Down Among the Dead Men (38 page)

He finds a news item about Sterling's death. Noone's mother died of colorectal cancer and spent the last four months of her life at the Palisades Palliative Care facility not far from her home. While Noone is hardly shaping up as a model child, he's out of the picture as far as killing his mother is concerned.

Koop's starting to build up some material. He's tech-savvy but likes a paper copy. He searches online and finds an electronics store two blocks away. Thirty minutes later he's back in the apartment with a sixty-dollar printer hooked up to the laptop.

Koop switches his attention to the name.

Sterling.

It's been bugging him that Noone has a different name to that of his father and mother. On a hunch that the death of his mother prompted the name change, Koop limits his investigation to the time period immediately after Deborah Sterling's death. He's wrong. An hour later he discovers that Ben Sterling changed his name shortly after his mother died, after lodging a court petition with the LA Superior Court. It's a standard procedure with no barriers except if there's evidence that the name change will be used to commit fraud. The website offers an example: sex offenders are one category barred from changing their names. Presumably Ben Sterling came up clean, because one week after completing the paperwork, he became Ben Noone.

Koop, with DC Magsi's original report in front of him, smiles. No wonder Frank went apeshit at Magsi. To be fair, Koop isn't working with an additional caseload and there's some information he has access to now that Magsi didn't then. Still.

The Sterlings sound to Koop like they'd inherited money but he can't locate anything to support that. There's something of a gap in the material on Larry Grant. All Koop can get is that he was in the military, an enlisted man who died in an on-base auto accident at Fort Bragg. No money there.

Deborah Sterling must have had the cash – but when Koop tries to find it, he comes up blank. All he discovers is a 2011 blog post from a Deborah Sterling referring to a movie she'd seen about domestic servants in pre-civil rights Mississippi. Sterling refers to her own experiences as a nanny. If this is Noone's mother posting, then there's no money in her family either.

It's only when Koop reads through the whole post that he sees it buried right near the end. A throwaway reference to Sterling's old employer being in trouble tickles Koop's memory. She uses a particular word to describe him.

Minotaur
.

Sixteen

Frank's meeting at LAPD headquarters with the liaison agent in attendance is even less productive than the Sunday timing had threatened. After the warning from Lopez in New York, he had expected some element of turf protection to be in evidence, but what he isn't prepared for is the open hostility. Lopez's west coast counterpart, Federal Agent Ross Hagenbaum, is clear from the outset about his lack of sympathy with Frank's ideas. As far as Hagenbaum and Lieutenant Mills, the wiry veteran whose office the meeting takes place in, are concerned, Frank's MLAT application is at best a fishing trip and at worst completely baseless. Frank doesn't think either man has been warned to go hard on him; that's something that comes naturally to both.

To compound matters, neither Hagenbaum nor Mills are fools, or anything close to being fools. They are both well informed about the data and both have a firm understanding of the weaknesses in Frank's case against Noone.

'That's why I'm here,' he says. 'To gather some harder evidence. I'm looking for your help.'

'We don't see what we can do.' Hagenbaum looks at his watch. 'Noone has committed no crime. You have nothing.' Hagenbaum is younger than Frank, around thirty. He's smart and knows it. Frank wants to smash his perfect white teeth in.

Instead he counts to ten. 'We have Noone involved in a case with six dead. We have a witness who was assaulted by Noone. We have a psychologist's report which matches Noone's profile. And we have him at JFK at a time when Terry Peters' phone was used to make a call. It's more than nothing.'

'I'll give you the phone,' says Mills. 'And what you say about
the CCTV at the airport is a concern.' He looks at Hagenbaum. 'You think?'

'It's not good.' Hagenbaum pauses. 'But it's not enough to push me to your view, Frank.'

Frank doesn't remember telling Hagenbaum he could call him by his first name but he lets it pass. It's an old trick that Frank uses himself to subtly remind subordinates of their unthreatening status. Searle employs it all the time. Except that Searle is Frank's boss and Hagenbaum isn't.

'So what can you give me?' Frank checks his watch now. If this is going to be a complete pile of shit he might as well get moving.

