Chapter 24

Mac grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen. He was grateful that there always seemed to be the makings for sandwiches there. He admired Paulina a lot. She was keeping this place running smoothly. There were meals. But if you didn’t make it there on time? There were sandwiches. No hassles, no nagging about meal time. The children were learning a lot in online school. The cleaners had been vetted by Stan Warren and were going to come in twice a week. Shorty paid them from the joint account. All organized by Paulina Moore.

He thought she and Janet had a lot in common — the ability to organize chaos without flinching.

Everyone had migrated to the large dining room they’d turned into a ground floor conference room.

“Today has been busy,” Mac said. “But let’s start with the last bit first. I talked to Nick. He’s coherent, smart, and grumpy — in other words, the attack didn’t affect his brain at all.”

Mac said more seriously, “The doctor says he’s on the road to recovery. That’s going to be a long road, but he’s started. So that’s good news, Anna.”

“OK, so he says the real target of the investigation that’s triggered this is not Anthony Whalen, although he got folded into it, or even McBride and his three stooges. It’s Captain Rourke.” He saw Stan Warren jerk at that, and raised an eyebrow in his direction. Stan shook his head, and Mac went on to tell them the rest of it.

“Nick insists Rourke was there that night, just to watch it go down. That’s cold.”

He told them about the visit to Whalen. Angie used the computer to flash some of her photos up on the wall.

“Andy Malloy has become a loose cannon,” Rand observed. He was leaning against the back wall. Mac didn’t think he’d ever seen Rand take a seat at the table — trapping himself. He wondered what demons had driven Rand to the Northwest and to the mountains. Something traumatic. Something had left him a very cautious and wary man. Like recognizes like, Mac thought wryly. “If this goes on long enough, Malloy’s own side will have to take him out before he destroys them.”

Mac snorted, but he agreed. “We probably don’t have long enough to wait him out,” he said dryly. “And he might take half of Seattle with him, but yeah, he’s becoming as dangerous to them as he is to us.”

He played the message from Whalen’s employee on his work phone, and Misaki jotted down the number. “You didn’t call it, did you?” she asked sharply.

Janet told them what would be in Thursday’s newspaper — Joe Conte had attended the press conference about the suicides that weren’t. “Makes me sick,” she added. “Mike, what did you find out about the stats?”

“Yeah, they’re incomplete,” he agreed. He had a beer in his hand. He was sitting next to Ruri and Misaki. Joe Dunbar was sitting with them too. He looked bleak. “Lorde was looking for Black suicides. But when you open up the search parameters, you find a lot of people are going to public spaces in the North Precinct to commit suicide. Most of them are BIPOC. Doesn’t anyone look at the police stats? The police keep track of all this shit, and I don’t think there’s anyone on the force who bothers to look at their own statistics.”

“And we need to figure out how not to in the future,” Mike agreed. “But those statistics ought to be considered a tool for spotting trends and solving crime. Why do they think they’re collecting them?”

Janet answered him: “They do it because they’re mandated to do it. And it’s done very begrudgingly. I don’t think it’s occurred to them to see it as a useful tool. They see it as something outsiders will use to criticize them.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Mike muttered. “Anyway. Yes, it isn’t just Black men. And it isn’t just men for that matter. There are a lot of suspicious deaths getting written off as suicides.” He hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I think the most endangered category are probably transwomen. But the sample size is small.”

Mac took a deep breath. He could see what he’d be doing after this story — a whole bunch of stories based on deep dives into the data. Well, if Mike could give him the numbers, he’d do the interviews. He saw Janet jot something down on her infernal notepad. Yup. Data stories ahead.

And damn. If what Mike said was true, they should have been doing them all along. He did do police stats stories, actually. Stats provided by the police about how many calls they answered, and so on. He was embarrassed that he’d never dug deeper.

“All of the suspicious suicides handled by the same team and the same assistant medical examiner?” Mac asked.

Mike nodded. “When you see the aggregate, you think damn, how did someone miss this? But really, it’s a couple of deaths per year. And some may be legit suicides. But, there were 228 suicides in 2012 compared to 28 homicides — guess what gets resources and what doesn’t.”

