Graver watched her closely.
“All day I’ve been reading over the reports of these three investigations,” Paula went on. “They share some interesting commonalities: an extraordinarily lean and orderly collection plan, big results, Dean as the analyst, and… all the contributors were sources.”
“All of them?”
“All that mattered,” she said. “There were a couple of informants thrown in, but they provided only incidental take. Think about it. We’d be lost in this business without informants, right? Even with all their detrimental baggage. But what we’d really like to have are sources. Sources have no criminal histories for defense attorneys to parade out to discredit the witness. Sources have no plea bargains to arrange in exchange for their testimony. Sources have no messy criminal personalities to baby-sit and fret over. They’re just well-informed, conscientious citizens, clean and smelling of soap, eager and willing to help law enforcement with their little bits of invaluable information. Right?”
Graver nodded.
“Well, it seems that in these three investigations Tisler stumbled onto an embarrassment of riches. Suddenly he had nothing but sterling silver sources. These are the only three of his investigations in all his years in CID in which this has happened. The rest of the time he had to make do with a pretty shoddy line-up of informants.”
She paused to let this soak in, and then her crossed leg began swinging. Something changed in her expression too, a slight adjustment in her mouth, a tightening at the corners of her eyes. She seemed to be hesitating before making her next point But she went on.
“The initial leads in these things-all three of them-may have been Tisler’s,” Paula said, tapping the folders on her lap with an index finger. “But from then on he would have worked closely with Dean. It’s a sure bet Dean guided the investigations and constructed the format for collecting the information. And Besom, of course, as Tisler’s squad supervisor, would have followed every bit of this step-by-tep.”
Graver straightened up in his chair. He leaned forward with his forearms on his desk, picked up a pencil, and began bouncing the eraser end of it off the top of the old, iron-gray cobblestone. He was interested.
Paula turned her chair sideways and pulled another chair around to face her. She kicked off her shoes and propped her feet on the horizontal brace that supported the legs and used her inclined thighs as a lap desk. She flipped to the first page of her legal pad.
“First, just a quick overview of two cases where Tisler’s sources did such an extraordinary job for him. Okay?”
Graver nodded, watching her. Paula was quite capable of becoming obsessive about an investigation. It was one of the characteristics that made her a superior analyst.
“The Probst investigation,” she said, looking at her notes. “Ray Probst owned a temporary employee service that specialized in providing temps to banks and insurance companies. He used his temps as spies to acquire information on persons who had sizable personal incomes. Using their computers, the temps targeted the homes and even the items there that could be easily stolen, certain kinds of PC’s, televisions, jewelry, art work, silver, everything. After the thefts, all the stuff was warehoused in small outlying airports and eventually flown to Mexico and points south for resale in the black market.
“Two sources and an informant The take from the informant was insignificant. The two sources made the case, but they never had to testify because Tisler and Dean turned over so much corroborating information to operations that they were able to make the case without the sources’ testimonies. In orchestrating the collection process Burtell seemed to intuit precisely the right information needed to open another facet of the case. Even more astonishing, Tisler’s sources could always get it for him. Very clean. A model investigation.”
Graver swung his chair around almost sideways to his desk. Leaning back, his elbow resting on the top of the desk, he started toying with the cobblestone, turning it clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise.
Paula flipped another page of her notepad, her bracelets rattling.
“The Friel investigation. Lawrence Friel was in the business of transporting illegal drugs. He didn’t buy, didn’t sell, just got the stuff from one place to the next He used his computer to plug into the computerized schedules of trucking companies originating out of Houston and going all over the country. His men would load the drugs into specially-made magnetic boxes which they would then piggyback somewhere on the truck’s chassis. From that point on people never touched the stuff again. His men followed these vehicles in another car, and when the product reached its destination they contacted the receiving party and watched while they picked it up at a truck stop or warehouse or trucking yard. Then Friel’s men picked up the pay.
“Again, the operation developed quickly, almost as if Dean and Tisler were using a blueprint of the operation. Two sources, no informants. Again, neither source had to testify because our boys came up with a bumper crop of corroborating information making it unnecessary.”
She looked at Graver as she flipped another sheet of her legal pad. He could tell by her expression that she was wondering if he was getting the drift of where she was taking this. She needn’t have worried. He was following it all too well.
“Now this brings us to Tisler’s active Seldon case. So far, one source”-she reached out and tapped the two folders turned crossway to the others on the front of Graver’s desk-”still developing. According to lister’s source, Alan Seldon owns a chemical waste disposal business. Tisler’s source says he has proof that Seldon is buying off EPA inspectors. Seldon is dumping the stuff on ranch land in Starr County in South Texas, way out in the boonies, on the border. According to the source the ranch is owned by a man fronting for a group of drug runners who put up the money for the ranch. The source is telling Tisler he can give him chapter and verse on how all this is happening, but has yet to put names to any of the parties involved, except Seldon’s. But the guy’s super touchy. Very careful.”
“Jesus Christ…” Graver said.
“Wait a second,” Paula interrupted him, tossing her legal pad on the desk. “There’s more, but before you say anything I’ve got to pee, wash my face. I need a drink.” She stood. “I’ll be back in a second,” she said, and walked out of his office.
Chapter 14
Graver got up and stepped to the windows. The sun reflecting on the skyscrapers had burned to a deeper and duller shade of brassy fire and then, as he watched, with one last, laser-like dazzle, it dropped behind the horizon, extinguishing the conflagration inside the millions of square feet of tinted plate glass and transforming them into palisades of lifeless gray.
He looked back at the scattered files on his desk. Paula was laying out a scenario that was alive with implication. He guessed that she did not have to go to the bathroom so much as she had to collect herself. Graver was afraid she was going to be giving him some bad news, and she wasn’t altogether sure how he was going to take it He wasn’t sure either and tried to ignore the warm, wandering nausea beginning to move about in his abdomen.
“What do you think?” Paula asked. She was standing in the doorway, wiping her face and neck with a damp paper towel. She was barefooted, having left her shoes by her chair.
Graver looked at her. “I’m ready to hear the rest of it,” he said, and walked back to his desk and sat down again.
Paula pinched the placket on the front of her dress and fanned it lightly. “Fine,” she said.
She tossed the wadded paper towel into the trash and sat down. She had brushed out her hair, and he noticed a few damp wisps on either side at her temples as she picked up the legal pad again.
“Okay, because all these contributors are sources, new sources, this means there’s a lot of information we don’t have.”