Patrick Bowers Files 02 - The Rook (v5.0)

  I think Lien-hua would have liked to stay and help, but Cassandra needed to work though her grief with people who’d be around to help her long-term, not with a couple of federal agents who’d be flying out later in the week.

  As we drove back to the hotel, the meeting with Cassandra weighed on me, but I reminded myself that she was getting the help she needed and there wasn’t anything more Lien-hua and I could do for her. Part of living is acknowledging people’s pain and grief, but not letting it take over your heart. Though it’s always nighttime in the depths, the waves still reflect the day.

  Life is both eerie and beautiful.

  It’s both.

  By the end of the drive, I’d started to put the pain into perspective. I packaged up the moments I’d spent with Cassandra and set them aside so that I could deal with them one by one when the time was right. I made a quick call to Ralph asking if he’d heard any more about Victor Drake and his possible connection to the abduction, but he hadn’t. He promised he’d check on it though, and get back to me after his meeting with Margaret.

  Then, after dropping off Lien-hua at the FBI field office, I picked up Tessa from the hotel to introduce her to Dr. Calvin Werjonic.

  65

  Tessa and I bought a few more cups of Peruvian coffee on the way to Balboa Park and then parked in the lot beside the Alcazar Garden to wait for Calvin. We were a little early, so we took a walk through the nearby Palm Canyon, and on the way Tessa informed me that Balboa Park is the largest urban cultural park in the U.S. “There are more than a dozen museums and performing arts venues here, as well as the San Diego Zoo.”

  She seemed unusually awake and perky today, and I wondered if maybe she was under the weather. I’d never thought I would put the words Tessa and perky together in the same sentence, unless the word despises appeared between them. I decided to try a little conversation, see how she responded.

  “You know, Raven.” I pointed to her freshly touched-up black fingernail polish. “I like that color on you. I didn’t used to like black so much, but I think it’s growing on me.”

  “Thanks, but black isn’t a color. It’s the absence of all color.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I’ve got you now. Look in a box of crayons. Black is definitely a color. It says so right on the crayon.”

  “Wow, on a crayon. You know what? I think you’re right, Patrick. I guess black’s a color after all.” There was sarcasm in her voice, but it was light. Decaffeinated derision. “I mean, despite what the laws of physics say about black not reflecting light waves, if a box of crayons says black is a color, we should probably revise our understanding of how light travels through space.”

  Well, I guess she was feeling all right after all. Both perky and sardonic. A killer combination.

  As I was thinking about how I might defend Crayola, a woman with a stroller approached, and I put my hand gently on Tessa’s arm to guide her off the sidewalk, but as soon as I touched her arm, she grimaced and ducked away.

  “Sorry. Are you OK?” After I touched her I realized I’d grabbed the same arm Sevren Adkins, the serial killer who called himself the Illusionist, had sliced last fall. But that scar was pretty much healed by now. That must be where the tattoo is. I didn’t mention the tattoo though. I wanted to give her the chance to tell me herself. “Did I hurt your scar?”

  “I’m OK, no, you didn’t do anything, really. It’s just . . . I must have slept on my arm wrong or something. That’s all.”

  She quickly changed the subject and asked what had happened with the case last night, and I couldn’t think of any good reason to invite her to peer over the police line at someone else’s pain, so instead of telling her about Austin Hunter’s death and Cassandra’s near drowning, I simply told her that Cassandra was OK and that we had a suspect in custody related to her abduction.

  “What about the arsonist?” she asked.

  “He was stopped by the police,” I said. “He won’t be starting fires anytime soon.”

  “So, is your case over then? Are we gonna be able to hang out today?”

  “We’ll have to see.” Her flight to Denver didn’t leave until 2:26 p.m. I wanted to wait as long as possible before telling her I was sending her home.

  “So I never asked you,” I said. “How was your drive with Lien-hua yesterday? Did she pull out all the stops or drive like a mortal?”

  “She drove pretty much like she did when she took me back to the hotel Monday night. Pretty normal.” And then, just as I took a sip of coffee, Tessa asked, “So, what’s up with you two, anyway?”

  “What do you mean, what’s up?”

  “C’mon. Don’t even act all innocent. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Besides, she was the first person you thought to call after that guy jumped in front of the trolley and you needed someone to come get me. What’s the deal with you two?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s the deal—”

  “Yeah, right. You so stink at lying. Besides, whenever people say ‘nothing,’ it’s always something, but they’re just afraid of admitting it.”

  “I’m not afraid of admitting anything—”

  “So what’s up then?”

  Perhaps a slightly different approach. “All right. I can’t tell you how she feels about me, but I enjoy working with her, I respect her, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her a little better—”

  “You think about her all the time, when you’re alone with her, you feel more alive than any other time in your life, whenever she talks to you, your pulse races and—”

  “OK, OK. That’s enough. So, maybe it might be something, but it’s not really anything.”

  We chose a path leading back to the parking lot. “Well, are you seeing her? And don’t be, like, ‘We’ve been working together a lot lately,’ or something, because that’s totally different. Besides, she already tried that on me.”

