The Bishop pbf-4

by Steven James

  Rodale said, “I know that Margaret pulled you off this case so you could get some rest, but I’d like you to keep pursuing whatever leads you can. I’ll speak with her. Arrange it. If you’re up to it.”

  “I’m up to it.”

  I turned to Fischer. “Send me a list detailing all of your contributions to the foundation. Forward all emails sent or received. Everything. And I want your phone records.”

  He hesitated.

  “Don’t fool yourself, Congressman. Someone will find out this information. The task force should see it before the press does.”

  “You can trust him,” Rodale said to Fischer.

  He looked uncomfortable with the idea but finally agreed.

  Then I turned to Director Rodale. “A few minutes ago you asked me to keep this all in the strictest confidence. How can I work with the task force if I’m not able to share this information with them?”

  “For now, only command level staff hears about the congressman’s contributions to the center. I don’t want anything leaking to the press and slowing down the investigation.”

  Admittedly, if this information was as sensitive as I was being led to believe, his concern made sense, but something didn’t feel right. I still wasn’t sure why these two men had chosen to share this information with me, but I figured I could bring that up with Rodale after the congressman left and we were alone. I nodded and he said he’d send me the files.

  I gave Fischer my email address, he excused himself, but as he was getting ready to leave I asked, “Congressman, who told you about the custody case?”

  “Custody case?”

  “Yesterday. You mentioned the custody case involving my stepdaughter.”

  This time, unlike yesterday, he was forthcoming: “My brother.”

  Shock.

  As far I knew, he had only one brother. “The former vice president told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does he know about a custody case involving my stepdaughter?”

  “He’s acquainted with your stepdaughter’s biological father. That’s all he said.”

  What?

  “How?”

  He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  The congressman seemed to be telling the truth, and if he was, it added a whole new layer of complexity to what was going on. It meant Lansing had friends in very high places-and that would not be to my advantage in keeping custody of Tessa.

  “But why?” I said to him. “Why did he tell you this?”

  “Since it involved an FBI agent”-he avoided looking at Rodale-“and I’ve proposed budget cuts to the Bureau, I suspect he was trying to get me to… well…”

  “What? Threaten me?”

  “Suggest cuts in strategic departments.”

  He didn’t have to spell it out for me.

  Get rid of the agent; help his buddy get custody of the child.. .

  “When I found out you were on the case involving Mollie, I felt torn, and I knew we needed to talk. In the end, I said things to you I shouldn’t have.”

  I didn’t find his explanation entirely satisfying, but it was a start. I needed to give all this some thought.

  He offered us both a departure nod. “I do need to get back to the House floor.”

  After he left, the mood of the room still felt full of static. There was too much being left unspoken here. “Director,” I said, “did you tell the congressman to refrain from announcing the news about the victim’s true identity yesterday?”

  “An announcement like that should come from the public affairs office or one of the ADs, you know that, Pat. It doesn’t come from the father of a missing girl. Or from an NCAVC field agent. We have a system in place for the release of pertinent information, and that system serves the good of everyone.”

  “Not Mollie,” I said. “Not yesterday.” He eyed me severely, but I didn’t care. I went on. “Why did you call me in on this case to begin with? You know my specialty is serial offenses, but when we started on this we knew of only one homicide.”

  “We haven’t always agreed on everything over the years, but we’ve always respected each other.” He made it sound like an answer, but I couldn’t see how it was.

  “Yes, I would say that’s true.”

  “You’re not the kind of man who plays politics, who’s always looking for a way to get ahead.”

  His comments were making me a little uncomfortable. “I’m an investigator not a bureaucrat, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes. That’s what I mean. And that’s why I want you on this.”

  But if he doesn’t want people working this case with an eye on a promotion, why did he assign Margaret to head it up?

  “If I can be frank, sir, none of this makes any sense. It seems like politics and personal agendas are taking precedent over finding a missing person.”

  Welcome to Washington, Pat.

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “I’m not sure that I do.”

  A dark cloud was crossing his face And then it hit me.

  “The budget cuts. Is that what this is about? Maybe, ‘Find my daughter, keep my involvement with this research place under wraps, and I won’t push through the legislation to cut Bureau funding.’ You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?”

  Rodale looked at me icily. “I will pretend that you did not just say that.”

  “Don’t bother.” I headed for the door. “I’ll keep you informed,” I said. “Of our progress.”

  Tessa could tell I was upset when I met her in the lobby. “You all right?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah.”

