“She investigated Ken Newman’s finances without telling anyone.”
“Come on, it’s not the first time an agent’s gone off the manual. She
gets a hot one and wants to follow it up. But she doesn’t want to bury
Ken’s reputation along with the body. Not until she’s sure.”
“And the hundred thousand dollars in her kids’ accounts?”
“Planted.”
“By whom?”
“That’s what we have to figure out.”
Fisher shook his head in frustration. “We’re going to have her
followed. Every minute until we break this.”
Connie leaned forward and did his best to keep his big hands from
flying to Fisher’s neck. “What you should be doing, Paul, is following
up the leads from Ken’s murder. And trying to track down Faith
Lockhart.”
“If you don’t mind, Connie, we’ll run the investigation.”
Connie looked over at Fred Massey. “You want a tail on Reynolds, I’m
your guy.”
“You! No way!” Fisher protested.
“Hear me out, Fred,” Connie said, his gaze locked on Massey. “I admit,
things look bad for Brooke. But I also know there’s not a finer agent
in the Bureau. And I don’t want to see a good agent’s career go down
the toilet because somebody made the wrong call. I’ve been down that
road myself. Right, Fred?”
Massey looked intensely troubled at this last statement. He seemed to
shrink in his chair under Connie’s withering gaze.
“Fred,” Fisher said, “we need an independent source-”
Connie interrupted, “I can be independent. If I’m wrong, then Brooke
goes down, and I’ll be the first one to break the news to her. But I’m
betting she’s going to come back and pick up her badge and gun. In
fact, in ten years I see her running this whole damn place.”
“I don’t know, Connie,” Massey began.
“I think somebody owes me that opportunity, Fred,” Connie said very
quietly. “What do you think?”
There was a long moment of silence while Fisher looked back and forth
between the two men.
“All right, Connie, you follow her,” Massey said. “And you report back
to me at regular intervals. Exactly what you see. No more. No less.
I’m counting on you. For old times’ sake.”
Connie rose from the table and flicked a victorious glance at Fisher.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, gentlemen. I won’t disappoint.”
Fisher followed Connie out into the hallway.
“I don’t know what you just pulled in there, but remember this: Your
career already has one black mark against it, Connie. It can’t afford
another. And anything you report to Massey, I want to know about.”
Connie crowded the much taller Fisher back against the wall.
“Listen up, Paul.” He paused, ostensibly to pick a piece of lint off
Fisher’s shirt. “I understand that, technically, you’re my superior
here. Don’t confuse that, though, with reality.”
“You’re treading a dangerous line, Connie.”
“I like danger, Paul, that’s why I joined the Bureau. That’s why I
carry a gun. I’ve killed somebody with mine. How about you?”
“You’re not making sense. You’re throwing your career away.” Fisher
felt the wall behind him; his face was growing red as Connie continued
to lean into him like a listing oak against a picket fence.
“Is that right? Well, let me make some sense of this for you. Somebody
is setting Brooke up. Now, who could that be? It’s got to be the leak
here at the Bureau. Somebody wants to discredit her, bring her down.
And if you ask me, Paul, you’re trying awfully hard to do just that.”
“Me? You’re accusing me of being the leak?”
“I’m not accusing anybody of anything. I’m just reminding you that
until we do find that leak, nobody, and I mean nobody, from the
director down to the guys who clean the johns here, is above suspicion
in my book.”
Connie moved away from Fisher. “Have a nice day, Paul. I’m off to
catch some bad guys.”
Fisher stared after him, slowly shaking his head, something close to
fear in his eyes.
CHAPTER 39
THE PHONE NUMBER LEE CALLED WAS LINKED TO A PAGER, so that Buchanan
would know the instant the number was called. When the pager went off,
Buchanan was at home packing his briefcase for a meeting at a downtown