Page 30 of Whispers at Dusk
“Okay, what we’re going to need you to do is give us a description of these people, and I’m going to have Detective Wilhelm get a sketch artist in here and do up likenesses for us,” Mason said.
“Oh, I... Of course. But please, it’s getting late, and... I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been stopped by the police, except—” He paused, frowning. “You can’t be Norwegian police!”
“We’re FBI,” Della said.
“What? Then you have no jurisdiction and—”
“Yes, there is an FBI presence in other countries, I’m afraid. We were especially asked here by the Norwegian police, so...” Mason said.
“You can’t arrest me!” Harrington said.
“Oh, not to worry. We have Detective Wilhelm for that. And all his force, so—”
“Okay, okay. Honestly, I want to help, anyway, I just... I just don’t want to get fired off the dig!”
“We’ll get you out of here in a few hours,” Della promised. “Hey, don’t worry—we flew in and haven’t even seen our rooms yet. We’re anxious to get to sleep. In fact...”
She turned to Mason and oddly enough, once again, they seemed to be thinking the same thing. It was six hours earlier in Washington, DC.
Krewe headquarters was always open, 24/7, with a skeleton crew at night, but that meant little because agents worked whatever hours were required wherever they happened to be. And Angela would still be in the office ready to call up one of their best sketch artists.
“I’ll get a computer,” Mason said. “Make the call and tell Angela what we need.”
“Right,” Della said.
Mason exited to get the laptop from his desk and Della made the call. Angela assured her she’d be ready in five minutes, getting a conference call through with Maisie, one of their best, and she’d create an image and get it out to them immediately.
She finished the call and found Harrington staring at her, confused.
“We’re going to get you out of here quickly—we’re going to have you work with the artist online, okay?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, great, I can get out of here!” Harrington said.
“Yes.” She smiled sweetly. “We know where to find you if we need you again.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said dryly.
Mason reappeared with a laptop and they quickly made a secure connection. They introduced Harrington to Maisie. She was a people person as well as a wonderful and intuitive artist and she quickly had Harrington at ease. He gave her a description of the woman first.
She’d been about five feet five inches, which, of course, didn’t matter in the sketch, but would be included in the description that would go with the sketch. She’d been stunningly attractive, with wavy blond hair that curled long around her shoulders, blue-green eyes, and a perfect slim face, small nose, defined lips, arched brows, delicate chin. She’d been wearing a blue maxi-dress with a V-neckline, lace at the wrists.
Maisie sketched, then scanned her work into the computer and asked him to tell her where she might have gone wrong.
“Nowhere!” Harrington said with surprise. “That’s—that’s her!”
“The man now,” Mason said.
As Harrington began to talk, Della and Mason stared at one another, frowning.
“Height, let’s see, six or six-one. Hair, just about pitch-black. Very powerful dark eyes, strong, squared chin, high-boned cheeks, dark brows... Oh, and he was wearing a cape, you know, like the kind you’d wear in a vampire movie.”
“Mr. Harrington, you’re describing a movie vampire,” Della said gently.
“I know. That’s exactly what he looked like,” Harrington said. “Seriously, vest, tie, cape...and his eyes, well, they were as black as his hair.”
No one had truly black eyes—unless they were wearing contacts. But this man’s entire dress seemed to be costume, just as his name—Vlad Dracul—was all play-acting.
They finished. Della and Mason both thanked Maisie and Angela, who had stayed online with them. They ended the call.
