“What about Cormorant?” Dinah asked. “Were they involved in this operation?”
Olson’s face took on a new mask of seriousness. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I don’t know for certain. Some of their personnel were around the base at the time. I heard a rumor they did some of the advance work in Pakistan. That is done sometimes because if they’re caught or killed, it’s a private company, not U.S. military. The U.S. could have denied any connection. Frankly, I have no desire to make inquiries because I’m not going to write anything about that group, not now and not anytime in the foreseeable future.”
Peter Olson had transformed before Segal’s eyes from a fearless man of the world into someone else, someone filled with fear and loathing.
Peter finished his wine. He motioned to the waiter for another glass. “Listen, I know this company is highly regarded by some here in the U.S., but I’ve seen the aftermath of their operations. Money goes into that organization and things get done and no one asks how.” He fell silent, seemingly lost in some memory. “I’ve met some of their people. I’m not talking about the bosses who negotiate contracts and organize missions. I’m talking about their people on the ground.” He shook his head. “Our regular military commanders, army and marines, they won’t let our troops around these guys. Fortunately, the company keeps them on the other side of the world, well away from us. The thought of these guys loose among the population here in the States? I don’t even want to think about it.”
Segal said nothing. He opened another folder. “What about this guy?” He showed Olson the picture of their suspect from Richard’s camera. “Do you recognize him?”
“Yeah, that’s one of them,” he whispered. Olson took out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “Call me if I can be of any help,” he said. He folded his napkin on the table, pushed his glass away. The waiter brought a full glass of wine. Olson stood as if he didn’t care about it.
“And Nancy Lund?” Dinah asked.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Segal took the card and thanked him. “Where are you off to next? After your book signing tomorrow?”
“Somewhere safer than Asheville,” he said. “Like Damascus or Baghdad.” He walked away from them.
Dinah reached for the full glass of wine and pulled it towards her. “We never did get to tell him about the raccoon.”
CHAPTER 26
Court Order
Stuff built up. Segal felt it the next morning—the red Spanish wine and all they had learned at the VA and from Peter Olson, not to mention the gash above his eye and the cut where the dive-bombing crow had hit him. He had been up half the night, first with work, then too keyed up to sleep. He was up and down, reading an Elmore Leonard book, twisting in bed like a strand of DNA.
A sloppy rain fell now at eight-thirty, and all the good parking places were taken, making him get wet before he was inside. He stepped into a puddle, soaked his shoe. All this for a meeting where he’d get to tell his boss what a mess this whole case had become.
In the entrance hall, he passed two uniformed officers heading out, apparently in a mood that matched his own. “Man, I had tickets,” one was saying to his partner.
The partner shook his head. “You know better than to make plans.”
Segal was curious. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I hope you weren’t planning anything next week, lieutenant,” the first one said.
“All hands-on deck starting Monday. All leaves and vacations postponed,” said the other. “They’re not saying why. Something’s up.”
“I had tickets,” the first one said again as they walked on.
When Segal tracked dripping water through the hallway leading to the office and conference room, he was soaked and in need of coffee, and his bag kept slipping off the shoulder of his damp raincoat. He knew he would be walking into a bitchy squad room. For comfort, he reached under his coat and checked the paperback in his pocket. For Whom the Bell Tolls, at least, was dry. He knew Dinah would not be pleased he was reading Hemingway. Sometimes he had to.
He dumped his stuff at his desk and started for the coffee machine when Dinah rounded the corner so fast she could have been wearing skates. Her face was a mask of stone. He was about to ask what was wrong when she grabbed his arm and led him to the back of the office complex, to a room where a video monitor was set up. The monitor allowed the officers to watch the proceedings inside the closed interrogation room next door. She planted Segal in front of the monitor and pointed.
On the screen, he saw a woman, her elbows planted on the table, face collapsed in her hands. She wept, almost silently. He could tell by her Egyptian haircut and the line of her shoulders it was Emily Elah.
Two men and a woman sat across the table from her. One of the men was the ONI guy, Jerome Guilford. He was sitting back, legs crossed, the better to display one of his perfect brown shoes. Beside him was a proper-looking woman with her hands in her lap, a manila folder in front of her on the table. Beside her was a man in a gray business suit. He pushed a paper across the table in Emily’s direction.
“This is the court order we referred to, Mrs. Elah,” he said.
Emily Elah made no move to look at the document.
Segal moved toward the door, but his boss, who had come up behind him, caught his arm. “We can’t go in there,” his boss said. His face left no room for argument.
On the screen, Emily Elah composed herself enough to look the man in the eye.
“I’m afraid your husband’s disappearance and your refusal to be of any assistance in helping us find him leave us no choice. This is an order allowing us to freeze your bank account until a full audit can be made to determine how much of the money in it comes from his unfulfilled contract with the federal government.” The man in the gray suit had a raspy voice.
“We don’t have to exercise this order if you’re willing to cooperate,” Jerome Guilford said.
Emily Elah shifted her gaze and said nothing. Guilford cleared his throat. The woman with her hands in her lap moved those hands to the folder on the table.
