Valley of Spies
Page 9
“What’s your second theory?” she said.
“The second theory is that perhaps one of the doctor’s patients abducted her.”
“In New Zealand?” she said. “Really?”
How far do you follow someone?
Judy walked hand in hand with Dennis down the windy streets of Blenheim and wondered. Growing up in Western Australia she’d had a vision of how her life would unfold, and initially, it had gone according to plan.
Until it didn’t. There was her husband’s affair, the divorce, his involvement in a criminal ring, and his imprisonment. Her own career in the AFP had gone well.
Until it didn’t. She had been rocked by the internal affairs investigation of her police work, and she was now on a brief vacation.
Judy felt the warmth of the sun on her face as they sauntered like confused high schoolers past shop windows. What was going to happen to her and Dennis? Was he really going to return to Perth after his two-week contract, or was this the beginning of the end? She knew he was bored, but was he bored from lack of activity or bored of her? Was she not interesting enough?
“Sometimes I can almost feel you thinking,” Dennis said.
“Don’t be silly.”
“No, really. It’s almost like there’s a small whirring sound, like a computer hard drive. And I feel you drifting away into thought.”
“Not likely, Dennis. You’re making things up again.”
“And tell me, why do you raise your voice at the end of a sentence, even though it’s not a question? I think it’s an Aussie thing.”
Judy laughed. “Yes, apparently it is an Aussie thing. It’s called ‘Australian question intonation.’ Don’t ask me where it came from. Maybe left over from the convicts first sent to Australia.”
“Well, it’s charming and a little confusing because I think you’re asking a question, but you’re just making a statement.”
“Ha, that pretty much sums you up, Mr. Cunningham: you’re endlessly confusing.”
His phone rang.
“Yes, this is Dennis Cunningham. Oh, Dr. Caldicott. Yes, thanks for getting back to me. Is there any chance I could call you back in five minutes? This number? Great, I’ll call you back right away.”
“Who’s Dr. Caldicott?” Judy asked.
“The last person to see Forrester alive. They were here in Blenheim on a side trip for a wine tour. Old colleagues.”
Dennis looked around and noticed a coffee shop a half-block away.
“Do you mind if we stop in there for a few minutes while I call her back?”
“No,” Judy said, as their hands separated.
He walked rapidly, and she struggled to keep up.
Judy watched Dennis take out his pen and a small notebook, open it to the first blank page, connect his earbuds to his phone, and call.
She sipped a flat white coffee and observed him closely. She was intrigued about how this abrasive investigator would coax critical information out of a highly educated and distressed woman 9,000 miles away.
Her answer came right away.
“Yes, I’m sure this is very distressing for you,” he said, exuding empathy. “I can’t imagine how awful this whole experience has been.”
She watched him nod in apparent sympathy as Dr. Caldecott talked about the trauma caused by the sudden disappearance of her friend and travel companion. This was followed by a lengthy back and forth as Dennis commiserated with her.
But, Judy noticed, he also began to gently prod the woman for details.
He would slip in questions like: Did Dr. Forrester have headaches often on the trip? Did she seem unhappy about anything in her life? Did she complain about any of her patients, her family, her health?
After fifteen minutes of this, Judy finished her coffee and got up to stretch.
Her phone pinged, and she saw that her son Trevor was texting her.
r u in kiwiland yet?
yes, blenheim. wish u were here. charming place. more british than aussie.
some blokes thinking of holiday there. could i go?
grades first
u r a tigermom
ggrrrrrrr
r u with dennis?
yes, he’s on assignment. joining him for a spell
is he happy here?
in WA?
yes
think so. y u ask?
want u to be happy
am happy
really?
really
u seem stressed lately
work
why did u take vaca? grandma said u r unhappy there
u should pay attention to grades; grandma exaggerates
r u moving to US?
who told u that?!
wondering
back to studies; no worries about moving!
Later, Dennis sat at the bar in the hotel and leafed slowly through his notebook.
“So?” Judy asked.
“Caldecott is crushed with guilt. Seems depressed. Kept repeating that she should have walked with her friend to the drug store, but thought the town was safe.”
“That’s it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing momentous. She said Forrester seemed fine; was relaxed, funny, and they enjoyed the wine tours. Said she never complained about her husband, her career, and never mentioned her patients. Caldecott mentioned that it was unethical for psychologists to discuss patients with each other unless the patient’s identity was hidden and there was some valid clinical reason to seek another opinion.”
“Do you believe Caldecott was involved in her disappearance?’
“No. I mean that’s what I think after a single long-distance phone call, but that’s my instinct.”
“Did she have anything to add to your investigation?”
