by Tim Green
"I used the shower down the hall," Sales said, "and I found a razor under the sink. I hope you don't mind."
"No," she said absently. She had insisted that he come inside the house last night rather than sleep in the cab of the pickup truck. The concern she had about Taylor showing up and creating a scene was outweighed by her fear of staying in the big house alone.
"Sit down," he told her. "Do you like to eat?"
"Not usually like this in the morning," she said, adding, "not lately anyway. But when I was a girl, it was an every-morning thing in my family.
"We lived on a farm," she added, unsure of why she was telling him a fact that she normally concealed.
"Good," Sales said, giving her a funny look. In the midst of finishing his preparations, he poured her a hot mug of the strong coffee.
As they began to eat, Casey found that in fact she was quite hungry. When they were finished, she said she would clean up and she liked the way he let her.
"I'm going to give Detective Bolinger that disk," she said as she shut the dishwasher door.
Sales stiffened in his seat. "You're not going to say anything about me?"
"No," she said. "I'm not going to talk to him at all. If I gave it to the police directly, Lipton could have every bit of that information suppressed from a jury, and I want them to see everything that I saw on that disk."
"That's presuming there's a trial."
"I have to presume that," Casey said. "He's not going to stop. But sooner or later, he'll get caught."
"Maybe," Sales said.
"Maybe?"
He looked at her with incandescent eyes. "He's as slippery as anything I've ever seen. He's smart and he's ruthless, but he's also crazy, so he'll do the unexpected… that's what's going to make him hard to get."
"Donald, we should be working with Bolinger," Casey urged. "If we turn you in to the police, you could be out on bail and we could help each other. Why should we be trying to find him and they be trying to find him and neither of us sharing the information we have?"
Sales laughed bitterly. Without rancor he said, "For such a smart woman, you make me wonder… I told you, I'm not turning myself in. You say I'll get bail. How long could that take? You say a day? What if the day I'm sitting in the public safety building is the day Lipton gets you alone? What if there are complications and I don't get bail? You know about complications, right?"
"I do, but-"
"I'm not doing it, Casey," Sales said sternly. "That's final. Let's just figure out how we can do this my way. You want to give Bolinger the disk? Fine, let him have it. If the police get him before we do, fine. I just want someone to get him. I don't care who."
"What are we going to do?"
"Lipton wants to get you alone. He's been watching you, and even though I chased him off last night, I think he'll pick up the trail again and keep following you. I don't know when, but he will. He thinks he's smarter than you and me and the rest of the world together. He won't be put off by last night. What we have to do is give him the chance to get to you without making it look too easy. It has to be an isolated place and you have to be by yourself, but it has to make sense that you're alone there or else he'll know it's a trap."
"If you're not there?" she asked with alarm.
"I'll be there," he told her. "But it won't look that way. The police staked out my cabin after I ran, but they should be gone by now. I don't think they'll do much more than stop by from time to time to see if I came back. So that's our place."
"But even if he's following me," Casey pointed out, "I don't think he'd follow me to your place, do you?"
Sales shrugged. "He might not, but he wants to get you, and way out there, if he sees you by yourself, well, he just might try it. It's the best place for me to trap him if he does follow you, so I think we should at least try it."
"What if you're wrong about the police and they're still watching your cabin? Lipton won't try anything if they're there, and they'll want to know what I'm doing."
"This is where that disk will come in perfectly," he said. "I was thinking about it. When Bolinger gets his hands on the disk, he's going to take every man he's got and start chasing down leads. I don't think he's going to waste a couple guys out in the hills watching my place. And if they are there, then we'll just have to find some other out-of-the-way places for you to go to that make sense until he makes his move."
"And where will you be? You can't follow me in your truck," Casey said. "He'll see that."
"Don't worry about me. He can't follow us both. When you leave here, I'll follow you to the police station. After that, I'll go out to the hills, park the truck on a back road, and get to the cabin before you do. You just go inside and wait. You can use the phone or whatever and I'll be right outside. If Lipton comes for you, I'll get him."
"When you say 'get him,' you mean you'll capture him?" Casey asked.
"That's my intent," he said. "I told you I would."
"But last night, you shot at him," she reminded him.
Sales flashed an angry look at Casey, but it quickly melted away. "Marcia liked to talk about what she was learning in law school. She used to talk all the time about mens rea…"
"A guilty mind," Casey said.
"Yeah, a guilty mind," Sales continued. "She used to say that to be guilty of a crime you have to have intent. I'm not planning on killing Lipton in cold blood. If I have to use this to stop him, I will. Last night, I simply reacted to the situation. I can't guarantee his safety. That's not what you want, is it?"
After a pause, she replied softly, "No. I appreciate what you did for me last night. Thank you. I'm glad you were there, and I certainly understand why you used your gun." She shrugged and said hesitantly, "It's different when you're in it. All the theories go out the window… I feel like I'm caught in a spider web or something. I can't see him, but I know that he's out there, hidden away, watching me struggle and just waiting to run out into the open and wrap me up like a fly."