“Mrs. Elah, I am from the Department of Social Services, Child Welfare Division. At the request of Mr. Guilford, we have conducted a preliminary review of the status of your daughter, Susan Elah. Our information reveals that your daughter is confronted with several severe physical challenges, possibly ranging beyond the ability of a single parent.”
Emily stared at her, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. The woman leafed through several pages that appeared to be medical reports.
Outside, watching the monitor, Dinah said under her breath, “What are they doing? They can’t do this.”
The woman held up a piece of paper. “We have also been given access to all police reports related to your family. This is a report filed by Lieutenant Ira Segal.”
Segal flinched.
“It describes an incident dated two nights ago in which your daughter claims she was visited by your husband.”
Emily voiced the same thought Segal had. “I can’t believe you’re using that. She was probably describing a dream.”
The woman raised her hand. “It does cast doubt on your story about not knowing where your husband is. Also, there is the point that your daughter was left alone.”
Emily slumped in her seat.
“Do you dispute that your daughter was left alone?” the woman asked.
Emily’s head gave the slightest of shakes. “Suzie is perfectly okay by herself. Especially with neighbors so close.”
“Mrs. Elah, we are taking no formal action at this point. However, we are putting you on notice that your daughter’s case is under review with the consideration that she be removed from your home for her own welfare and protection.” The woman shut the folder and returned her hands to her lap.
Emily swept the three of them with her eyes. “Is there anything else?” Judging from her face, fear was turning into anger.
“You tell us. Is there anyth
ing else, Mrs. Elah?” Guilford asked. He looked and sounded quite pleased with himself, like a chess player who had just put his opponent in check.
Emily blew out a long breath, regained her composure. “May I go now?”
Guilford made a gesture with an open palm. “You can go, Mrs. Elah. Be fair warned, I’m not going away. Neither are these problems. Not until we find Francis. I would advise you to start cooperating.”
Emily Elah stood, turned, and walked through the door. She started down the hall and quickly came up beside Segal as he departed the monitor room. She stopped, blinked at him with tears in her eyes, and glanced at the monitor beyond him. He twisted to see it showing the three government bureaucrats still at the table. He twisted toward her again. Her gaze bore down on him.
“Enjoy the show, lieutenant?” she asked after a beat. “I’ll be sure to tell Suzie hello from you.”
Segal stuttered on some kind of lame excuse, but the self-monitoring part of his brain stopped him before he said something idiotic. Emily swung around and walked down the hall and out of the police department.
Segal felt glued to his spot. He felt Dinah and his boss looking at him. He turned toward the interrogation room, but before he could take a step the others started to file out, first the child-services woman with her eyes down, then the man in the gray suit, who met Segal’s eyes without speaking, and finally Jerome Guilford with a smug grin. He stopped and nodded to Segal, Dinah, their boss.
To the boss, he said, “Thanks for the use of the room, captain.”
Then Segal felt Guilford’s eyes boring into him. “What the hell, Guilford?” Segal said. “Was that some of the enhanced interrogation you were telling us about?”
Guilford widened his condescending smile. He started to speak and to reach out toward Segal’s shoulder. Before he could connect, Dinah made a lightning move. In one motion, she stepped between them, knocked Guilford’s arm high into the air, and brought her full momentum, shoulder first, straight into Guilford’s chest. The result was like a defender slamming into a wide receiver on a football field, only in this case the wide receiver didn’t just fly out of bounds. He flew into a bank of filing cabinets with a rattling bang and sprawled on the floor. Dinah remained perfectly balanced, standing over him. The captain gently put hands on her arm and waist and guided her down the hall before the situation could get more out of hand.
CHAPTER 27
Comfort Food
It was late afternoon when Segal pulled to the curb in front of the big house on Montford Avenue, the one Dinah lived in. When he got out, he saw Dinah’s two housemates on the wide front porch, one in a swing, the other sitting on the steps trying to tune a mandolin.
“If this isn’t an Asheville picture, I don’t know what is,” he said, taking it in. The girl on the steps was wearing a flannel shirt with the top two buttons alluringly left undone. It was tied at the waist, revealing a little skin above her cutoff jeans.
“Heyyyyy, Segal,” they said in unison, drawing it out with as much innuendo as they could possibly pack in, carrying forth their tradition of shameless, over-the-top mock flirtation when he drove up. (At least Segal thought it was mock, though he wondered sometimes in his weaker moments.)
He stood there smiling while the girl with the mandolin did a competent rendition of “Weaver’s Pond” on the little instrument. He allowed his gaze to drift up the side of the house to the top floor and the slanted roof and the dormer windows. He half-expected to see Richard up there, rapping on Dinah’s chamber door again.
The song ended and the girl got up from the steps. “I’ll go and let her know you’re here,” she said. The other girl rose from the swing and said she had to be going as well. It occurred to Segal that he had never actually been inside the house. People had different ways of keeping their work persona separate from their personal life. Dinah had never said anything about it, but on the other hand, she had never actually invited him in either.
