Kane had quickly learned that the key to successfully dealing with Fred Immerson was knowing how far he could push things before his boss snapped. Kane returned to the office at twenty after five, waved cheerily at Immerson and started the paperwork on Albert Brownstein’s disappearance. Most of the other investigators had already left but Kane noticed Danny Rosewood pounding away on Stan Ewald’s computer.
“Agent Ewald said it was OK to use his machine,” Danny said when he noticed Kane watching him.
“Good.”
“He gave me a tip on interrogation techniques and I wanted to put it in my journal.” Rosewood gave Kane a weak smile.
“Good,” Kane repeated and turned back to his own machine. After a few more seconds of silence he heard Danny’s fingers back on the keys. He wants to talk about being an Agent, Greg thought, then corrected himself. He wants a friend.
Greg had just finished the case-intake notes when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, partner, having any fun?”
“Barrels and barrels,” Kane said, refusing to look up.
“Word is,” Grant Eustace grabbed a chair and rolled up next to Kane, “that Dad might be able to get us a piece of the Supremes Case.”
Kane turned away from the monitor and tried to figure out which of Useless’ irritations to respond to first. He wouldn’t have minded Useless calling Immerson “Dad” if he had had the balls to do it to the boss’ face, but, no, whenever Immerson was around Useless was all “Yes, Mr. Immerson” and “No, Mr. Immerson.” As far as Kane was concerned calling Immerson “Dad” only behind his back was the hallmark of a coward and a suck-up.
Useless’ second transgression was referring to the threat on the life of Mr. Justice Hopper as “the Supremes Case” as if it had anything to do with the Office of Special Investigations, which it absolutely did not. Thirdly, it was just plain stupid to think that anyone was going to let the Office anywhere near that investigation.
The Marshals, the Secret Service and the FBI were already engaged in a full-scale turf war over that one. The job of protecting federal courthouses and the judges in them belonged to the U.S. Marshals. The job of protecting high-ranking government officials was historically the province of the Secret Service and the job of investigating attacks on federal judges belonged to the FBI. Since this was still only a threat the Marshals and the Secret Service were claiming jurisdiction. Since it had the potential to become an actual attack the FBI wanted in. It was absolutely idiotic to think that anyone was going to let their little office get involved.
Eustace took Kane’s silence as interest and bent closer, lowering his voice.
“Whoever has a piece of catching the nut-job will get a big gold star on his record,” Eustace said. “I wouldn’t mind getting bumped up to GS 14. We could both use the extra money, right partner?”
Typical magical thinking, Kane thought. Just wanting something badly enough will get if for you. Glory-seeking moron! Greg bit his tongue and started typing.
“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Kane,” Eustace said, “but you do good work. I’m thinking that you can do your Sherlock Holmes voodoo while I keep the bosses off your back and together I bet we could break this thing. Division of labor, right?” Eustace gave Kane a friendly slap on the shoulder. Greg had been typing “searched” and scowled when it ended up “swarhed.”
That did it. Kane’s control snapped and he spun around.
“Grant, you’re a moron. And not just an ordinary moron. You’ve raised the bar on moronhood so high that if you got paid for it you’d qualify as a Professional Moron.”
“See, that right there,” Eustace said, laughing and slapping Kane’s shoulder again, “is why we make such a great team. You can get all your grouchy bits exercised on me instead of somebody who’ll take it personally. If you pulled that stuff on some FBI SAC you’d end up investigating people who put Canadian quarters in parking meters, but me, it just rolls off my back like a duck.” Like a duck? Greg thought. Oblivious, Eustace babbled on. “Then, once you’ve gotten it out of your system, you can go back to solving the case while I handle the bosses and type up the paperwork. Well, I won’t personally type it. The girl will handle that. Or, Kid Wannabee over there.” Eustace tilted his head in Danny’s direction.
Kane struggled to unfreeze his brain. So much stupidity, so little time.
“Grant, they’re not going to let us investigate a threat on Justice Hopper. It’s not going to happen.”
“Well, not with that attitude. Me, I prefer to think positive.”
Positively, Kane screamed inside his head. It’s an adverb!
Eustace glanced at Kane’s monitor. “What are you workin’ on? We got a new case?”
“Yes,” Kane answered through clenched lips. “The Administrator in charge of the HHS department that monitors importing potential bioterrorist materials has gone missing.”
“Missing, huh?” Eustace said, peering at the screen. “How long?”
“Since last Thursday morning.”
“Too long for your usual bender or shack-up. Any chance that he drove his car off a cliff or something?”
“There aren’t any cliffs between his apartment and the HHS building.”
“Into the Potomac maybe?”
“Unlikely,” Kane said with an edge that could cut steel.
“OK, well, we’ll find him I guess, sooner or later. Hope it’s sooner in case Dad can get us a piece of the Supremes Case.”
“Grant, go home. Please. Go home.”
“Yeah, good idea. It’s been a long day.”
Eustace smiled, gave Kane a last friendly pat on his shoulder and sauntered toward the door. Kane closed his eyes and took five long, slow breaths, holding each one for a count of two before exhaling, just the way he had been taught in anger management class. When he opened them again he and Danny were alone in the room.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Agent Kane?”
“What?”
“You were in the field all afternoon and now you’re working on your report so I thought that if you needed any records checked or something I could do that for you.”
“I can’t authorize any overtime.”
“That’s OK. I’ll do if off the clock. Maybe I’ll learn something, you know, for when I get to be an agent.”
Greg mentally did the math. Marty Fouchet needed Brownstein found ASAP. Technically he had a partner to help him but there was a reason he called Eustace “Useless.” Then there was Rosewood — no law enforcement experience, average intelligence, but friendly and anxious to please, essentially the human equivalent of a one-year-old Labrador retriever. It was a no-brainer.
“I need all of the surveillance tapes for the block around Albert Brownstein’s apartment for the entire week before he went missing. If that doesn’t get us anything then we’ll have to widen the search to the HHS building. I’m sending you my notes.” Kane pounded a few keys and copied the file to Stan Ewald’s machine.
“What should I look for?” Rosewood asked, apparently unfazed by the huge amount of work that Kane’s request entailed.
“If somebody grabbed Brownstein they probably would have cased his apartment. We’re looking for any person or vehicle that shows up too much, anyone who might be watching the building or Brownstein. He had a car but I followed up with his personal assistant. She told me that he took the bus to work unless the weather was bad so we’re looking for anyone who might have followed him from his building in the morning or from the bus stop back to his building at night. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to spot their car and get a plate number.”
Kane waited for questions or an excuse to get out of a job that was a lot bigger than Rosewood had expected but instead Danny said, “That’s a good idea, checking the area for the days before he went missing. I’m going to add that to my journal under ‘Things To Do When Starting A New Case.’ Thanks Agent Kane.”
Hmmmm, Kane thought. I wonder if there’s some way I can trade Useless for Rosewood? I just need to find the right lever. What would it take to get Useless to request a transfer?
— End of Death Never Lies Excerpt —
For links to websites where you can buy Death Never Lies visit the Death Never Lies page on David Grace’s website by TAPPING OR CLICKING HERE.