"When you went into the building last night," Sales said, "I stayed in my car out on the street. After I saw your partner's car come out of the garage, I figured you'd be right behind him. When you didn't come out, I decided to go into the building through the garage. It was just chance that I stumbled onto Lipton. He almost had you. When he heard me coming, he didn't stick around. He took off like a flash, and I took some wild shots, hoping to get lucky. But what I'm saying is… this time I'll be ready, and he won't get away."
CHAPTER 30
Casey found a meter half a block from the police station. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was momentarily filled with apprehension. Lipton could be lurking anywhere in the busy throng of people. It seemed he was always one step ahead of her despite the fact that there was no way for him to know what moves she was planning to make. Casey searched the street, and when she saw Sales cruising slowly along, slumped down in the front seat of his uncle's blue pickup, she felt suddenly reassured.
With the large manila envelope clamped in both hands, Casey hurried up the steps of police headquarters. Inside, the shift change had left the lobby busy enough for her to simply set her thin package down on the floor and walk quickly away without exciting notice. When she got to the door, Casey paused long enough to see a uniformed patrolwoman stop, bend down, and pick up the envelope, which bore Bolinger's name in bold black letters. The female officer looked around, apparently for the detective who had dropped his package. Casey turned and left, again scanning the crowded sidewalk as well as the busy street for any sign of Lipton.
***
Bolinger was on the phone and into his fourth cup of coffee by the time the envelope found its way through the department up onto his desk. He waved his thanks to the detective who'd dropped it off and eyed it suspiciously while he finished the call. After hanging up, he examined it. He could feel the disk through the paper. Not knowing if it was a CD for a stereo or a computer or something else entirely, he opened it with caution. The silver disk stil
l didn't tell him anything, so he took it to Farnhorst, who was more in tune with the digital age.
"Computer disk," Farnhorst stated authoritatively. "A blank you use to copy stuff onto. Whose is it?"
"I don't know," Bolinger said, squinting his eyes. "Izenberg dropped it off on my desk and said something about someone finding it on the floor in the lobby. It's got my name on it, but I have no idea where it came from."
"Maybe it's an anonymous tip," Farnhorst joked.
"Can you tell me what's on it?"
Farnhorst raised his eyebrows and said loudly, "You kidding me? You really don't know how to use one of these?"
Bolinger was suddenly aware of all the younger, computer-literate detectives who were sitting around the large room trying their best not to notice his predicament.
"Come on, man," Farnhorst said in a tone that only an old friend could use with the sergeant. "Give me that."
Farnhorst swiped the disk out of Bolinger's hand and rose from his chair with a grumble. Bolinger followed him penitently over to the computers, neither of which was being used at the moment. Bolinger pulled up a chair and watched over Farnhorst's shoulder as he inserted the disk into the D drive and it whirred to life. As Farnhorst accessed the disk, the Microsoft licensing box appeared and he emitted a low whistle.
Bolinger, who had no idea what his friend was seeing, said, "What?"
"Whatever's on here belongs to the professor," Farnhorst said as he began to analyze the directory.
"You mean Lipton?"
"The one and only," Farnhorst told him. "All kinds of shit on here, Bob. It's gonna take me some time to sift through it…"
"I don't give a shit if it takes us three months," Bolinger said, grabbing a chair and scooting it right up next to his friend's. "Neither of us is going anywhere until we turn this thing inside out."
"Who would-" Bolinger began the question out loud and then cut himself short. He was pretty sure he knew exactly who would leave something like this in the lobby, and he was better off not saying it out loud.
By lunchtime, they were into the good stuff. When Bolinger saw the bio on Casey Jordan, it made him more certain than ever where the disk had come from. Of course, he appreciated her discretion. As far as he knew, as far as a judge would know, the information had just appeared. If Lipton couldn't prove the violation of an attorney-client privilege, then a jury would see this information. Bolinger felt the excitement of a big case breaking wide open boiling up inside him. This disk would shortcut his efforts by months or even years. Who could say if he ever could have accumulated such information? Even with the FBI's subpoena power, he would have had to enlist the cooperation of random law enforcement people from all over the country to track down stale cases when they all had fresh ones to worry about.
Now, though, Bolinger could check specific names and places and identify victims. With this disk, he could build a case so foolproof all the Casey Jordans in the world couldn't get Lipton off.
"Bob," Farnhorst said, breaking into his reverie, "I gotta get some lunch."
"I'll order some sandwiches. You sit right here."
Bolinger turned to the small crowd of detectives who were watching them from across the room. Every so often, one of them would amble over and catch a bit of what was going on, but for the most part, they kept the respectful distance of spectators at a monumental event.
"Hanson," Bolinger said, "will you get a couple of roast beef sandwiches and some sodas sent up?"
Hanson nodded and scrambled to a phone, glad to help out in any way.
"Hey," Bolinger continued, "don't the rest of you guys have work to do?"
As the group dispersed, another detective said, "Sarge, there's a call for you in your office."
Bolinger gave Farnhorst a look of warning not to abandon his post and got up from his seat. It felt good to stand. The two of them had been sitting for more than two hours.
