CHAPTER

26

 

Tolman needed Kerry Voss.

Voss was one of the non–law enforcement people at RIO, strictly on the research end of the spectrum. She’d joined the agency eighteen months ago, and all kinds of rumors about her past floated around: that she’d been a stripper, or a kindergarten teacher, or a substance abuse counselor, that she had a doctorate in sociology, that she’d had something to do with finances at DOD. There were even more tantalizing tidbits about her family background: one said that her original family name had been Vostrikov, and that her grandfather was a Stalin-era KGB agent who defected to the West.

Voss remained carefully coy about her background, and Tolman resisted the urge to investigate her coworker. Besides, she rather liked the paradox that Voss presented. She and Voss were about the same age and height, which bonded them instantly in an office full of taller people. Voss had tattoos, one of a yin/yang symbol and one of Big Bird from Sesame Street. Still, her office was filled with pictures of her three kids. Most important to Tolman, she could follow money. Tolman had no equal in finding people, in reconstructing scenarios and lives, but she was weakest on financial tracking. That, on the other hand, was all Voss did for RIO: follow money trails.

After a restless night—she’d walked to the NVCC campus but had been too distracted even to practice piano—Tolman was in the office before dawn. She turned on lights, started coffee in the break room, read meaningless e-mails as the staff started to trickle in. Voss had taken a personal day on Monday, something to do with one of her kids, and Tolman knew she’d be in early today.

As RIO’s activity level built after seven thirty, Tolman walked out of her office and passed Hudson’s. Hudson was already at his desk, but Tolman passed by without slowing. She went past the front reception desk and turned right into Voss’s office. Voss was settling in at her computer, one hand on the mouse, another holding a pen that she tapped against a legal pad. Today she had longish brown-blond hair—Tolman was never sure of her natural color—and it was in a braid. Occasionally she showed up to work with it in cornrows. Voss’s quirky nature made Tolman like her even more.

Tolman closed the door and sat down across from Voss.

“You closed the door,” Voss said. “It’s trouble when you close the door.”

“Morning, Kerry,” Tolman said.

Voss pointed with her pen. “Door. Closed. What do you want?”

“How are you, Kerry? I haven’t gotten to talk to you in a couple of weeks.”

“You have no gift for bullshit small talk, Meg. I can read you like a book with a broken spine. You want something. But I’ll play. Let’s see, my daughter has developed a serious case of preteen attitude—she’s only nine, by the way—and my two boys fight constantly. My ex-husband just got remarried, my ex-mother-in-law wants to be my best friend, my car needs a new battery, and my garage-door opener doesn’t work.”

Tolman laughed out loud. “You and I should go out and drink sometime, when things settle down. Sounds like you need it. What about the guys?”

“Things never settle down. You remember I had met these two guys named Ramirez?”

“No relation, and you met them about a week apart, right?”

“Yep. Ramirez number one moved back to Texas. Ramirez number two stood me up for dinner at a fondue place.”

“You’re not making this up, are you?”

“No one could make this up. But I do have a good prospect, my youngest son’s soccer coach. Code-named Hot Soccer Guy. Ready to tell me why you’re in here with the door closed?”

Tolman raised both hands. “I surrender. Just don’t tell me anything else about your life. I need access to some bank records.”

“So? We do bank records all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m a little weak on the financial stuff.”

Voss let that pass. “Do you have paperwork from Hudson?”

“No.”

“Now I know why the door is closed. What’s this about?”

“You did some time with DOD, right?”

“Let’s say I did, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, if a couple of soldiers died in action in Iraq, their survivors would get benefits, right?”

Voss nodded. “There’s an immediate death benefit of a hundred thousand dollars, and that’s usually paid within thirty-six hours after the death is confirmed.”

“Then isn’t there some sort of ongoing payment, like a pension?”

“Right. If your hypothetical soldier were married at the time of death, the spouse would get a monthly payment. There’s also a monthly payment for each minor child.”

“Okay, I need to know if a couple of soldiers’ families got these benefits.”

“Well, Meg, if they’re dead, they definitely got the benefits. That’s the way the system works.”

Tolman crossed her legs at the knee.

“What?” Voss said.

“I’m not exactly sure they’re dead.”

Voss put down her pen.

“They may be or they may not be,” Tolman said. “That’s really what I want to find out.”

“There are easier ways to do that,” Voss pointed out. “You can get death certificates, all the usual stuff. That’s much more up your alley than mine.”

“Some things about this case may or may not contradict each other, so I’m trying to verify independently.”

“And independently of Hudson, too?”

“Something like that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a bureaucrat and wants to cover his ass.”

“Well, I’m a bureaucrat, too. So are you, for that matter. Just because you can carry a gun and get to call yourself ‘investigative specialist’ doesn’t change that fact.”

“No,” Tolman said. “I know what I am.”

“Besides, you get along great with Hudson.”

“I certainly do. But he won’t give me what I need on this case.”

“You want this done without authorization. I can see it now—one of those ‘federal agencies run amok’ sorts of projects. The reasons certain people believe the government has too much power. Privacy, civil liberties, all that jazz. Am I right?”

“You are right.”

Voss sighed. “I thought I left this kind of crap behind when I left—”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. This is big or you wouldn’t ask. I know you well enough to get that.” She sighed again. “It may take a little while. I have three other cases—”

“Just get me what you can, when you can. Please. I’m hoping the money trail tells me something I don’t already know.”

“Oh, it probably will,” Voss said. “Money is kind of like a bloated corpse. It’s ugly, and after a while it starts to smell bad, but if you poke at it long enough, it will tell you something. Give me what you have.”

“Thanks. I will definitely buy you a drink sometime.”

“Promises, promises.”

Tolman didn’t want to muddy the waters any more than necessary, so she gave Voss only the names of Michael Standridge and Kevin Lane, their army assignments, the dates the army had said they’d died, and their hometowns. She said nothing about Nick Journey or Fort Washita or Speaker Vandermeer or Chief Justice Darlington.

Tolman left Voss’s office and headed back toward her own. As she passed the break room, she saw a cluster of half a dozen people around the small TV set. She caught snippets of the audio: “… driver was injured in the blast as well … the chief justice’s husband reportedly watched from the porch … no claim of responsibility … on the heels of Speaker Vandermeer’s…”

Tolman elbowed her way into the crowd. “What the hell’s going on?”

Hudson turned and looked at her. His face was gray. He said nothing, his eyes boring into hers. Somewhere out in the office, a phone rang, then another, then another. Hudson said nothing, turned, and left the break room.

“What?” Tolman said.

The crowd parted and Tolman saw the TV. The HNC graphic on the bottom of the screen read, CHIEF JUSTICE DARLINGTON ASSASSINATED.

Without saying a word, Tolman ran back down the hall and threw open the door to Voss’s office.

Voss, startled, looked up at her.

“That project I asked you to do just got a lot more important,” Tolman said.

As she ran back toward her own office, she noticed that Hudson’s door was now closed.