  “What? You talked to her about this? You didn’t really, did you? You’re just saying that, right?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said evasively. “But that’s not the point. Now I’m talking to you, and you’re avoiding my question.”

  Part of me wished that Lien-hua were here so I could make sure we were on the same page with anything I said. On the other hand, I was glad she wasn’t hearing any of this. “Tessa, maybe we could discuss this later?”

  She paused and turned so that she was directly facing me. “Naw. Now’s good.”

  Since Christie’s death, Tessa and I had never really talked about the idea of me dating again. And since my relationship with Lien-hua hadn’t progressed to the point where it seemed like an issue, I’d never brought it up.

  “So,” Tessa persisted. “Are you seeing her? And please don’t say ‘sort of.’ Like you’re ‘sort of’ seeing her.”

  “What’s wrong with saying ‘sort of’?”

  “It’s a cop-out. Very lame. For people who are afraid to commit.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, it’s like this, Tessa . . . you see . . . it’s . . . it’s complicated.”

  “It’s complicated?” She slung her hands to her hips. “A question that requires a yes or no answer is too complicated for you, Dr. Bowers? Are you seeing Agent Jiang: yes or no?”

  Just then my phone rang, and Tessa stared at my pocket. “You have got to be kidding me. You dialed that yourself, somehow, didn’t you? Pressed a redial button or something?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “But I’m not that good.”

  I checked to see who it was. Lien-hua.

  “So, who is it?” Tessa peeked at my phone’s screen. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

  “I think I need to take this, OK?”

  Tessa folded her arms, cocked her head in a teenage way, and glared.

  “Hi, Lien-hua.” As I spoke, I kept the phone cradled close to my ear so Tessa couldn’t listen in.

  “Pat, we need you back at the station.”

  “What’s up?”

&nbs
p; “The suspect won’t talk to the police, but asked to talk to me. By name.”

  I knew Tessa was good at overhearing conversations so I stepped away and lowered my voice. As far as I could remember, no one had mentioned Lien-hua’s name while we were in the suspect’s presence at the warehouse. “How did he know who you are?”

  “We’re not sure. Margaret’s talking with his lawyers now. Ralph’s meeting with her in a few minutes. They want you here by noon.”

  “Well, I can’t be there by then. I need to . . .” I could see Tessa straining to listen in. I rephrased what I was about to say just in case she heard me. “I need to take care of a few things. I can’t get there until one at the earliest.”

  “OK. I’ll call you if I find out more.”

  “OK. See ya soon.”

  As I hung up, Tessa asked suspiciously, “What was all that about?”

  The case had just become a little more complex, but I couldn’t get into all of it with Tessa. “I’m afraid this investigation is going to eat up some of my time today. I won’t be able to leave until tomorrow afternoon at least.”

  Her eyebrows awoke. “But I thought we were staying until Friday, right?”

  “That was the plan.” Before you tackle that conversation, finish up this one. “Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. I was just about to make you promise not to talk to Agent Jiang about all this are-we-seeing-each-other stuff.”

  “No, you were just about to tell me if you’re seeing her. But I’ll make you a promise if you give me a straight answer.”

  I collected my thoughts. “Tessa, listen, how about this: if Agent Jiang and I ever decide to move from something that’s nothing to anything that might be more than sort of something, I’ll let you know.”

  “You didn’t think I followed that, but I did.”

  “I believe you. Now, promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “You promise what?”

  She sighed, took a deep breath, and said, “I promise not to tell Agent Jiang how much you like her and how badly you want to start seeing her. How’s that?”

  I rubbed my forehead as a cab pulled up and a tall, lean gentleman unfolded himself from the backseat. He handed some bills to the driver and turned to face us.

  Dr. Calvin Werjonic had arrived.

  66

  Calvin couldn’t have chosen a more unusual outfit for visiting San Diego. He was wrapped in a wafer-thin London Fog trench coat— I’d rarely seen him wear anything else—and he wore a crumpled fedora even though they’d gone out of style forty years ago.

  “Patrick, my boy!” Considering all the long talks and late nights we’d shared together over the years, a handshake didn’t seem like enough to me, but I knew Calvin wasn’t a hugger. He pumped my hand warmly. “So good to see you. And this must be the lovely Tessa Ellis?”

  “Hello.”

  “Patrick has told me all about you.”

  “I’ll bet. He didn’t tell me so much about you, but I read about you in his two books.”

  “Hmm . . . I fell asleep reading those sections.”

  “Those were the only parts that kept me awake.”

  “Eh-hem.” I handed him his coffee. “You look good, Calvin.” “Your stepfather is a very poor liar, Tessa.”

  “Well, that’s OK. I make up for it.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  Calvin took in a deep drink of San Diego air and then gave me a quick once-over. “So Patrick, you look as fit as ever. Still doing those press-ups?”

  “We call them push-ups in the states. But usually for me, it’s pull-ups.”

  “Ah yes, of course.” He lifted his coffee to his lips, took a sip.

  I watched for a reaction. “What do you think of that coffee? Nice, huh?”

  “A bit tart for my taste, I’m afraid.” He took off the lid, poured the coffee onto the sidewalk, and dropped the cup into a nearby trash can. “Come along, then.” He started walking up the trail at a brisk clip.

