Something surprising happened the next morning; an event I don’t think any of us were expecting. I certainly wasn’t, and it threw me for a complete loop. We had gathered at the FBI’s New Orleans office for the morning briefing. There were about thirty of us in a large and sterile room that looked out on the muddy brown Mississippi River.
At nine o’clock, Kyle began to address the surveillance team that had been on the watch during the previous twenty-four hours. He finished with them and went on to the day’s assignments. He handed them out and was very specific. It was a typical Craig performance: clear, to the point, efficient, never a mistake, or the hint of one.
When he was finished, or thought that he was, a hand shot into the air. ‘Excuse me, Mr Craig, you didn’t mention me. What am I supposed to do today?’
It was Jamilla Hughes and she didn’t sound happy. -Kyle was already collecting his notes, shuffling a few papers into his thick black briefcase. He barely glanced up as he said, ‘That’s up to Dr Cross, Inspector Hughes. Please see him.’
The remark and its delivery were unnecessarily curt, even for Kyle. I was taken aback by his rudeness, or at least the lack of any tact.
‘This is complete bullshit!’ She rose from her seat. ‘It’s unacceptable, Mr Craig. Especially that irritating, blase tone of yours.’
The FBI agents in the room looked at her. Usually, no one dared confront Kyle on anything. After all, he was rumored to be in line for the director’s job some day. Moreover, many of them felt he deserved it. He was certainly smarter than anybody else in the Bureau. He also worked harder than anyone I knew.
‘Look, this is no reflection on Detective Cross,’ Jamilla went on, ‘but my work in California helped open this case up. I don’t want anybody’s pat on the back, no condescending applause, thank you, but I came all the way down here and I............