Page 28 of Whispers at Dusk
“You like to pretend you’re British?” Della asked pleasantly.
“Sometimes in Europe, it’s better, more fun. Hey, I like to say I’m Canadian, too. Most people like Canadians! They’re nice.”
Mason removed the cuffs.
And he indicated the path they needed to take.
The three of them walked the few blocks back to theirheadquarters. François Bisset, busy at the desk he had chosen, looked up.
“We have a few questions for Mr. Harrington,” Della told him.
“Ah, yes. Shall I get water or coffee?” Bisset asked.
“Mr. Harrington?” Della asked.
“I, uh, was about to go for a Bloody Mary, but...hey, yeah. Coffee.” He hesitated a minute, looked at Bisset, and said, “Thanks.”
Bisset nodded.
Della and Mason led Harrington back to the interrogation room, indicating he should take a seat on one side of the table while they took chairs on the other.
“Let’s talk about Bloody Marys,” Della said.
“What?” Harrington demanded.
“Bloody Marys. Not as good as the real thing,” Mason said.
Harrington blinked and stared back at them. He didn’t have to answer right away because Bisset arrived with a tray with coffee cups, creamer, and sugar.
Della thanked him. Bisset nodded and said, “I’ll leave you to it.”
Once he left the room, Harrington leaned toward them, his elbows on the table, his eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t! Yes, I like Bloody Marys. And I like to tease girls, and hey! I’m young. I like the opposite sex. I would never ever hurt anyone—”
“But you have enjoyed therealthing, right?” Mason asked him quietly.
“I don’t... I mean... I don’t... I like the bar. I mean, Norse women are...well, like all women, but many are so pretty! I...”
Della cleared her throat and interrupted him. “They are pretty, and you’re a flirt. But the thing is, you have had therealthing. And we need to know how, where—and who gave it to you.”
He sat back, blinking.
Della glanced at Mason and she knew they were both certain he was thinking of a good lie.
“New Orleans!” Harrington said.
“New Orleans? Louisiana?” Mason asked politely.
“Yes. There’s a group there. They believe we give all good things and energy to one another by drinking one another’s blood. I’ve...uh, been with the group.”
“Oh, good!” Della said. “You can give us names of people involved. We can talk to them and verify your story.”
“Oh, no, no,” Harrington said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. These people don’t allow one another to give out names. In fact, we don’t know one another’s names—not real names or surnames. I mean, they don’t want to be on the radar of the local police. They aren’t doing anything wrong or illegal, but other people don’t understand their desire to gain energy and insight and so much more from one another.”
“Oh, well. Hmm.” Della murmured.
“That’s a problem,” Mason agreed.
“Well, what’s the problem?” Harrington asked.