There was a murmur at that. Mac chewed on his lip. To hear the cops tell it, they were always stemming the tide against violence. But 28 homicides didn’t seem that bad to him. He did need to take a better look at those stats but shelved that thought for now.

“Anthony Whalen,” Janet said. “So, his lawsuit against the city is scheduled for a last attempt at mediation on Monday. That’s probably the trigger for the timing of this thing. But I wonder now how much of it Rourke was behind. A nudge here, a push there. And people like Anthony Whalen and Andy Malloy think it’s all their own idea. A question like, ‘Anthony, is this something your dad could help us plan out?’ A call to McBride and a suggestion that his team’s suicide recovery is going to be discovered. And suddenly they are all united against the man Rourke wants to take out.”

“I think that’s happening at the church,” Timothy blurted out. He looked upset. “Just like Steve Whitman was using the men’s Bible Study group to alert people to the stories the paper was working on? I talked to a friend who goes out there.”

Timothy saw the alarm on people’s faces, and he shook his head. “Not like that. He’s in one of the classes I had today. And I told him I was thinking about changing churches. I had heard there was good networking opportunities out there.”

“We had lunch,” Tim said. “He thought I’d like the church. And yes, there were lots of chances to get hooked up with internships, or even scholarships. But then he started talking about what he thought was cool — a church-wide emphasis for the fall on what it meant to be a citizen and a Christian. He said the new pastor was preaching on it. Bible study groups focus on it. That the whole church was focused on the same thing.”

Tim shook his head. “I asked for examples,” he said. “The first one he gave? Supporting cops who understood God’s law superseded man’s law, and that in the end, cops needed to enforce God’s law. That bothered me. He had other examples: praying for the defeat and death of the infidels who have infiltrated our government. And he made it very clear that he meant Democrats. Starting with Obama. He quoted Psalms 109.”

Mac knew that Psalm. He’d memorized it after he heard a sermon on it last spring in Mount Vernon. He quoted it now, ignoring the startled looks around the table.

6 Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand.

7 When he shall be judged, let him be condemned: and let his prayer become sin.

8 Let his days be few; and let another take his office.

9 Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow.

Janet had rolled her eyes when he quoted it to her the first time, and said most people started with Psalms 23. But once he knew what Psalms 109:8 meant, he saw the bumper stickers everywhere that just said that, nothing more.

“Yeah, that one,” Tim said. “But Mac? You asked what I thought? I think the church is being mobilized to... I don’t even know what to call it.” He stopped in frustration.

Janet looked at her son. “The church is being mobilized. Period. The church militant.”

Mac didn’t understand what that meant, but he recognized the dismayed expression on her face.

Tim frowned. “To some degree, I think it’s all the evangelical churches, but especially the independent megachurches. Until I listened to Rob today I hadn’t really noticed — but he really hates Obama as president. Called him a wimp, said he’s a Muslim, and a militant Black activist, and not even American. And he was really nasty about Michelle Obama.”

Tim flushed at that. Mac didn’t ask. He knew what the far right said about her — he’d seen it on the Sensei Facebook feed. Making Tim spell it out wouldn’t be kind.

“So the evangelicals are pushing for a more militant version of Christianity?” Stan Warren said with a frown. “And it’s starting with this almost fetish-like fervor to support the police.”

“Interesting,” Warren said slowly. “So they begin to find each other. Anthony Whalen and the people he knows. His father and the technology he commands. Other cops. Ex-cops. As long as they could add their own pet peeves to the list, they’re willing to collaborate,” Warren said. He was sitting next to Janet, but tipped back in his chair a bit, with his eyes closed as if he could better visualize how things connected that way. “So Andy Malloy says, ‘hell yeah, I’m in, if we can get that Davis reporter while we’re at it.’ McBride adds Joe Dunbar to the list because he’s worried about that fucked up scene at Green Lake Reservoir. And of course, the list grows from there as they screw up the drive-by.”

“The notion that Whalen’s team has gamed out other scenarios worries me,” Mac admitted.

“Yeah, that’s a concern,” Stan Warren agreed. “Want to bet one of them will look like the war games you guys got sucked into last spring in the Cascades?”

