The Pain Scale (28 page)

“Hello,” she said. “Welcome to Congressman Benton’s office. Are you the officers from Long Beach?”

“Detectives,” I said. “Yes, we are.”

She stood up and said, “Right this way.”

We followed her down a short hallway past two or three doors on each side. One of the doors was opened a few inches, and I caught a glimpse of Roger Kroll hunched over a desk. It occurred to me that he had left the door exactly as it was so we’d see him working. I don’t know why or to what end, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was involved in everything the congressman did, especially when he was trying to look like he wasn’t.

Melanie led us into the office at the end of the hall. The congressman was standing next to his desk waiting for us.

“Hello, Detective Tanaka,” he said, shaking Jen’s hand.

He motioned to a comfortable-looking sofa against the far wall, then turned to me. “Detective Beckett.” His grip was firm and practiced, and I couldn’t help thinking that he really knew how to shake someone’s hand.

I sat next to Jen as he pulled one of the chairs from in front of his desk over to face us across a coffee table. While he was rearranging the furniture, I studied the office. Everything was immaculate, but nothing was too ostentatious. Each element of the decor had been carefully calculated to seem tasteful and well-appointed without seeming too expensive or indulgent. The only people whose opinion he was trying to influence with the furnishings were his constituents. This was a very nice office. But it didn’t look like a wealthy man worked here.

No.

It looked like the high end of middle class. The kind of place a good, honest working man could aspire to. Only the ten-million-dollar view out over the large balcony belied that impression.

He sat down and shot us a smile tinged with grief. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“No, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

“What can I do for you, Detectives?”

He didn’t ask about the investigation. Family always asks about the investigation. They want to know about progress, if we have leads, suspects, solutions. They always ask. The congressman didn’t. Because he already knew everything that there was to know. Or he thought he did.

“We just need to ask you a few questions,” Jen said. “And then we’ll let you get back to work.”

“I’m never too busy to help, Detective. Never.”

“Thank you,” she said. “There’s been a development in the investigation, and we need to ask you about your military service. You were in the air force, correct?”

“Yes,” he said, “I was.” He wasn’t surprised or even curious. Jen and I had discussed our interview strategy on the drive south to Huntington. We needed to feel him out. If he didn’t know about the Pararescue connection, we didn’t want to tip him off. But if he hadn’t known where we were going, the question about his time in the USAF would have seemed random and been unexpected, and we would have seen that.

“There’s not much in your public bio about the specifics of your service,” Jen said. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but that seems unusual for someone in your line of work.”

He smiled for us. “You’re right. What kind of self-respecting politician wouldn’t trumpet his veteran status from the rooftops?”

“Yes,” I said, “that is what we were wondering. You were special ops, weren’t you? That’s why you don’t talk about it.”

He smiled again. “I knew you two were sharp as soon as I met you. You’re right, Detective Beckett. I was in air force Pararescue.”

“And what you did was classified?” I asked.

“Some of it was, yes.” He looked down at the table and didn’t speak for a moment. I guessed that he wanted us to think he was coming to some sort of a decision, to give the impression that he was letting us in on something secret and special. “It’s not just that, though.”

“What is it, sir?” I asked.

Jen answered for him. “Honor,” she said. “It’s just not right to talk about some things. To use them for personal gain.”

This time I actually bought his smile. “That’s absolutely right, Detective Tanaka. If I used my service for political ends, I could never live with myself.” I bought that, too. What was the old joke? The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re asking about this,” she said. We’d been betting she’d hook him with the honor line, and she did. Unless things took an unexpected turn, she’d be asking all the questions from here on out. “Agents Young and Goodman briefed you on the two incidents in Seal Beach?” We hadn’t copied them yet on the autopsy report, so the congressman shouldn’t have known any of the details.

“Yes, they did.”

“Well,” she said, “the driver of the SUV had a distinguishing mark that we felt you should be aware of.”

“What was that?”

“Two green footprints tattooed on his right arm.”

