I had just dropped the Conover bombshell, and Stanhope was giving me that so-you-think-you’re-Jesus smirk usually reserved for inmates at mental institutions.
Eagan said, "Run that by me again?"
"Malcolm Conover is with the Ferrymen. If you want to know the truth, I think he’s the head honcho. Charon himself."
"And you know this, because you had some kind of vision."
I felt my face heat. Even I had trouble believing my story. These guys probably thought I sounded like one of those late-night infomercials. A.J.’s Psychic Hotline. No reading too bizarre.
Well, it was too late to change my story now. So I forced myself to meet his gaze and said, "Yeah."
Hank goggled in disbelief. "I’m still in a rented tux, more than two thousand miles from home without my toothbrush, because you thought you saw a vision?"
"I knew a guy who saw a vision," drawled Stanhope. "Little blue men riding pink elephants. We put him in a safe house, too. You know, the one with the pretty padded walls?"
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