She came out on the porch wearing blue jeans and a flowered cotton top, a little on the soft side compared to her normal choice of dress, but then she was off-duty. She had half a grin to go with her toned-down look. “How much trouble am I in?” she asked.
Segal sat on the swing, closing his eyes after the first kick, enjoying the motion and the creak of the chains against the eyehooks in the ceiling. After searching for something reassuring, he said, “I don’t know. For now, you’re not suspended or anything. I assured the captain that cooling down this afternoon and getting some rest would restore your professional demeanor. I promised I would read you your rights, like in the future, any federal assholes you slam against a filing cabinet may be used as evidence against you.” He could not help smiling when these words brought back the mental image of Jerome Guilford sprawled on the floor.
“You filled him in on the case, too?” she asked.
They had talked about that meeting, things being such an unresolved mess. Segal knew Dinah felt bad for making him face that alone. “I gave him a quick recap. He seemed distracted, didn’t ask his usual questions. Seems like something else big is coming down the pike. He just said to get it wrapped up.”
“Did you talk to Guilford?”
“I did,” Segal said. “He’s not going to do anything about the little body check you laid on him, which may or may not be all good news. Could be he intends to hold it over our heads as a bargaining chip for future play.”
“Pissant,” Dinah said.
Segal smiled. Pissant was a term rarely heard these days. When he was growing up, people called each other pissants all the time. It was a handy insult that could be spit out from pursed lips, dismissive and insulting at the same time. It certainly fit in this case.
“Well, he said he was going to turn up the pressure, and I guess this was what he meant,” Segal said. “He also told me he would be conducting his own surveillance with his own people, so we better not hold back information.”
“Trouble is, how far can we trust him?”
“No clue. I don’t like this state of limbo. Are we on their team or are we not on their team? Especially after Guilford’s latest efforts to win friends and influence people.”
“His idea of advanced interrogation,” Dinah said. “In my book, you find ways to lean on a dangerous criminal. That’s high-pressure interrogation. On the other hand, you pick on a woman with a missing husband and a troubled little girl, you’re a bully.”
Segal continued to swing. He knew that, for Dinah, a bully was about the worst thing a person could be. She could overlook faults in people, but seeing a bully in action was not a situation she was prepared to tolerate.
“Well, if he wants to bully them anymore, he’s going to have to find them first,” Segal said.
Dinah got an odd look on her face. “Guilford is looking for them already?”
“Yeah, he called just before I pulled up. I guess he had a follow-up in mind, but he can’t find them. Wants us to call if we have any ideas.”
Dinah did not meet his eye.
Segal picked up on that stoic concentration of hers and stopped swinging. “Do we have any ideas?”
Dinah opened the door and said, “You better follow me.”
Segal walked through an entranceway into a large living room and then a bright kitchen that spanned most of the back of the house. Suzie Elah was pulled up to the kitchen table, eating a toasted cheese sandwich, and her mother, Emily, was at the stove making another. They both looked up when Segal came in.
Dinah whispered into his ear. “A mutual friend brought them over about an hour ago. They don’t feel safe anymore. Not from the government. And not from whoever is responsible for, you know, what happened to Chickey and Gloria. They asked me to help them find a place to hide.”
For a long moment, Segal said nothing. He was thinking he was not exactly in a position to lecture Dinah on the wisdom of offering people sanctuary in her home.
Finally, Emily held up a toasted cheese sandwich with her spatula
and said, “You want some comfort food, lieutenant?”
After another pause, he sat at the table next to Suzie. “We’re going to need all the comfort food we can get before this thing is over,” he said.
CHAPTER 28
The Eleventh Rule
“Do you ever get the feeling we’re being followed?”
“You’re not getting paranoid on me, are you, Segal?” Dinah asked, shifting on her bar stool.
She sat next to Segal at the bar at Barley’s Taproom, a good, loud place to have a private conversation. She could lean in close to him and no one, including the bartender, could hear a word she said. She could see the door to their left, in case someone walked in, and she could even see the rest of the room in the mirror without turning around for surveillance. It was the lunch hour. Waiters and waitresses moved around the dining landscape with pizzas and beers held aloft in a seamless, flowing dance. The background music was bluegrass with an Asheville edge. It was a place where she should have felt at home, but with the accumulation of recent events, nothing seemed exactly right anymore.
“In this case, I’m talking about the guy sitting over at that table eating garlic knots and swilling beer.” Segal had his coat on, a book in the pocket as usual. He reached up and scratched his head.
Dinah glanced up at the mirror and down at her salad. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“The one checking out your butt.”
Dinah’s gaze flicked to the mirror. “Again, you’re going to have to be more specific.”
Segal frowned. “You really can’t tell who I’m talking about? Like, which one of these objects doesn’t belong with the others?”
“Blue shirt.”
“Got it.”
The blue-shirted guy polished off another garlic knot and wiped his fingers on his khaki pants. He pretended to watch the baseball game on the TV above the bar, and from time to time checked in on the two detectives, with a special pause at her butt.
As the Crow Dies Page 18