Turned out he could fake not only sincerity but righteous indignation as well. He took a few deep breaths as if he were trying to calm himself down. “I’m sure you understand why I’m so upset,” he said.

“Yes,” Jen said, leaning forward. “Not only did he disrespect the PJs by faking his own service, but he dragged them into a multiple-murder investigation.”

He looked her squarely in the eye and said, “I’m glad you’re the one who’s going to find out who killed Sara and the children. You really do understand.”

That one we didn’t expect. But he seemed to be genuinely taken with Jen, and they seemed to have formed some kind of connection. I was already trying to think of ways we might exploit it.

“So what do you make of it?” Ruiz asked.

“He knew about the tattoo,” I said. “So he’s getting information somehow.”

“We have a leak?”

“I doubt it,” Patrick said. “Probably looking in our computer files. The case-management system would be pretty easy to hack. Maybe listening to our phone conversations as well. Do you remember if you texted or e-mailed anything about the tattoo?”

“I sent myself a link to the website I found the footprints on,” I said. “So I could access it here without having to search for it again.”

“That’s probably where they got that, then. E-mails and texts are the easiest to track. Don’t even need eyes—just set up a list of search terms to flag and the computer will do all the work for you. They can do the same thing with your hard drive, but that gets a little more complicated.”

While the idea of the FBI or some other branch of Homeland Security prying into our case files didn’t sit well with any of us, we knew we were powerless to do anything about it.

“Did you get any kind of a read off of him?”

“He’s slick,” Jen said.

“We knew that already,” Ruiz said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Jen built up a good rapport with him. And I bought that line he gave to Jen, about her understanding. He knows every detail of our case, but I don’t think he knows anything else.”

Ruiz examined me.

“What?” I said.

“Coming from you, that’s a surprise.”

“Why?”

“I figured you’d have some kind of ‘all politicians are sociopaths and can therefore lie undetectably’ argument all ready to go.”

“Actually, you’re right,” I said. “Can I change my answer?”

When Jen and I sat down at our desks, I said, “I don’t like knowing they’re watching us.”

“It’s nothing new. Not since the Patriot Act.”

“I know. But I’ve never really felt like they were paying attention before. That’s what makes the difference. Every other case is just a trickle in a massive flow of data. Knowing they’re picking out details now makes me self-conscious.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t think we know.”

I saw where she was going, but I let her finish.

“And we can put anything we want in the files.”

One corner of her mouth turned up, and she leaned back in her chair.

“It’s not much,” I said.

“No, it’s not. But it’s something.”

That afternoon, Jen had to meet with a DDA about a trial she’d be testifying on a few days later. I don’t dislike court appearances as much as many detectives do, but one of things I was really appreciating about my return to active duty was the fact that I didn’t have a backlog of cases lined up that would require my testimony. Nor did I have any old open investigations that required my attention. I was the only detective on the Homicide squad with only one case to work.

All I had were Sara, Bailey, and Jacob. And I took some satisfaction in the knowledge that they had me, too.

Patrick came in early the next morning. I’d had the squad room to myself for nearly an hour.

“You asked about Kroll?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Got something?”

“He was Pararescue, too.”

“That can’t be coincidence.”

“No, it can’t. I don’t have much else yet. Where do we go next?” he asked. “Phone records?”

“The connection’s too thin for a warrant. And we’d tip off the congressman.” Something clicked in my head, and I asked, “You didn’t find that out on your computer here, did you?”

“No,” he said. “It was secure. Nothing’s going to get back to anybody.”

“How would you feel about doing a little more off-the-radar digging?”

“As much I love working here with the best technology 2003 has to offer, I think I’d enjoy getting out of the office. Where do you want me to start?”

“With Kroll. Get everything you can. Then let’s start digging into Sternow and Byrne. If we’re going off the record, we should get as deep into their shit as we can.”

Patrick turned his head and winced.

“What?”

“You’ve got to work on your metaphors.”