“Or the Sensei directly,” Shorty said. He’d been working on a laptop throughout the discussion. “Winston Whalen is in the database. So is Anthony.”

“Short list?” Mac asked. The Sensei had a large newsletter subscriber list. But he’d also had a more exclusive list — a list Mac had been on briefly.

“Yeah, Winston Whalen is. Not Anthony. Rourke is in the database, too. Short list.”

“Speaking of Whalen,” Mac said. “I need to nail down that rumor about him going bankrupt again. It was a sore point all right. He ended the interview when I brought it up. He was fine talking about all the rest of it — but the notion that he was a loser? It set him off big time.”

“I’ll get that for you,” Ruri promised. “It’s out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already filed.”

“Story for tomorrow?” Janet asked practically. “We need to keep the heat on. Conte will have the press conference. Mike? An info graphic to go with it — Problem is bigger than first thought. Mac?”

Mac chewed on his lip. “Hold off on Whalen a day,” he suggested. “Don’t fragment the suicide story. Gives Ruri a chance to track down the bankruptcy angle, and Misaki and I can work through the scenario aspect with our tipster.”

Janet made another note. “You going to talk to Lorde about what Nick had to say?” she asked.

Mac nodded. “He’s going to want to interview Nick,” he said. He looked at Warren. “You going to let him?”

Mac made a so-so gesture with his hand. “But not with Nick’s life. You have to be in there.”

Stan nodded. “You got a reason to distrust him? Or is this just business as usual?”

Mac thought about it. “Police chief overrules him 40 percent of the time,” he said at last. “That’s a red flag — not sure who the problem is, but that’s seems like a lot.”

Apparently, they were, Mac thought with amusement, as people packed up their computers and notebooks and filed out. “Stan?” he said softly. “Got something for you.”

Stan stayed back, and Mac rummaged in his backpack for the printout he’d made. “I did a background check on your boss,” he said. “You seemed wary, and I trust your instincts. But Rand indicated he thought he was a good guy. Still, there’s that whole western-cowboy vibe going on. All he needed was a toothpick and a Stetson hat.”

“So Janet has some databases that allow us to do significant backgrounders,” Mac said. “And I ran him.” He handed Stan the printout.

“He’s a bona fide hero,” Mac said. “Every hot spot the Bureau has had out west in the last two decades? He was there, and he actually was successful. I took the dates, googled the local newspaper for the stories. So if he wants to dress like he’s the last of the Texas Rangers? He’s earned it.”

Sam looked at him, nodded once. “Thanks,” he said. “Only a paranoid like you — like me — could understand. I didn’t know if I could trust him, and quite frankly I don’t trust anyone back in D.C. to ask. So, thanks.”

Mac nodded. “We’ve got people shooting at us from within and without law enforcement. We need to ID the bad guys. But it helps if we can nail down who might be the good guys. I mean, just playing the lottery there’s got to be a few, right?”

“And when did you turn into an optimist?” Stan Warren muttered as they walked out of the room.

Mac laughed. Angie was waiting for him. But so was Misaki. “Work? Then walk?” he asked. Angie nodded, and the three of them went upstairs to the computer room.

It had been a very long day, and it worried Mac. He was getting sluggish, and mistakes could be deadly. But Misaki was a night owl apparently. She was bouncing with eagerness to work on this part of it. “I wonder if they have a job opening,” she mused. “I’d be good at competitions like that.”

Mac glanced at her clothes. Still all black, but today it was jeans and a band T-shirt that slid off one shoulder. The hair and the makeup was still in place. He wondered suddenly if the hair was actually a wig? Must be. “Might have to tone down the clothes,” he said dryly. “They all looked like they dressed from the Gap. And not particularly well, either.”

Misaki grinned. “I can do that look,” she said confidently. “I have done that look.”

Misaki glanced at the clock. It was close to 10 p.m. and she seemed to deem that acceptable because she nodded once. “Dial into your voicemail,” she ordered.

Mac did and waited for her next instructions. Who knew? You could respond to the voice message from there. “It goes out as that number?” he asked, as they listened to the phone ring. Misaki nodded.

“Hi, this is Mac,” he said keeping his voice easy. “Is this a good time to talk?”

