“Don’t worry about it, Rick. Any time Keller isn’t available, or you need someone to go with you, let me know.” Ken said as he took a seat across from Alex. “I’m gonna be stuck here for a while, I’ll play partner whenever you need me to.”
“Thanks, Ken. I like Chad, he’s taught me a lot. But to be honest, this summer can’t come soon enough for me.”
“What’s his retirement date?”
“July twelfth. But he’s saving vacation time, and his last day of work will be the last day of June. They said they’d give me a new partner then.”
David pulled out his own chair, dropping into it with a sigh. “You ever thought of putting in for a transfer?”
“Well, yeah, but the only other place I’d want to be is Washington. And somehow I don’t think I’m ready to take your place, Dave.”
All four of them laughed, then Alex cleared her throat and opened her notebook, signalling that it was time for the meeting to get under way.
“Okay, gang. You’ve all got copies of the sketches, and the stills photos, right?” They nodded. “Good. David and I have copies of our notes for you. They cover what we learned from the post-mortem. But before we go over that, I’d like to hear what Rick came up with for us. I understand you were in touch with Washington again?”
“Right. As a matter of fact, I was here when a call came in for you from Cliff Jackson. I think he was kind of confused as to why I was in your room, but as soon as I convinced him I wasn’t a bad guy, and I hadn’t drowned you in your bathtub, he gave me the messages for you.” Rick paused to take a sip of coffee. “First off, the name Perry Watson does come up on the list of government employees. However, everything on him is classified. He’s trying to put a little pressure on, but so far no one’s got much.”
“Damn. What about the CIA, are they cooperating at all?”
“Negative. They will neither deny nor confirm that Perry Watson was their agent. Jackson said he would be looking into some personal contacts of his, and trying to skirt official channels. He hoped to have something for you tomorrow.”
Alex nodded. “I expected that. They rarely admit anyone works for them.”
“Yeah, you’d think with the end of the cold war they’d be more willing to cooperate, but they mark every little tidbit as ‘secret.’”
“But that’s not the problem, Dave. The problem is they’re so compartmentalized that no one knows what anyone else is doing, or even who anyone else is. It’s quite possible for someone to work for the CIA in a completely non-secured position — yet they won’t be acknowledged by anyone outside their department, because no one knows them.”
“You mean they have no centralized list of employees?”
“Something like that. I mean, after all, you can’t just put the name of a spy on a payroll check, and the secret agents are spread throughout the company. There have to be other ways of keeping track of people. So, if Perry Watson did work for them, I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes them a while to realize it. Not because of secrecy, but because of the way things run over there.”
“How’d you get so knowledgeable about the Agency, Alex?”
“Part of my studies in grad school. I did an independent study semester looking at their history, and their system. Fascinating. Made me sure I never wanted to work for them.”
That brought another laugh out of the group.
“Anything else, Rick?”
“Well, I got word that the police supposedly found one of the fake badges, but I haven’t gotten confirmation.”
“They did. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it.”
Rick shrugged. “Well, I think that’s about it, then. Oh, um, I did try to track down info on the label inside the guy’s coat. I found the manufacturer; it’s a place down in North Carolina. There office was closed, so I’ll be in touch with them tomorrow. I don’t think this is a very popular label, and I’m hoping I can get a list of outlets.”
“That’s good work. Once you’ve got that list, fax it to David and me, and make sure Ken gets a copy. I’m betting it was bought locally, but maybe we’ll catch a break.”
David flipped back in his notes. “What was the label?”
“Klaser.”
“That wasn’t the label on the driver’s coat. His was a brand called Kittredge. I like good clothes, and I’ve never heard of either of them.”
“Well, the manufacturer for Klaser is Kittredge Clothes Company. Maybe they also have a signature line?”
Alex was tapping her pencil against her notebook. “Good guess. Why don’t you ask them when you call tomorrow. If they say no, then we’ll have to find the other manufacturer.”
The room was relatively silent for a moment, the scratching of pens the only noise as everyone wrote. Alex looked pointedly at Ken.
“You’re being awfully quiet over there, bud.”
He grinned. “Just waiting my turn.”
“Well, now’s your chance. Dazzle us with your expertise and brilliance.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but maybe I can baffle you instead.”
“I’m already baffled, let’s leave the bullshit outside, okay?”
There were chuckles all around. Then Ken turned serious again. “All right. Let’s start with ballistics. The gun with the silencer was taken from the body of the passenger of the car. There were several unspent rounds in the clip, though most of those exploded due to the heat of the fire. The problem is this: because the bullets exploded there is no way to match them with the slugs taken from Dabir’s head. We might be able to match the casings, but that’s not even certain. Now, normally that wouldn’t be a problem, cause they’d just do a test fire and match the rifle marks. Unfortunately, the gun was so badly damaged, it won’t fire. Therefore, …”
“No ballistics match. Damn.” David shook his head.
Rick leaned back in his chair. “But does this really matter? I mean, we know it’s the gun that killed Dabir. We might not have ballistics matches, but it’s not like we’re gonna try the killer, right?”
Alex stopped playing with her pencil and reached for her soda. “Right, Rick, but it would have been nice to keep a nice clean evidentiary chain. With the guy dead, and nothing to prove his gun killed Dabir, somebody, somewhere is bound to scream conspiracy or cover-up. They’ll say the guy was a patsy, and someone else killed Dabir.”
“Yeah, and then they’ll say we let him.”
Alex grimaced at David’s statement, then lifted her glass. “What’s next, Ken?”
Ken shifted the papers in front of him. “Well, I guess the car is next. Ford Escort LX, 1996. Blue four door. Fifty-eight thousand miles on it. Bomb was placed under the driver’s side of the car, just slightly in front of where the driver’s seat was located. There was no mechanical damage to the car that could be attributed to anything other than the bomb — which, according to it’s components, was indeed a remote trigger device.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yep. But don’t ask me where the remote trigger was. I could guess that it was somewhere within a mile, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Yeah, I kind of thought it would have to be close. Anything else on the car? Did you get the stolen vehicle report?”
Ken nodded, pulling out some sheets of paper. He passed them around. “As you can see, the car was reported stolen just hours before our guys showed up at the scene. The registered owner is a man by the name of Kyle Brogan. He had pulled up at an ATM downtown, locked the car, and entered the building.”
“Building?” David asked.
“Yeah, the ATM was in the vestibule of a bank. Anyone with an ATM card can get in the door.”
“So, Mr. Brogan entered the bank, and …”
“When he came out, the car was gone. He walked to a pay phone down the street and called the police.”
Alex leaned forward, her elbow on the table, and her chin on her fist. “Anybody see the car get snatched?”
“No one.”
“Was Mr. Brogan alone when this happened?”
Ken grinned, knowing what Alex was thinking. “As a matter of fact, he had his year old son with him. But since it’s not a good idea to leave kids alone in a car at anytime, he took him inside with him. And before you ask, yes, the bank’s surveillance camera shows him entering the bank with his son in his arms.”