The Throwbacks, Book 1 of The Scotland Yard Exchange Program Series

The Throwbacks, Excerpt # 23

Dear Reader, I'd love your opinion. Should I re-name the Barrister, Donald, to a non-D name? If so, any suggestions?

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David and his barrister left the building through the front door but had to hurry as if they were butchers being chased by a pack of wild dogs.  The mob of press had found them.  David realized their mistake in not taking a rear exit from the Empress State Building.  The Commissioner thought that holding the proceedings at the administrative offices instead of at 10 Broadway where New Scotland Yard was located might allow them to avoid media attention, but no.

            “Shit.  I’ll handle the press until we catch a cab and get you to the hotel,” his barrister, Donald, said under his breath.

            “How about if we take a walk to the Inspectors’ Pub down the street.  Too late to try and duck the publicity.”  David didn’t mean to rub it in, but Donald’s dramatic behavior at the inquisition had guaranteed they’d get every reporter on them the minute they walked out the door.  It was big news that he’d blown up at the magistrates on the committee for browbeating him.  He chuckled at the memory.

            “I know.  I can’t say how sorry I am,” Donald apologized for the 50th time in 20 minutes.

            “We may as well meet them head on,” David said and gave his friend a smack on his back for fortification.  They walked down the steps and the onslaught of questions began.  David waved and smiled.  Not all the questions were meant to skewer him after all.  He and Donald got to the bottom step and waved the cabbie away.  Reporters and photographers followed chattering more loudly in their excitement.

            “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, if you all quiet down, I’ll make a statement now,” David said as he turned to them on the sidewalk.  There was quite a crowd gathered at this point, including curious by-standers as well as media and a news camera.  David spied the logo of CNN and maintained his affable smile in spite of the thought that the world watching him.  The Mayor of Boston and the City Council may not be pleased and he was already in precarious ground.  That didn’t bother him.  He’d solve his murder and smuggling case and then none of them would mind so much about his influential in-laws trying to cast him as a careless rogue who’s carelessness lead to his wife’s murder. 

            No, what bothered him is that Grace might be watching—and then surely worrying, bless her beautiful heart.  Bless her beautiful everything from head to toe, inside and out, he thought before dragging himself back to focus on the crowd at hand.  It was time to fashion an image of himself for the world to see.  He decided to play the role of a legendary Scotland Yard investigator who after rising to the exalted rank of Chief Superintendent of the Flying Squad had gone slightly rogue, but for good cause—to avenge his wife’s murder.  He would be a man who was a consummate professional, yet with a rakish air.  Then he’d disappear across the pond until the furor died down.

            “What is the burning question that you must get the answer to, and if you get a satisfactory answer, you’ll leave me alone for the duration of my short visit to London?” he asked the mob of work-a-day journalists, reminding himself that they were doing their jobs and how he often had relied on them in the past to do just that.  He in fact recognized more than one face in the crowd.  The most familiar face, Robby, decided to speak up first and play spokesperson.

            “Are you guilty of cold-blooded murder?”