“Oh!” she said. There was a pause. He thought she might be walking to another room. “OK, I can now. I looked you up. You’re the one writing those stories this week? About the shooting in Sand Point.”

“I am,” he said. “I listened to your voicemail about the competitions. Does the story about the police officer getting shot in a drive-by last weekend sound familiar? If it was a cop instead of a crook?”

“Try talking about it to me,” he said, remembering to smile as he talked. A prof used to tell them to do that – it carried in the voice. And she was right. “I’m told I’m a good listener.”

“She does, actually,” Mac said. “And maybe more important? So does my boss — another woman.”

She laughed and sounded less stressed. “So at least once a month we are given a scenario to game out. Best solution wins a prize. And it’s a good bonus. I got it once.”

“Well you heard the one that freaks me out,” she said, a bit self-depreciatingly. “The one I won was for a town that has been taken over by zombies and we’re going in to rescue a family trapped in there. Really, most of them sound like potential games, you know?”

“That’s all the details you’re given? Go into the town, kill the zombies and rescue the family?” Mac couldn’t see the challenge.

“No there’s more to it than that, usually. Like that one, no one believes in zombies, so you can’t just kill them. You have to do it without being noticed — not by the zombies, not by the towns around the town. Sometimes it’s two-tier. Like that one. I figured out how to get in and get out — a visiting circus — and then I was sent a follow-up scenario where the circus animals got out and were infected, and we had to run for it. Silly really.”

“But this one? The question was how to keep the bad guys from calling into their dispatcher for backup? One in an isolated area, and one in a cul-de-sac neighborhood?”

Misaki made a slashing cut across her throat. Mac nodded. “Look, I’d like to talk further, but I can’t right now. Can you call me back tomorrow? I’ll be at that number between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. OK?”

“Someone was eavesdropping,” she said sounding troubled. “Tracing the call, I think.”

“But someone now knows she’s talking to the newspaper?” Mac asked. He was already heading out the door.

Mac had Angie drive to the Bellevue movie theater at Crossroads. He used his cell and dialed the number again. No one picked up. He hit redial. “Hello?” someone said cautiously. The same girl.

“Sure,” she said, and sounded puzzled. “You’re calling from a different number?”

“My phone,” he said easily. “Look, I’m a bit worried about your safety. Do you have a friend or someone you could go stay with? Someone who isn’t connected to your job?”

“No,” he assured her. A lie, but no one she needed to worry about. “But I’m the kind of guy who carries an umbrella in the car in August, you know?”

She laughed. “I can go home and see my folks,” she agreed. “But tonight?”

“Yeah,” he said sourly. “That’s when I’m at the office on deadline. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

He could hear a pounding on the door. “Were you expecting someone?” he asked her.

“In the bathroom. It’s the best place for private phone calls. I didn’t want my roommates to come home and walk in on our call.”

“Listen, Sharon. I want you to stay in the bathroom. Do not open the door,” Mac said urgently. “Give me your address. OK? I’m going to come check on you. If it’s cops? Cool. If it’s someone pretending to be cops? Not so cool.”

“OK,” she said after a pause. She gave him an address in Bothel. He repeated it back to her, and Angie put the car in gear and headed there. Mac kept Sharon on the line.

Whoever was at the door went away. Sharon was tense, but Mac didn’t let her hang up. “Humor me,” he said. “I was a Marine. Paranoid is kind of my middle name.”

She giggled. He got her to talk about working for Whalen. She told him about the work, about the websites they managed. About the programming she was doing. “Good wages?” he said casually.

“Pretty good,” she said. “Comparable to Microsoft, although they’re not the best either. But....”

“Last week, Mr. Whalen asked us if we could wait a week for a paycheck. He promised a big bonus if we would. Said an investor was holding up a check.”

“No,” she said. “Last time it was just a weekend though. I’m job hunting. I think we all are. It’s not a good sign.”

“No, it doesn’t sound good,” he agreed. Angie pulled into a parking lot outside a two-story apartment complex. It was a bit rundown, but Mac could see it as a place for a bunch of recent grads to rent. Angie pulled through the parking lot slowly. He studied the cars. He nodded toward a black SUV. The plates in back were obscured. He didn’t see anyone in it when they drove by. Mac grimaced.