  Then I was on my way to the exit and she was hastily grabbing her things and catching up with me. “Agent Jiang called while you were in there. She told me she can meet us at Jacob’s Deli at about 12:30, if that works. She said you’d know where it is.”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel. There’s someplace else I need to go.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “The Gunderson Primate Research Center.”

  51

  The Lincoln Towers Hotel

  Room 809

  Nothing.

  Margaret Wellington shook her head.

  Mollie Fischer couldn’t have just disappeared. Where is she!

  Lien-hua was standing beside the bed, carefully studying the room. “We found the wheelchair in here but no other physical evidence?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But how could that be? The video of the suspect wheeling Mollie into the hotel shows that they entered at 1:29 p.m. And Pat was shot just after 3:00.”

  “That means at least one of them was in a room with an abducted woman for approximately an hour and a half,” Margaret said, following Lien-hua’s train of thought, “but yet managed to leave no forensic evidence behind.”

  “That’s not likely.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Margaret thought, They faked Mollie’s death… left her purse in the habitat… left Mahan’s car at the scene… left the glove in the parking garage…

  They used misdirection every step of the way…

  Of course.

  “They used another room,” she said. “Just left the wheelchair in here to mislead us.”

  Lien-hua considered that for a moment. “According to Pat’s report, there were two maids in the hall when he was pursuing the subjects. I wonder-”

  “Come on,” Margaret said, heading for the door. “We need to have a talk with those maids.”

  Tessa and I grabbed drive-thru bean burritos for lunch and were on our way to the primate center.

  I convinced her to listen to her iPod for a few minutes so I could make a call, then I speed-dialed Lien-hua’s number, and, speaking quietly so Tessa wouldn’t overhear me, I cancelled lunch, then summarized my meeting with Rodale and Fischer. Lien-hua listened attentively, and toward the end of my explanation, I heard Margaret speaking incredulously somewhere near her. “Wh
at’s going on?” I asked.

  “We’re wondering if the killers kept Mollie in a room other than-”

  I heard Margaret’s voice again, the words were indistinguishable, but she was obviously upset. “Just a sec,” Lien-hua said. She spoke off-phone for a few seconds, then said to me, “You’re not going to believe this: there is no Aria Petic.”

  “What do you mean? We have footage of her leaving the facility.”

  She took another break from talking with me to get an update from Margaret, then spoke into the phone again. “Margaret just got a call from Doehring. Apparently, the primate facility contracts out their janitorial services. Aria’s name appears on the computerized records, but that’s all. No one by that name has ever worked for them.”

  “How come we’re just finding this out now?”

  “Why do you think Margaret is so upset?”

  Unbelievable.

  “So,” I was thinking aloud, “the killers get into the research facility, they enter a fictional name onto the janitorial records so if the woman is seen leaving the building it won’t raise any immediate red flags.”

  Plus, as a contract employee, the security guard and keeper wouldn’t be expected to recognize her if she were detained.

  “But as it turned out, she wasn’t even questioned,” Lien-hua said. “In the confusion she just walked away. Slipped out one of the side doors after the EMTs arrived.”

  Spaghetti.

  I heard Margaret call for Lien-hua, who subsequently told me, “I have to go.”

  “Listen.” I was thinking of Lien-hua’s drowning incident in San Diego during the Project Rukh case. “Remember how things went down in February? If these killers are involved in any way with the conspirators from San Diego-”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”

  “Be extra careful.”

  “I will.”

  After we’d ended the call, I saw that Tessa was staring out the passenger-side window, still listening to her music. We were only a few minutes from the research center. “Look, college guys,” I said softly, quieter than I’d been speaking to Lien-hua, and Tessa’s head snapped in my direction.

  She realized her mistake and quickly averted eye contact.

  “You heard my conversation,” I said.

  She unplugged the earbuds. “What?”

  “Yeah, right. You need to forget anything you just heard.”

  “I only heard my music.” And then: “If anyone asks.”

  Great.

  We arrived at the research facility, and I pulled into the lower level of the parking garage.

  Although I was certain the glass-enclosed habitat in which Twana’s body had been found would be sealed off, the Gunderson facility itself was no longer considered an active crime scene. And I was thankful, because this way I wouldn’t have to leave Tessa in the car.

  “You’ve read more about this place than I have,” I said. “You’re coming with me. But you can’t ask any questions related to the case. You’re only looking for information concerning the primate research.”

  “Seriously? You’re letting me help?”

