“Doug Granger,” Walker said, passing the guy back his wallet. The ID was a Private Detective license issued by the state of California. He was seated on the front fender of the Cuda, his pistol still in Walker’s hand. Granger had just given a four-word answer to explain why he’d been trailing Monica. “Your ex hired me.”
Monica said, “It can’t be true.”
“Believe me, Monica, I’ve heard that before. But it’s the truth. Don’t feel bad about it. Happens every day, and then some.”
“My ex?” Monica was shaking her head. “He’d never do that. I mean—why? We get along. He’s more than fine with the custody arrangement we have—I should be the one casing him, so why? Why would he?”
“Not mine to ask why.”
Monica took a few paces away, headed up the lane toward the street.
“How long?” Walker asked him.
“Two months,” Granger said.
“Two months?” Monica turned back, looking suddenly ill. She paced the alley next to the car.
Walker said to him, “So, you do this a lot?”
“Yep.”
“Plenty of spousal stuff.”
“Yep.”
“What’s her ex like? Compared to others?”
“No idea,” Granger said. He got up, pocketed his wallet, looked at the snub-nosed .38 in Walker’s hand. “I’ve never met him.”
“Do you do that often, with clients?” Monica said. She looked from him to Walker. “This could be bullshit. It could be someone posing as him.”
“Don’t meet clients often,” Granger said. “Sure, if they live outta state. It’s not ideal, but a job’s a job, and he was paying me for 24/7 surveillance, and that’s not cheap. Not for two months. I had to outsource.”
Walker said, “You’re sure it was her husband who hired you?”
“Of course.” Granger looked offended at the prospect. “He was only interested to see if there was infidelity. A custody thing, he said. I saw all his ID, the marriage and divorce papers, spoke on the phone a few times to hammer out the details.”
“Name?”
“I can’t—”
Walker spun the .38 around. He wouldn’t shoot the guy, but he’d happily knock a few answers out of him.
“Dan Kong.”
Walker said, “Monica?”
Monica looked away.
“Chinese national,” Granger said. “Based in Shanghai. Hence no face-to-face meeting. That’s it. A simple job. My bread and butter.”
“Right.” Walker looked at Monica, who was pacing at the end of the lane, looking at the ground and thinking hard.
“Look,” Granger said, “I’ve got photos of you two leaving the motel this morning. But I gotta say, this isn’t a relationship, is it? I’m not reading it. And you’ve showed no signs of being in any kind of relationship at any point—no offense.”
Walker said, “You used to be a cop?”
“Oklahoma City, twenty-six years.”
“You were outside Monica’s house last night?” Walker asked.
Granger nodded. “I saw you arrive. I was parked down on the same road you were on.”
“Yet you saw me enter?”
“Via a camera in the bush across the road. Close-area transmitter. Then I saw those guys roll up—then the camera went dead. I was about to get out of my car and proceed around to eyeball the situation when I saw you roll past me, in your car, down the hill—and I followed.”
Monica said, “Do you have any idea who those guys were?”
“Nope. Feds of some sort.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“I mean, gotta be, with tech like that?” Granger shook his head. “I mean, they had the means to shut down everything on the block—even my battery-powered surveillance package—battery powered, so it’s not like they cut the grid. Who could do that? What could do that?”
“An EMP,” Walker said.
“What—like a nuke?”
“There are other ways to generate an electro-magnetic pulse and deploy it. This one was on a drone.”
“Damn. A drone airplane? Damn.” He looked hesitant. Looked at the .38 in Walker’s hand. “This is about you, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Her?”
“Her brother.” Walker watched Granger’s face for any sign of recognition, any little tell. There was nothing. Maybe he hadn’t seen the news, but it was unlikely. Maybe he hadn’t heard the name Jasper Brokaw and put two and two together, but it was unlikely.
“Look, mister, whatever this is—wait . . .”
Then Walker saw him make the connection. Of the two names, one he was being paid to tail, and one that had been mentioned repeatedly on the news.
“Oh shit,” Granger said. “Shit. Your brother? That NSA guy that’s captured? Oh . . .” He looked at Walker. “Oh. You’re a Fed? Am I in trouble? Is this about—is this related to the Chinese? Oh shit . . .”
Walker looked to Monica. She was shaking her head and went back to pacing about.
“I’ll drop the client, okay?” Granger said. “Just leave me out of it. I’ll walk away, right now. Just give me a chance to walk away, with my license and reputation. That’s it. I’ll hand over all surveillance, all correspondence, everything.”
“You’ll stop following us,” Walker said, unloading the .38 and putting the six semi-wadcutters in his pocket. He knew from the pat-down that Granger didn’t have reloads; this old ex-cop wasn’t in the business of drawing his gun, let alone getting involved in shoot-outs. Walker passed the .38 over. “And you’ll do something for me.”
Granger holstered the gun and moved off the fender.
“Anything.”