“Sharon?” he said. “Tell me about your complex. How do you get inside your apartment? Where do you park?”

He had her walk him through her nightly routine. “Any other way out of your apartment? Some way that doesn’t lead to that parking lot?”

“Sure,” she said. “I can go out the back side of the building to the walk along the river.”

Mac winced. No, that wasn’t an improvement. “OK,” he said. “Listen. There is a suspicious vehicle in your lot. No one is in it. But I don’t like it. My girlfriend Angie is driving — you met her today, right? She’s driving a blue Honda Civic. She’s going to pull into the no-parking strip at the base of your steps. I want you to come down those steps briskly, and get into the passenger seat, OK? Don’t hesitate. Don’t look around. If someone calls your name? Don’t pause for any reason. Got that?”

“I’m going to check things out. Angie will pick me up after you’re in the car.”

When Sharon agreed, Mac had Angie pull through the lot and drive back around to the main entrance. While she was making the turn back into the parking lot, he slid out of the car, his Glock in his pocket. Angie pulled smoothly into the lot and parked where he’d described. He blended into the shrubbery and pulled out his Glock.

Mac didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn toward him either. Anderson wasn’t who he was worried about.

“Who else is out here — Malloy?” Mac asked in the same quiet voice Anderson was using.

“Got a call that someone was talking to the press,” Craig said. “Malloy called me for backup. Yeah, he’s out there.”

“And are you? You going to back him up?” Mac asked, thinking the man was crazier than a loon. Might be crazier than Malloy.

“Sure — if someone shoots at him, I’ll shoot back,” Craig said. Mac could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “But you’re not going to shoot at him, right?”

“Might want to check out Angie’s friends,” Craig suggested. “Not sure how reliable this one is. Seems a bit flaky.”

“No,” Mac agreed. “She’s not flaky. That’s why I went after her. Not going to let her go either.”

“You do that,” Craig said. “I wish I’d done a better job of it with my girl back in the day. I probably wouldn’t be playing robbers and robbers with a stupid ex-cop like Malloy.”

“Not too late, Craig,” Mac said. “I’ve kept your name out of things. Walk away.”

“Can’t, until you take them all down, Mac. They’ve got dirt on me, and I’m stuck. You clean house? And the dirt goes away.” He snickered at the pun.

Even Mac had to laugh a bit. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. “Keep your head down.”

“Always,” Craig said. “There goes your girl. And there’s goes Malloy after them. On foot. Stupid bastard.”

Mac laughed. He let his Glock dangle along his side, and when Angie pulled back along the curb, he slid into the back seat. At least it was a four door, he thought a bit disgruntled. But there sure wasn’t any leg room.

“Yes,” Mac said. He glanced out the back window. “Duck!” he ordered when he saw Malloy stand in the street with his gun in a two-handed grip. “A bit of weaving would be good.” He turned so he could shoot back if he had to. But he saw Anderson walk up to Malloy — just two men arguing in the street. Mac rolled his eyes. Like that wasn’t conspicuous or anything.

“You said something about your parents’ place?” he said at last. Sharon looked back at the two men arguing in the street, and she shakily gave him an address in Kirkland. Thank God. He didn’t feel like riding all over greater Seattle in the backseat of a Honda Civic.

And given Craig’s comment about flaky, he wasn’t taking her to the safe house either.

“How did you get on with Whalen?” he asked idly thinking about Misaki’s idea to apply.

“He goes to my church,” she said. “When I graduated, Dad introduced me to him after church one Sunday. They attend the same men’s fellowship.”

Angie pulled up in front of a ranch style house and parked. Sharon started to get out.

“Sharon?” Mac said. “You are in way over your head. And he’s not even paying you? Call in and give your notice and don’t go back. Call your roommates. Tell them you’ve lost your job and you’re moving home. Don’t tell them where you are. Don’t tell your work where you are.”

“And call me in the morning,” Mac agreed. He got into the front seat. Angie drove away.

Mac considered that. He told her what Craig had said about flaky. “And she goes to the same church, Angie. I’m not going to risk adding her to the safe house,” he said. “If she does what I told her to do, she’ll be fine. If she doesn’t? Well, at least she won’t bring all of us down with her.”