"Tell you what," he said to Farnhorst, "take five, but don't make me go chasing you down. I got sandwiches coming."
Bolinger picked up the phone in his office. It was Unger.
"How's it going?" the agent asked.
"Fine," Bolinger said impatiently. "I've got a potential breakthrough, so I can't talk."
"A breakthrough?" Unger asked.
Bolinger sensed a hint of alarm in the agent's voice. "Yeah," he said warily.
"You… did you find Lipton?" Unger said unable to disguise the concern in his voice.
"No," Bolinger replied suspiciously. "But I may have some information that will get a lot more people than you and me looking for him. But you don't have to worry about it. I've got the whole thing under control."
Bolinger was about to hang up when Unger shot back, "I want to come down and see what you've got, Bob. I… I really want to get going on this case. I've got some things of my own that I can't talk about over the phone, but I may have a breakthrough, too."
"Fine," Bolinger said, feigning as much interest as he could. "Come on down."
Bolinger could and would mobilize his people under the auspices of the Frank Castle investigation. He had that authority and he would use it. He wanted to be the one to bring Lipton down. But on a grander scale, this was an FBI case, and once they found out that murders as spectacular as the ones Lipton had committed had occurred across state lines, they would step in and grab the whole deal. A special task force would be assigned, and a Fed would run it. Bolinger could only imagine the publicity over a murderer set free with the woman who helped him sitting on his hit list. He made a mental note to contact Casey Jordan. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to keep someone with her in the event that she really had seen Lipton following her. Meanwhile, every Fed in the country would be clamoring for a piece of this case. It would certainly be enough to make Dean Wentworth forget about his string of bank robberies.
But if it had to be a Fed running the show, it might as well be his Fed. He'd seen Unger's type before. He was burned out before his time, lackadaisical and ineffective. Bolinger could control him. But at the same time, in the interest of staying as close to the case as he could, Bolinger would do his best to make it look as though Unger had outdone himself. He wanted the FBI to think that Unger was not only capable but the best choice of agent to see the investigation to its finish.
CHAPTER 31
James Unger arrived in his charcoal suit, freshly pressed, and an electric blue Italian tie. His hair was slicked back off his big, high forehead and glistening with gel. Bolinger and Farnhorst looked at the agent and then at each other. Unger was a caricature of himself, a trumped-up nerd. The detectives probably would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the unusual emotion burning in the agent's eyes.
Unger had a hard time controlling those emotions as he sat through his computer session with Bolinger and Farnhorst. Things were even better than he'd imagined. The timing of the disk was perfect. They now had spectacular evidence that Lipton was a homicidal maniac of epic proportions. Unger's mind was racing with the kudos he could win if he played this right. This case would change his entire career. But he had to play it right, and part of that meant not saying a thing to anyone about knowing Lipton's whereabouts until he had the media in place.
So it was with great self-control that he listened to Bolinger's exposition about where they were in the investigation and what direction the disk would now take them. The air in the room grew stale, and the early afternoon sun glared down through the windows of the squad room. Unger had shed his jacket and an anxious sweat stained the armpits of his shirt, but still he managed to remain calm, with his tie snugly knotted at his throat. Finally, Bolinger drew to a close.
"So what I'm proposing, James," he said, "is that you call your office in Atlanta and set up a conference call with your boss and whoever is directly above him. I'll be the one to suggest that you head up the investigation because of your familiarity with the case and how far you've taken it to that point. The important thing is that we don't lose the case."
Farnhorst looked on with open amazement. Bolinger shamefully averted his gaze. It was uncharacteristic of him to conspire with someone he didn't know or like, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime case for Bolinger as well.
Unger was unfazed by the local detective's obvious embarrassment at the ruse. He grinned knowingly at the seasoned cop, and it was the closest he had come thus far to divulging the ace he held so closely.
"I'll set up the call," he agreed. "But let's wait until tomorrow."
"Shouldn't you…" Bolinger began.
"No, I know how to handle this, Bob," Unger said with a casual familiarity that made Bolinger bite the inside of his cheek. Unger stood to go. "You get this stuff together. I've got some calls I need to make and I'll meet you back here around five. I've got some ideas and I think you'll be able to help me execute them, but I have some work to do first."
With a nod, Unger left the detectives staring after him.
"What an asshole," Farnhorst muttered. "Geez, Bob, if that's not enough to make you puke, I don't know what is."
Bolinger took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, there's not much we can do about it. We can step up our search for Lipton on the premise of the Castle investigation, but we sure as hell can't start calling around the country asking after the women on this list without the Feds. I can only imagine the shit we'd catch if we got out in front of them and trampled on their case."
"Their case?" Farnhorst said disdainfully.
"Yeah," Bolinger said, turning somberly toward his burly friend. "It belongs to them now no matter how hard either you or I wish it wasn't so…"
CHAPTER 32
Lipton pitched his voice into a low, gruff mumble, identified himself as Kurt Lamb, and asked for Casey Jordan. The receptionist funneled him to Gina, who began a series of questions that bordered on belligerence.