Can you imagine what the crooks are feeling when they’re hauled
in front of him–Judge Sherlock?”
“Please sit down, both of you. I’m grateful that you came, Mr.
Savich.”
“Just Savich will do fine.”
“All right. I understand you head up the CAU–the Criminal
Apprehension Unit–at the FBI. I know you use computers and
protocols you yourself designed and programmed. And with some
success. Naturally, I really don’t fully understand what it is that
happens.”
Savich ordered iced tea from the hovering waiter, waited for the
others to order as well, then leaned forward. “Like the Profiling
Unit, or ISU, we also deal with local agencies who think an outside eye just might see something they missed on a local crime. Normally
murder cases. Also like the ISU, we only go in when we’re asked.
“Unlike the ISU, we’re entirely computer-based. We use special
programs to help us look at crimes from many different angles. The
programs correlate all the data from two or more crimes that seem
to have been committed by the same person. We call the main program
PAP, the Predictive Analogue Program. Of course, what an
agent feeds into the program will determine what comes out.
Nothing new in that at all.”
Sherlock said, “All of it is Dillon’s brainchild. He worked on all
the protocols. It’s amazing how the computer can turn up patterns, weird correlations, ways of looking at things that we wouldn’t have
considered. Of course, like Dillon said, we have to put the data in
there in order to get the patterns, the correlations, the anomalies
that can point a finger in the right direction.
“Then we look at the possible outcomes and alternatives the
computer gives us, act on many of them. You said Buck Savich was
an excellent friend. How did you know Buck Savich, sir?”
“Thank you for the explanation. It’s fascinating, and about time,
I say. Technology should catch crooks, not let the crooks diddle society
with the technology. Yes, Buck Savich was an incredible man.
I knew him professionally. Tough, smart, fearless. The practical
jokes he used to pull had the higher-ups in the Bureau screaming
and laughing at the same time. I was very sorry to hear about his
death.”
Savich nodded, waiting.
Thomas Matlock sipped his iced tea. He needed to know more
about these two. He said easily, “I remember the String Killer case.
That was an amazing bit of work.”
“It wasn’t at all typical,” Savich said. “We got the guy. He’s dead.
It’s over.” Then he looked at his wife, and Thomas saw something
that suddenly made him aware of the extraordinary bond between
them. There was a flash of incredible fear in Savich’s eyes, followed
by a wash of relief and so much gratitude that it went all the way to
Thomas’s gut. He should have had that bond with Allison, but one
stray bullet in a woman’s head had put an end to that possibility forever.
Thomas cleared his throat, his mind made up. These two were
bright, young, dedicated. He needed them. “Thank you for explaining
more about your unit. I guess there’s nothing more to do
except tell you exactly what’s going on. My only favor–and I
must have your agreement on this–if you don’t choose to help
me, you will not inform your colleagues about any of this conversation.
It all remains right here, in this booth.”
“Is it illegal?”
“No, Savich. I’ve always believed that being a crook requires too
much work and energy. I’d rather race my sailboat on the Chesapeake
than worry about evading the cops. The FBI is, however, involved,
and that does make for some conflict of interest.”
Savich said slowly, “You’re a very powerful man, Mr. Matlock. It
took MAX nearly fourteen minutes to even find out that you’re a
very well-protected high-ranking member of the intelligence community.
It took him another hour and two phone calls from me to
discover that you are one of the Shadow Men. I don’t trust you.”
Sherlock cocked her head to the side and said, “What are the
Shadow Men?”
Thomas said, “It’s a name coined back in the early seventies by
the CIA for those of us who have high security clearance, work