'We will of course extend all hospitality,' says Mills.

'What does that mean, exactly?'

'You can use Lieutenant Mills' interview rooms. We can facilitate any meetings with Benjamin Noone or his representatives.'

'And we can help you with any secretarial and logistical requirements.' Mills says this as if he's offering Frank a gift of emeralds.

'Secretarial?' It's hard to keep the scorn from his voice. He shakes his head and then looks at the two men in the room in turn.

'You're both officers of the law, right? You both want the same things as me, at least on paper. I'm telling you straight that Ben Noone is a killer. Now, what do I have to do to get you on our team?'

Hagenbaum stands and adjusts the sleeve of his black jacket.

'Bring us something,' he says. 'Something we can use.' He extends his hand and shakes Frank's. 'Frank,' he says, then nods towards the lieutenant. 'Lieutenant Mills.'

As the door closes behind him, Frank turns to Mills.

'Fucking Feds,' says Mills and shrugs. 'What can you do?'

'I want to talk to Noone,' says Frank. 'Will you be able to help me with that?'

Mills nods. 'We can call him,' he says.

Frank stands and shakes Mills' hand.

'If it's not too much trouble,' he says.

Seventeen

'You heard how Warren's doing?'

Frank steps into the car and Koop pulls out of the parking lot into the LA traffic as if he's done it all his life. After his meeting with Hagenbaum and Mills, Frank had called Koop and is coming with him to meet Dooley.

'Noone's still at home as far as Warren can tell.'

Frank raises his eyebrows.

'I think Warren's a bit spooked from yesterday,' Koop offers by way of explanation. 'Must have been a big moment Noone walking in on him like that.'

'Very big.'

The two of them are quiet for a moment as Koop negotiates a busy intersection.

'So not too productive?' asks Koop.

'Terrible,' agrees Frank. 'But at least we know where we are. And they've agreed to "facilitate" a meeting with Noone. Once we have something more.'

Koop smiles like he's trying not to. He's got something, thinks Frank. He was always like this when he'd made progress; a child at Christmas. Frank feels his pulse tick up a notch.

'What?' says Frank. 'Spit it out.'

'I think we might have an opening.' He fills Koop in on what he's found out about Noone's tail and his theory about the money being a key. It's good, but not good enough to have Koop grinning like a demented chimp.

'Daedalus,' says Frank. 'Why is that ringing a bell?'

Koop jerks a thumb towards the back seat. 'The file's in my bag,' he says.

Frank sees the sheaf of freshly printed material. 'Been shopping?'

He flicks through the printouts. Koop's got information on Daedalus, on Noone's name change, on the Santa Monica property and a secondary sheaf of paper on some congressional hearings in progress in Washington.

Frank holds these up with a questioning expression.

'Just read it,' says Koop. 'See if you see it the same way I do.'

Eighteen

It's just after five-thirty on the morning of 20 March 2003, and Baghdad begins to explode. The first air strikes are called in by commandos from the CIA Special Activities Division, who had been on the ground for weeks, possibly months. The preparations by this unit, and others like it, have been plotted by the Northern Iraq Liaison Element and are crucial to the campaign. By 12 April Iraq has fallen and Saddam's statue is being toppled in Firdos Square.

The invasion is not the end, but the beginning of a decade of bloodshed and horror affecting millions.

Frank looks up from the file.

'Iraq?'

'Keep reading,' says Koop.

The unit that had called in the first strikes was composed of veterans in the field. One of those vets retires from active service three months after the invasion. Returning to the US he starts a private company specialising in the protection of private contractors flown in to begin the gigantic infrastructure rebuild across Iraq. It's a boom time, at least for those involved in this kind of business. The company recruits more retired veterans as well as specialists from other western countries.

'Does this make sense somewhere?' asks Frank.

'It gets better.' Koop follows the GPS prompts and turns a corner.

Daedalus, although later to the game than some of the companies formed after the Afghanistan invasion two years previously, is doing more things right. In the toxic atmosphere of the war it blossoms, a multi-layered, complex cactus. Inside five years it is the dominant player in the US industrial overseas security sector. In 2009 it's gobbled up by Loder Industries and becomes a multi-billion-dollar outfit in its own right.

