IRENE - BLACKBIRD book 6

5. niki

**picture: Dupont Circle, DC

Brock and Gillian left Ron, Fred and Kurt to take care of Dawson's house and wife and went on to Niki Thompson's home address.

Gillian waited until they were a couple of streets away from Dawson's place and turned to face Brock with a warm smile. "Thanks for bringing the team over, sir," she said. "It's been the best surprise in years."

"You were right about them being the best choice to do this with us," he replied, a little distant as usual. "I'd thought about it too, when I went over all we have to cover in only a weekend. And how sensitive every step was. I just told Cooper so. She made the call."

Gillian was grateful the seatbelt kept her in place, so she only had to deal with her arms, wanting oh so bad to round Brock's neck.

"Thank you anyway, sir." She glanced out to distract herself from her recurring impulse to kiss him. "How far?"

"Ten minutes."

He had no surprise stops in store this time. So ten minutes later, he pulled over at a quiet street in Dupont Circle, classy brick houses all around.

"Niki Thompson lives around the corner," he said.

He dialed Tanya and held his phone on speaker between them.

"T, you ready?" asked Gillian.

"Yes. I need only forty seconds to locate her phone, so no need to make up much conversation."

"Good. Hold on."

Gillian produced her own phone and dialed a number as Brock turned the speaker off and took his phone to his ear. A woman with a raspy voice picked up Gillian's call. She recalled what Aldana had said about Niki Thompson's car accident. Surely the fire had affected not only her face.

"Miss Thompson? My name is Reg Gillian, do you have a minute? I'm not selling anything. I'd need to talk to you about a person we both know."

"I don't know who you are. Can you be more specific?"

Gillian glanced up at Brock, who paid attention to the phone and nodded, disconnecting.

"I'd rather explain it all to you in person, Miss Thompson. Can we meet?"

As Gillian spoke, Brock drove around the corner. He stopped before a red-brick two-story house with half a dozen steps climbing up to the porch.

"Only if you are more specific, Miss Gillian. I'm a busy person."

Gillian and Brock hurried out of the car and up the steps to the front door as she replied, "I need to talk to you about Irene Graff."

"What? Who are you?"

"I need to talk to you about the circumstances that led to her death two weeks ago."

"I have nothing to say about it. It was a tragedy, that's all it is."

Gillian rang the bell.

"I'm with the FBI, Miss Thompson. Could you please open your door?"

Niki Thompson was so taken aback that she didn't disconnect, and opened her front door with the phone still to her ear. Gillian moved hers away from her face with a quick smile. The woman wore a lot of makeup to cover her scars, and her hair fell to help hiding the ruined side of her face. Even so, she was a beautiful woman, and all about her radiated confidence and style.

"Thank you," Gillian said, showing her badge. "I'm Special Agent Gillian, and this is Supervisory Special Agent Brockner. Can we come in and talk to you for a minute?"

"Why would the FBI knock on my door asking about Irene?"

"Because we investigated her murder."

"Didn't you found her killer?"

"Yes. And we also found out why Irene was so far from home when she died."

Niki Thompson's dark eyes stared into Gillian's as if to read her mind. Gillian let her do it.

"We found Irene's baby, too," she said softly.

Niki Thompson looked up at Brock for confirmation, then glanced out at the street behind them, as to make sure nobody had heard those last words. She stepped back and let them in. She led them to an elegant living room and invited them to have a seat.

"Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?" she asked, the perfect host.

"A tea, please," Brock replied with a polite nod.

"I'll help you out," Gillian said.

"It's okay, Agent, I'll be right back."

Gillian flashed an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Miss Thompson, but I can't let you out of my sight so you can tip off Senator Graff about our presence here."

Niki Thompson lifted her chin, as if taking offense, and agreed with a curt nod. "This way, then, Agent."

Both women walked out and Brock took his time to study the place. A couple of replicas of Van Gogh framed on the walls. Also a Renoir. One of the walls was entirely covered by a heavy wooden bookcase. No pocket editions there. Only hard-cover collections. No light best-sellers either. Economy, History, Law, Philosophy. Only a few literature volumes, top classics. Brock counted books in five different languages. On the fireplace mantelpiece, framed pictures of her with the UN Secretary, President Bush, a couple of European Prime Ministers.

The whole room was designed to make an impression. Not about the finest quality of the furniture or the exquisite design of curtains and rug. This wasn't about wealth, but about her skills, her intelligence and her connections. That was why she'd offered them something to drink. That was her drill. She'd leave them alone for five minutes, enough for them to take a look at the books and the pictures, and get an idea about the kind of person they were about to interview.

To Brock, the room talked about the woman's need for control. Maybe she'd been always like that. Maybe it was a consequence of the accident that changed her forever. Maybe it was an attempt to balance Graff's heavy yoke on her.