CHAPTER TWENTY
7:40 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Parkfair Apartments
Columbia Heights
Washington, DC
This should be the right apartment. 3B.
The man’s large, hairy fist knocked on the heavy steel door again. He glanced at his partner, a tall, good-looking black man he’d been told to address as Roger Stevens. That wasn’t the man’s name. Or maybe it was. Impossible to say.
Stevens was dressed in the uniform of a DC Metro police officer. He certainly looked like a cop. Serious like a cop. He had a whole benevolent hard-case, up from a difficult childhood thing, happening around his eyes. The act was convincing.
“I don’t know, Rog. It’s early, you’d think someone would be home.”
The man’s name was Dell. Michael Dell. Call him Mike. That wasn’t really his name, either. It would be nice i