At the end of 2010 there are questions raised about defence contract procedures by one of Loder's competitors when Daedalus is awarded sole rights to the Iraqi and Afghanistan private security requirements. The man at the centre of the controversy is Dennis Sheehan, one-time US Secretary of State. Sheehan, the majority shareholder of Loder Industries, is a broad-shouldered, silver-haired man in his seventies, with the build of an athlete run to fat. He had the reputation of a bruising, unforgiving politician and that's carried over into his private business, which he runs with ruthless efficiency.

'Interesting,' says Frank. 'But I don't see what use it is to us.'

'Look at the last sheet.'

Frank flips over the page.

It's a photo of Sheehan taken – judging from the clothes – sometime around 1970. Sheehan's in a business suit and smiling as he stands behind Richard Nixon. He's much thinner, there are no glasses, and his hair is black. In the photo he looks around thirty years old.

'Sweet Mary, Mother of God,' whispers Frank.

Nineteen

Just as Frank and Koop arrive at the cafe to meet Dooley, Warren calls to let them know Noone's on the move.

'Just track him,' says Frank. Koop's got Warren on speaker.

'I hope he's not going to the fucking desert again,' says Warren. 'I don't want to do that drive twice in two days.'

'We found something' says Frank. What he's just seen on Koop's printouts has shaken him and he wants Warren to be aware of what they are dealing with. He tells Warren about the Daedalus connection.

'Be careful,' says Frank.

'You think?' says Warren and signs off.

Poms. Jesus.

Noone's heading back into the city but this time he leaves the freeway and sticks to Santa Monica Boulevard.

Warren checks the GPS and thumps the dashboard in frustration. The fucker
could
be going to Palm Springs again.

Instead, when Noone reaches Beverly Boulevard, he exits and parks at a place called the Farmers Market. Warren watches him leave the jeep in a paying lot and walk towards a shopping centre.

As quickly as he can, Warren pulls into the lot and parks. He walks over to the jeep and sees that Noone has bought a two-hour ticket.

Warren walks in the direction taken by Noone, conscious that, out of the car, he's all too visible. About fifty metres away he glimpses Noone's head disappearing through a walkway leading into an old-fashioned market. Warren follows, breathless in his effort to keep up, and finds himself in the middle of a bewildering
wooden maze of cafes and shops and delicatessens. He's standing next to a Korean barbecue stand. Warren didn't even know there was such a thing as Korean barbecue. It smells wonderful.

To his left is a row of shops. The low-ceilinged space is busy with what looks like a predominantly local crowd. On the GPS Warren had noticed that the place was smack up against the TV giant CBS. Several of the passers-by wear T-shirts with the names of TV shows written on them.

He can't see Noone anywhere.

'Fuck.' Warren thinks about calling Koop again and dismisses the thought. He's been a cop for too long to keep running to someone else every time there's a problem.

From what he can see the place is set out on a square grid. At either end there are areas full of tables with umbrellas. Warren takes the chance that Noone is meeting someone here and is at one of the tables.

He buys a baseball cap from a souvenir stand and jams it on his head. It's not much but it's something. Warren approaches the cafe area slowly, keeping himself hidden behind the brightly lit shelves of a bakery.

He's just about to move on when he spots Noone looking directly at him.

Warren curses under his breath and, doing his best to look unconcerned, lets his eyes skate across Noone's. Warren turns to the bakery shelves and in the reflection from a chrome edging sees Noone walking in his direction.

Warren slips down the side of the bakery and turns left, moving as quickly as he can through a narrow passageway. At the end he finds himself outside an old-style ice-cream shop called Bennetts. A glance over his shoulder tells him that Noone's still coming his way. Warren darts down the side of Bennetts and heads right down a passageway with a sloping roof. His breath is coming hard now. At the end of the passageway he turns and doubles back on himself. If Noone's following then Warren's banking on him not expecting this.

To his relief, when Warren emerges into the Farmers Market there's no sign of Noone.

Warren zigzags back towards the Korean barbecue joint. He pauses at the end of a service alley and leans against a wall to get his breath back.