Angie thought about it. “No,” she said slowly. “It seemed a bit convenient.”

Mac shook his head. “He might be using them to design video games for all we know. And then he slips in something he needs. He would still need someone to actually run the gig Friday night. One of his techs, would be my guess. Maybe two. Misaki will know.”

“You going to call Lorde tonight?” she asked as she drove through Clyde Hill toward the Parker house. “You told Janet you would.”

Mac glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly midnight. He checked his instincts. Lorde needed to know. “Yeah,” he said. “Either I run the risk of waking him up tonight, or I wake him up at 6 a.m. So better to do it now.”

She nodded and pulled into a garden center parking lot. Mac raised an eyebrow. “Janet likes it,” she said. Mac grinned.

Seeing no lights behind her, she drove the six or so blocks to the house. She turned off her lights once she hit Evergreen Drive. Mac was intrigued. “Why?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It feels like there’s someone watching the place,” she said. “No point in giving rise to paranoia about cars coming and going this late.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed, and he studied her thoughtfully. “Any reason for thinking someone is watching? Or is it just paranoia speaking? And remember, I think paranoia is smart.”

Angie laughed. She rolled down the windows so the guard could see in. It was Benton Weeks. He nodded at the two of them and opened the gate. Mac still didn’t like the guard gate setup. The guard house was inside the gate, which was good, but the gate was bars. You could shoot through it. And it wasn’t electrified either — a person could go over it. Mac grinned, he’d watched that happen the last time he’d been out here. The guard got distracted by a pretty television reporter, and a protester had gone over the gate. It had been an amazing clusterfuck that had been just the distraction he’d needed to get in.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough of a distraction to get everyone out, and Danny had paid the price. He clamped down on that thought. This house held bad memories, no lie.

Angie drove down to the house and parked her car out of sight. “Call Lorde,” she said. “Then come to bed.”

Mac’s eyes crinkled. “We could skip that first step, proceed directly to the go to bed step.”

Mac found a quiet spot in one of the many rooms in this 30,000 square foot house. Shorty had once described it as being almost large enough to house a Nordstrom. He didn’t know why Parker thought he needed a house the size of a department store, but it sure helped when you had.... Mac had to pause and think, two families, two couples, and seven additional adults? Thirteen adults and seven kids? And an oversized dog? He wasn’t even sure he had an accurate count. He shook his head at that. But there was plenty of room and then some.

He sighed and pulled out Lorde’s number and called it. It rang, but he didn’t pick up. Mac frowned. It was a different number, he realized. He sent a text message identifying himself, waited, and called again.

“Old one got hacked. We upgraded telephone security,” Mac said. “So I talked to Nick today. He’s his usual irascible self — good news. But he says this is about Rourke. The rest are just tagging along.” He repeated everything Nick had told him.

“It’s been a year, Captain Lorde,” Mac said. “Whalen’s case is dragging on because he keeps picking at it. But you should have moved on to other cases, other cops. So Rourke moving people off targets a year ago is significant, and it brought him to your attention. But your office focuses on cops who have a pattern of abuse not one-offs. Rourke is a bad actor. And that wasn’t the only incident.”

Lorde sighed. “No it wasn’t the only incident. I’m not clear what his agenda is. And maybe he just does other people’s bidding. I haven’t found enough evidence to get banking data however, to see if he’s on the take.”

“Washington Federal is the only one I’ve found,” he said finally. “And I just gave you enough rope to hang me.”

Mac laughed. “Not you I’m after, though,” he said. “Do I get a hint of the bigger example of Rourke’s behavior?”

“Do you know what swatting is?” Lorde asked. “Check the stats on no-knock warrants and mis-served warrants.”

Damn it, they had to do a better job of covering the department’s stats! Covering the department period. “Can’t be that many,” Mac said slowly.

“That’s all I have for you, Mac. I’m going to want to talk to Nick about Rourke being there that night. The FBI going to allow me in?”

“Ask for Stan Warren,” Mac replied, his mind on no-knock warrants. “He sounded agreeable as long as he can be in the room with you.”

