Ultraviolet

Chapter Four: Think of the Devil

Prince Hotel

Washington, D.C.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

She had to wait until lunchtime, after noon. She found Mrs. Grayson, who was just on her way out to meet everyone else after settling Marta to rest in her room, and started on her planned lie.

"I was thinking of getting out for a while," she said.

Mrs. Grayson's eyes flicked to the window, which betrayed drizzly, foggy skies. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Where will you be going?"

Isi named a café down the street from their hotel. "I'll be out for a few hours," she said. "I just—I need to get out."

"Okay," said Mrs. Grayson slowly. "E-mail me at the top of each hour, okay? And if you change your mind or come home."

Isi patted the backpack she'd slung over one shoulder. "I've brought my laptop with me."

"Good." Hesitantly, Mrs. Grayson patted Isi's cheek and then hurried off.

She was still outside, still looking, so Isi walked towards the café she'd mentioned. She planned to grab lunch there after she tried to get her ID back, so hopefully a leftover soda cup would be plenty to alleviate any suspicions.

Isi kept the hood of her sweatshirt up over her hair to keep the rain off. The humidity would make her hair puff into an unmanageable nest, and she was already dreading having to take it out of its tight braid. When she reached the door of the café, she hesitated, glancing back. Mrs. Grayson was well out of sight, and she was probably long gone now.

Isi walked past the café and turned right, towards the busy freeway.

The walk wasn't a fun one. Though it wasn't all that cold, the wind tossed the tiny drops of rain in the side of Isi's face, and she was all too glad to step into the warm vestibule in the front of the police station.

She approached the front desk and the secretary behind it, messing with the hems of her sweatshirt as she did. She would look so foolish if the evidence wasn't even kept here. "Excuse me," she tried. Her voice was rough, and she cleared her throat.

"How can I help you?" the man behind the desk asked, tone pleasant.

"Um, I was in an explosion yesterday—" Isi shook her head. "I'm sorry. I lost some things while I was there, and I was wondering if there had been anything recovered from the blast? I lost my ID, and it's important I get it back—" She stopped, her face heating as she thought for the first time about what she was saying. She'd meant to say she needed it to go back home, for the flight back to Switzerland and later to New York, but she didn't. She'd have her passport. Her passport, which had picture ID. Which she could have used at the front desk, if she wasn't a complete and utter idiot.

But the man didn't seem to have noticed. "I'll see if they're willing to release anything," he said, and gestured behind her to a small waiting area. "It might be a few minutes."

Taking the hint, Isi thanked him and hurried over to wait. Without a phone to mess with, she stared at her lap and tried not to beat herself up. She mostly failed, but managed to convince herself that it was good she'd come—she still had things, period, and if she could get them back...

The man reappeared, this time with two women in tow. One was very tall, wearing the uniform of an officer, with very short blonde hair. The other was short and round, a little older, and wearing civilian clothes: a floral-patterned dress and a cardigan. "This is Officer Brewer and Faith Lawrence. Officer Brewer is running point on this case, and Faith runs the evidence lockup."