“Not really.”
“You’re running out of time.”
“I know.”
They had dinner at a pub and then sauntered through the chilly evening.
“I think I’ve lost your attention,” she said.
“What?”
“You seem lost in thought. I thought joining you here would be fun, but I should have remembered how intense you get when you’re on the trail of something or someone.”
“Do I seem preoccupied?”
“Ha, just a little!”
“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful about inviting you here. I knew you were having a tough time at work. And I missed you.”
“Well, you could show it every now and then.”
Dennis stopped on the sidewalk, pulled Judy into his body and kissed her.
“That helps a little,” she said.
“Don’t ever get confused about my feelings for you,” Dennis said underneath the cone of white light from a street lamp. “I’m just a little off-kilter right now. But not with you. Never with you.”
“Perhaps I’m feeling fragile these days. I don’t know,” she said, as they continued to walk.
At the hotel, they stopped off for a drink at the bar.
“You really are beautiful,” Dennis said suddenly. “Stunning.”
“I beg your pardon?” Judy laughed.
“Just stating the obvious.”
“Remind me to complain more often about losing your attention,” she said.
“I can’t wait to show you some attention later,” he said.
“My word,” she said. “A man on a mission.”
It might have been the drink at the bar, or just the moment, but there was an explosion of raw sexual passion when they got back to the hotel room. He kissed her neck the second the door closed behind them, and they could barely make it to the bed, undressing in awkward movements by tossing off clothing everywhere.
Afterward, Judy lay on her side pointing away fr
om him. Dennis lay on his back. He ran his finger down her spine, to the deep curve at the base.
“You’re tickling me.”
“Just checking you out. You have a nice behind. Or arse, as you Aussies say. Very shapely.”
“Oh, please.”
“Just saying.”
The phone sounded like a klaxon and Dennis knocked it off the bedside table trying to reach it. He cursed several times and used the charging cord like a fishing line, slowly pulling the phone up to the bed.
“Hello?”
“Louise here. Sorry to call you at this hour.”
“What hour is it?” he asked.
“My math says it’s 3 a.m. there; it’s 9 a.m. here and you’re seventeen hours ahead.”
“OK, you win the math test. What’s up?”
“Against all odds, I was able to get the list of agency employees seeing Forrester.”
“How the hell did you know I wanted that list?”
“Simpson bitched about your request in another meeting, so I just ran behind him on it. HR caved when I told them of the director’s impatience. They coughed up the list.”
“Well, that’s a welcome bit of initiative. Can you send it to me right now?”
“Yes, right away.”
“Do you recognize anyone on the list? Anyone I know or should know?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling you.”
“OK.”
“My name is on the list.”
Dennis concentrated on a thin sliver of light from outside the hotel room that crept through a crease in the curtains. It cut a bright line down the wall. He stared at the wall, blinking in the dark room. Judy stirred next to him.
“Cunningham.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About why you never told me from the beginning you were seeing Forrester. Seems like an important fact to leave out.”
“I realize that, and that’s why I’m calling. I made a mistake but wanted to come clean right away. I didn’t think the fact that I was seeing her was relevant. But I’m telling you, aren’t I?”
“How long had you been seeing her?”
“Less than a year. I liked talking to her. This is a stressful job.”
“How many names are on the list?”
“Five, counting me. I also have some bad news about the list.”
“Like what?”
“Only one of the names is interesting,” she said.
“Besides you?”
“Stop it, Cunningham.”
“I’m serious, Louise. I’d call it really, really strange that you never told me you were seeing her. I’ll withhold judgment on that for now.”
“Fine but hear me out. The other three are low-level employees. One is a new analyst, she’s only twenty-seven years old. One is an administrative assistant, and another is an accountant in the finance department. Only one is a male, the interesting one. The name is Kyle Keating, a senior analyst for on the Middle East. His specialty is Iran.”
Dennis refocused on the sliver of light on the wall. He could hear Louise’s breath rustling across her phone’s mouthpiece.
“I’m sending the list to you now. Call me if you need anything else.”
“One question,” he said. “Why did you recommend me for this job?”
“I already told you: we needed a fresh set of eyes, and the director wanted my advice. I suggested you because you’re good at finding people, or what happened to them anyway. And you’re not afraid to step on toes.”
“Can you make sure to send me the personnel files of all of the people on the list, not just the list of names?”
“Sure.”
“Including your file.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll have it right away. Goodnight.”
“What the hell was that about?” Judy asked, her mouth pressed against the pillow.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. This case is curiouser and curiouser.”
“What?” she said turning toward him the in dark.