“Yes,” Mac said with a laugh. “You have my permission to go back to sleep. Lucky you.” He wondered if Shorty and the Manga girls were still up. He didn’t think he could wait until morning.

They were, of course. Mike Brewster was in the computer room as well. Joe Dunbar was gone — well he was a cop with a thing for the Manga girls, not a true computer geek. And no Tim.

“So a couple of things came up,” Mac said. He told them what had happened at Sharon’s place. “I don’t completely trust that whole thing, but it’s interesting. I do believe her that she didn’t get paid.”

Ruri nodded and turned back to her computer. Mac watched her for a moment and shrugged. She’d tell him when she was ready to. And then he told them about Lorde’s comments.

“Someone calls in something that sends a SWAT team after an innocent person?”

Mike nodded and turned back to his computer and started tapping keys rapidly, looking into something. Mac looked at Shorty and Misaki. “And I’m still thinking about that scenario gig,” Mac said. “I wonder if there’s a recent one that involves us.”

Misaki smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “I put in my application to work for him,” she said. “Phone interview tomorrow morning.”

“Well, he’s going to have an opening if Sharon does what I suggested. But don’t count on a paycheck. And you may not qualify if he’s recruiting primarily from his church,” Mac pointed out.

“No, but I thought I’d mention he should give me a task to game out to see if he likes my work.”

“You’ve got balls,” Mac said with a shake of head. “Phone interview, right?”

“We’re getting close to the end point, Mac. If Anthony Whalen has a court day with a mediator on Monday? They’ve got the weekend to get it done. Even if he really is the tail wagging the dog, he’s also got the resources. So Rourke and McBride can’t just ride it out for a bit. They’re coming. If not tomorrow, this weekend.”

Mac considered that and nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “So what’s their to-do list?”

“Rodriguez,” Mike said, not looking away from his computer. “They’ve got to get to him somehow.”

“And you,” Shorty said. “You’re Andy Malloy’s agenda. They lose their best — or craziest — shooter if you slide off the to-do list.”

“If they can get Joe Dunbar and Nick Rodriguez, the cases fall apart. And to get them, they’ve got to get me to keep Malloy aboard. Is that what you’re saying?” Mac asked. He didn’t disagree.

“And to shut up the newspaper?” Mike asked. “Wasn’t one of Win Whalen’s threats against the paper itself — and the publisher?”

Mac snorted. “There is no such thing as a fiscally sound newspaper,” he said sourly. “Hasn’t been in decades. The Examiner is privately owned. I don’t know where the money comes from beyond the publisher. I mean ad sales, obviously, and circulation. But Whalen isn’t an advertiser — not the right kind of business to need to advertise. Is he an investor?” Mac shrugged. “No clue.”

Shorty chewed on his lip. “I might be able to find out,” he muttered. Then he looked up. “And Mac? Rourke is in the Sensei data base. And he’s shortlisted.”

“Shit,” Mac said. “Just run the whole department against that database will you?”

“You’re the one who said the end is near,” Mac reminded him. “And Mike? You might run that same file against the church membership. Or have Tim do it?”

“Tim went to bed,” Mike said. “Something’s bothering him, Mac. Should that be worrying us?”

He wondered if there was anything else he needed to do. And when he couldn’t think of anything, he wandered out of the room, and up the stairs to the room he and Angie were sharing.

She was asleep. He stood in the doorway and watched her. He liked this — liked coming home to her, even if it was just a shared room. When this was done, they needed to talk.

Mac felt an almost overwhelming wave of protectiveness — and panic that he wouldn’t be able to protect her. To protect any of them. He shook his head. And then he went into the bathroom and got ready for bed. He slid under the covers, and Angie rolled toward him, snuggling against him, her head on his shoulder. He pressed her head there and stared at the ceiling.

He wished he believed in the Kate Fairchild’s God so that he could pray — pray that he would be able to keep all of these people safe. He’d done the best he could to install proper security measures, and to instill some sense of personal safety and awareness in the individuals out here. He tried to think if there was anything else he could have done. Nothing came to him. Maybe he would talk to Stan, Rand and Joe in the morning. Go over everything one more time.