wilson finally gave him that same odd, thin smile. And then he turned and walked out into the hall.