“I think that’s a quote from Alice in Wonderland,” he said, “or maybe Louise in Wonderland.”
“I think you’re a stubbie short of a six-pack,” she said turning back on her side.
“Is that a good thing?”
“No. Go to sleep.”
Chapter 8
Judy tore another small piece from her croissant and ate it; Dennis sipped at his coffee, looking out the hotel window into the blustery daylight.
“You spent all morning reading those reports from Louise. Anything strike you?”
“Besides Louise’s odd behavior?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“This guy Keating is interesting. He’s fifty-six years old, been at the agency for twenty-two years, and is the chief Iran guy. His personnel file is nothing but superlatives and promotions. It’s hard to think why he was seeing Forrester. And his Iranian connection is obviously interesting.”
“Did you have access to Forrester’s notes on her sessions with him?”
“No. HR doesn’t have that and wouldn’t have it. They just have a notification that he was seeing an authorized therapist.”
“Well, who has Forrester’s therapy notes then?”
“They must be in her file cabinet.”
“Can you get access to those notes?”
“I would hope so, though I don’t know the legality of that. Medical files are pretty sacrosanct, even for the agency. Forrester kept a home office and I know she used notes with me. My guess is the notes are in her home office locked up.”
“I’m sure her husband would allow you to look at them.”
“Maybe.”
“When are you going to talk to him?”
“According to my Mutt-and-Jeff team from kiwi intelligence, Forrester’s husband flew to New Zealand immediately after being contacted by authorities about her disappearance. He came with one of his adult kids, they stayed for ten days, then went home when they couldn’t find her. They were pretty upset, apparently, and created a fuss at the US Embassy in Wellington.”
“Wonder who Mr. Forrester met with here in the police department?”
“I don’t think he would have met with the police; probably met with the folks from kiwi intelligence.”
“I’m sure he met with local police,” Judy said. “It was most certainly a law enforcement issue initially.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. Didn’t you say that it took a while to pin the disappearance on the Iranians? In the meantime, it was a police investigation. I’m sure Mr. Forrester met with local police at some point.”
“Damnit, of course he did. Colin and Rangi never brought that up. Hell, I’ll just wander down to the police department in Blenheim here and have a chat.”
“We’re friendly with the Kiwis at the AFP. I’m sure I can find the person who initially handled the case.”
Dennis kept re-reading Louise’s personnel file, drawn to her meteoric rise in the agency. The tough, diminutive blonde had served a stint in Afghanistan leading a team of SEALS as part of the kill-and-capture Omega Program. Later, on assignment in Beirut, she survived a devastating car bombing at a compromised safe house. She’d been buried in rubble for almost twelve hours; her left foot was so badly mangled that it was amputated.
By the time Dennis met Louise she had been unhappily detailed to the Inspector General’s office, treating the transfer to the agency’s watchdog as a demotion due to her disability. Dennis barely noticed her odd gait as a result of her prosthetic foot.
Yet Dennis never felt comfortable working with Louise, and his suspicions were rewarded when he discovered her subterfuge. She had ingratiated herself with her former clandestine operations group by tipping them off to impending OIG investigations.
The OIG was barely tolerated by agency employees and contractors who were offended by the oversight. They also worried—not unfairly—about being scapegoated as a result of poorly planned and executed programs. The inspector general had the further complication of reporting to the House and Senate intelligence committees, as well as the CIA director. It was a messy and fraught department that investigated everything from misused funds and poorly managed contracts to criminal activity by off-the-reservation employees.
Dennis had a celebrated career within the OIG for his no-nonsense, abrasive investigatory style. But after several cases involving employee corruption and murder, he had grown too cynical and depressed; he slipped away to the other side of the world from Langley, following the woman he loved.
But now Louise had resurfaced in the CIA director’s inner circle, pushing a retired, cranky, former OIG investigator as the antidote to an agency problem.
Was Louise to be trusted? he wondered. Why me and why now?
“Detective Michael Brown; that’s your man,” Judy said. “Blenheim Police. He was the initial investigator.”
“That was fast,” Dennis said, hunched over his notebook at the small desk in the hotel room. He searched Google for the number and dialed.
Judy sat on the bed with a cup of coffee from the hotel coffee shop and watched Dennis. She had no trouble finding out who the detective was; it had taken her three calls, and she was thrilled to be helpful.
But helpful for what cause? She knew that Dennis’s assignment was preposterous. How silly to ask a retired investigator to solve a complicated disappearance in fourteen days. She had tried to get him to acknowledge the absurdity of it, but he seemed to latch onto the task with a fervor that reminded her of the other, more complicated Dennis.