  Tessa saw the look on my face as I stared at the tragic coffee stain on the sidewalk. “Don’t cry, Patrick. It’d embarrass me.”

  “Come, come,” said Calvin, who was already twenty meters ahead of us. “I don’t have all day.”

  Calvin and I took a few minutes to catch up on each other’s lives, and then Tessa quizzed him about some of his cases. She wanted as many details as she could get as long as he stayed away from mentioning blood or dead bodies. Then he took some time to ask her about the best website for downloading ring tones, what this week’s hottest YouTube videos were, and how many friends she had listed on her Facebook page.

  After about fifteen minutes, I asked Tessa if she wouldn’t mind if Calvin and I discussed some cases that involved lots of blood and shootings. Immediately she offered to wait for us up ahead at the SDAI Museum of the Living Artist, and after she was gone, Calvin said softly, “Smart girl, that one.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Then Calvin filled me in on some of his current consulting work with the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, a little-known combat support agency that provides geospatial intelligence to the Department of Defense. The NGIA emphasizes military use of geospatial intelligence, but over the years Calvin and I have both worked with them to help find ways to integrate their GEOINT into law enforcement. However, last year I bowed out when they started pushing for an international cyberinfrastructure that would include an integrated global video array between our spy satellites, private firms, and the GEOINT of our allies.

  Calvin and I had never seen eye to eye on this issue.

  “But Patrick,” he said earnestly, “even now the Department of Defense is designing the next generation of satellites. By integrating current technology into the satellite systems, we will be able to zoom in close enough to read text off a document, numbers off a cell phone screen, even verify identities through retinal scans. And with laser targeting there’s been talk of—”

  “Calvin, please,” I didn’t mean to sound impatient, but I’d heard all this before. “Law enforcement personnel need probable cause to stop a car, tap a phone, enter a house, search a suspect, or even follow someone home. With global video, all that would go out the window, the government could follow anyone, anywhere, anytime. No privacy. We have a right to live our lives without someone looking over our shoulders every minute of the day. We should use technology to find the guilty, not monitor the innocent.”

  “But think of it, my boy. A crime occurs, say perhaps a child is abducted, we review the global video at the time and place of the crime, then follow the offender from the scene, use live tracking, and locate him in a matter of minutes. This is the zenith of environmental criminology. It’s what we’ve been working toward for decades. It will revolutionize the investigative process.”

  “We arrest voyeurs and peeping Toms, but now the NGIA is proposing creating one giant webcam for intelligence agencies all over the world so they can peek into the lives of innocent people. I still say it’s not right. Maybe we can debate this another time. I know you need to catch your flight—”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He brushed a gaunt hand against the air as if he were erasing the words we’d just spoken to each other. “Please forgive me. Your case. Tell me about your investigation.”

  Calvin quickened his pace, and I summarized the current case, changing the names and some of the details so that I wasn’t revealing information that might compromise our investigation. Calvin listened astutely, nodding at times to show that he was following what I said, and then at last he asked, “Patrick, have you explored the connection of Monday night’s fire to John Doe’s death?”

  “So far all I have is the nexus of time and location.”

  “Hmm. I know you don’t typically venture into motive, but has Agent Jiang plumbed your arsonist’s motivation for the previous fires?”

  “Ralph assigned one of the field agents to look into the arsonist’s bank records, and she found that the man had made a twenty
-five-thousand-dollar deposit within a few days of each of the previous fires. So, if you’re looking for motive, it appears that he did it for the money.”

  “Yes, but the money from whom?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “And regardless, that’s not what the abductors wanted from him in the end.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Obviously, you’ll need to follow up with your elusive Dr. O.”

  “He’s still out of town. It’s on my list for later today.”

  “Yes, of course. And Shade, what do you know of this Shade character?”

  “Not much. He might be the man we took into custody, but I doubt it. Shade told me on the phone that he was at the rendezvous point and it seems unlikely that would have been the warehouse. Whoever Shade is, he knows how to mask his GPS location and he knows me. He positively identified me during our brief phone conversation so I’m afraid he might be someone from a previous case, or maybe even a personal acquaintance.”

  “Quite so.” Calvin walked in silent repose beside me for a few minutes and then said, “It’s an intricate case to be sure, but I’m confident you’ll be able to unravel it, my boy. I’ll certainly consider all that you’ve told me, and if I have any additional investigative recommendations, I’ll contact you promptly. One word of advice . . .” Then he began speaking to me as if I was still a doctoral student at Simon Fraser University, and he was still my professor. “Patrick, remember, the devil is not in the details, but in how the details relate to each other. Sometimes you need to stop looking at the facts and start looking at the spaces between them. One cannot adequately understand the movement of the planets through a solar system until one has identified what they all orbit around.”

  I was reflecting on his comments when he added, “And now for the personal matter you were reticent to mention on the phone.”

  I knew he would be able to tell if I were hiding anything from him, so I didn’t even try. “Calvin, at times my job really eats away at me. The human potential for evil is, well . . . it’s staggering.”