One thing that Sloane had learned from her parents growing up on a ten-thousand-acre ranch in Montana was to treat everyone with respect. Ranch hand or cattle buyer, farrier or banker, be kind and it would come back to you in spades.
She’d taken that mentality to college and then the Marines. She never used her rank unless required for her job, she never treated the enlisted as inferior just because they didn’t have a college degree. Here in the FBI, she was surprised by how some agents treated civilian staff as borderline servants. Polite, sure, but few agents cared to make personal connections with the people who supported them.
Sloane knew every civilian who worked in or with her squad. She knew the guards at the front desk by name. It was a skill her mother had instilled in her and it served her well.
Especially this morning.
She went to the IT department and asked to see Vikram Mehta. Vik had helped her with a computer problem she had the first week she was on staff, and she’d come to him multiple times to learn more about the FBI system. He was smart and knowledgeable, and had worked in the IT department for years.
“Hey, Agent Wagner, what can I help you with?”
“Is there a private office where we can talk?”
“Sure, is there a problem?”
“No, but I need some help, and it’s confidential.”
They took a small office and Sloane said, “Do you know how the LAPD/FBI portal works?”
She knew he did. He’d helped develop it years ago.
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Is there a log of who accesses the portal on either end? For example, if I were to review cases in the portal, does it generate a log of my access, badge number, time, date?”
“Yes, but it’s not used for anything. It’s just a log file.”
“But you have it.”
“I can run a log under any parameters.”
“Is it possible to access the portal and not have the visit logged?”
“No. I mean, it’s technically possible to be unknown—use a 999 code instead of your employee number. But the computer IP, time, date, request is all logged. Now I’m curious. Especially since the portal is rarely used except in joint investigations.”
“I need to see the log for February 17 and 18 of this year. Every access into the portal—who, where, when. Is that possible?”
He hesitated.
“If I need permission, I’ll get it.” She could have Granderson approve it, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal she had a direct line to the SAC.
“No, of course not. You said confidential, right?”
She nodded.
He motioned for her to follow him. Without talking, he logged into his extensive system and typed rapidly. Screens flew by, then he typed in the dates she’d given him and hit Print. A second later his printer spat out a page. He handed it to her.
It was a log of one access to the portal on February 17, at 2215 hours. And it was indeed a 999 code, so the individual didn’t put in their badge number or their ID.
“Whose IP address?”
“ASAC Rebecca Chavez. It’s her computer.”
Sloane didn’t know for certain that this was the Chen raid, but the time and days matched.
“Thank you, Vik. I appreciate this.”
“Anytime, Agent Wagner.”
“Call me Sloane,” she said.
She went to her cubicle and, after glancing around to make sure no one paid her any attention, sent the information about the log and IP address to Granderson.
There had to be a reason. Her son worked for the city, was involved in housing grants that were the subject of Dyson’s investigation. Was there another connection? How deep did they go? Sloane had already looked into her husband and immediate family. But what about extended family? Friends?
She might tip her hand. Now, however, was the time.
Sloane dug deep into everyone who touched Rebecca Chavez’s life.
As Matt drove back to police headquarters, he didn’t push Kara to talk. She was sullen after leaving First Contact.
Michael called when they were halfway to LAPD headquarters.
“Michael, you’re on speaker with me and Kara.”
“Kara’s Colt is missing. There are signs that the lockbox was picked—it’s a standard metal box with a keyhole. Nothing else appears disturbed.”
“How did they get in?” Kara asked.
“I don’t know. No sign that the condo’s locks were tampered with, but I could be missing something. He could have had a key. Your neighbor said he hasn’t seen anyone suspicious. Someone should print the place.”
“I’ll call Popovich,” Matt said. “But whoever took it likely wore gloves. Secure the place and meet us at LAPD.”
“Copy that. Sorry, Kara,” Michael said.
“I’ll live,” she muttered. “You know what this means. That my gun was used to kill Chen, and probably to kill Thornton.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Matt said. “We don’t have ballistics back yet.”
“We’ll know by the end of today,” Kara said. “Clearly someone lured Thornton out to kill him, using my name and gun. That was a big fucking bread crumb for the FBI to follow right to me.”
Michael said, “Traffic was miserable coming out here, so it’ll be at least an hour before I’m back.”
Matt hit End and glanced at Kara. “We’ll find the gun and the killer.”
“None of this helps us solve Craig’s murder. Different killer, different method. All because he was going to expose corruption?”
“They aren’t thinking,” Matt said. “A public corruption case like this can take months—even years—to prosecute. It’s extremely difficult to prove. But murder is a major crime.”
“Politicians don’t like their dirty secrets being exposed. It could cost them an election, right?”
Matt paused. “There is an election in five weeks.”
“See? Something like this comes out now as people are sending back their ballots? People might pull their heads out of the sand and look around.”
“You don’t have a lot of faith in the system.”
“I vote in every election. I do a little research and end up skipping half the races because I think they’re all bad.”
“Some people vote because of issues, so the person might not be the best, but voters agree with the issues they represent.”
“When has a politician not flipped on an important issue? The last time I voted because of an issue was a guy for mayor because he was supported by the police union and he talked a good game about making sure cops had the tools to do our job. I was a new cop, I thought yeah, I want tools, I want a good partner, I want more training, better guns, the whole nine yards. He wins, great! Not six months later he fucks us all over jumping on the media bandwagon about a video taken out of context where two cops tasered a suspect. First zap, the guy keeps coming, so second cop gets in on it, guy goes down hard. The prick turns against us, apologizes, gives the guy money for his injuries and rehabilitation and pain and suffering. When the truth came out—full body cam footage, witness statements, drug screening to show the guy was wired on meth, and proof he’d hit a cop with his car—did he apologize? No. Then he screwed us over in the next budget.”
“You hold grudges.”
She shrugged. “About some things, I guess I do. So I skip most of the races—does that make me a bad citizen? Maybe it’s the people who vote for these idiots who are bad citizens, because if no one put up with the bullshit, maybe better people would want to get involved.”
“I see your point.”
“You probably vote in every election for every race.”
“I vote using the lesser-of-two-evils philosophy.”
Kara laughed. He was happy to hear the sound. He parked in the garage and turned off the ignition. “We’re going to find Craig’s killer.”
“I want the killer, but I really want the person who hired him.”