  “Just with monkey intel, not with the investigation. I want to find out more about the metacognition research.” And finances… ethically controversial research… politically charged implications “Did you just say monkey intel?”

  “I’ll introduce you as my research assistant.” I opened my computer bag and pulled out a clipboard. “Maybe you’re an intern or something.” I handed it to her.

  Dressed like she was with her black tights and black fingernail polish, I wasn’t quite sure my plan would work, but she did look old enough to be a college student if it came down to that.

  She stared at the clipboard. “What’s this for?”

  “That’s the most powerful ID in the world. If you walk into any building with an air of confidence and a clipboard, no one will question why you’re there.”

  “Nice.” She looked impressed. “I can so do an air of confidence.” Then a pause. “Just don’t say monkey intel again while we’re in there.”

  “Right.”

  I popped open the car door.

  But then I had realization.

  Closed it again.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? This is a research center, after all. The animals are all going to be-”

  “Caged. Yeah, I know.”

  There was really no subtle way to put this. “I’m not sure exactly what their research involves, but-”

  “Medical tests. I thought of that too.”

  “Are you cool with that?”

  A long silence. “Almost all medical advances in the last hundred years have come from animal testing. And I’ve never heard of anyone, not even a PETA board member, denying himself life-saving medical treatment in conscientious objection to the fact that research has been done on nonhuman subjects.”

  Her carefully phrased response made it clear that she really had been thinking about this. “Well put.”

  “But that doesn’t make cruelty right. It doesn’t make suffering okay.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  By the look on her face I could tell she was dealing with a torrent of conflicting emotions.

  Finally she spoke, and her voice was on fire with both loneliness and resolve. “A few more cancer tests and Mom might still be alive.” She opened her door. “Let’s go.”

  52

  The director of the research center, a slim, white-haired man in his early fifties with the unusual name of Janz Olan, led Tessa and me to the research rooms that lay behind the glassed-in habitats.

  As I’d suspected, the habitat in which Twana’s body had been found was still closed off to the primates, and for Tessa’s sake, I was glad to see that the floor, although no longer covered with straw, had been mopped and sanitized and there was no visible sign of blood. Still, Tessa’s eyes wandered around the area as we passed by, and I had no doubt that she was able to discern why the floor had been so thoroughly cleaned.

  “So,” Mr. Olan said, glancing at Tessa, “how long have you been Agent Bowers’s… assistant?”

  “Ever since he began researching the politics, culture, and moral development of pongids.”

  I assumed that meant apes.

  “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

  “Mr. Olan.” I gestured toward one of the testing rooms. “Explain to me more about your work here. What exactly are you doing with the CAT scans, MRIs, MEGs?”

  “Well, our research focuses on two primary areas-neuroscience and cognition.”

  I remembered Lien-hua’s words from Tuesday night. “And aggression?”

  “That would fall under neuroscience. Brain-imaging studies have shown that the amygdala and frontal cortex are the areas of the brain most associated with fear, aggression, and violent behavior. Specifically, we look at the neural activity of chimpanzees, the closest relatives to humans. They’re also the only species, besides humans, who regularly kill adult conspecifics.”

  “Adults of the same species,” Tessa said, taking notes.

  A pause, then, “Yes. Chimps also form raiding parties and have wars against other communities of chimps. Some even use their skills in toolmaking to form clubs that kill more effectively.”

  That sounded astonishing to me.

  And also chillingly human.

  “So, in a sense, you’re studying the neurology of violence,” I said.

  A pause. “That might be one way of putting it.”

  I let that sink in, wondering what implications the findings might have if taken in the context of the congressman’s comments over the last few weeks about the proposed budget cuts to the Bureau in lieu of “a more progressive approach to curbing criminal behavior.”

  Every Republican in Congress would want his connection to the center made public…

  “Yeah, well,” Tessa said to Olan, “chimps aren’t so closely related, if you acc
ept that Ardi was a biped.”

  He was slow in responding. “Yes. If you accept that she was,” he acknowledged at last. “But it’s clear that in trees she was a quadruped.”

  “Who’s Ardi?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tessa was answering Olan, not me. “She proves we didn’t evolve from knuckle-walkers like chimpanzees and gorillas.”

  “Who is Ardi?” I repeated, directing the question to them both. Olan answered, “She was a female Ardipithecus ramidus. Her fossil was found in Ethiopia in 1994, but it took fifteen years of study before the findings were released to the public in 2009. And some scientists believe she walked upright.”

  “Most,” Tessa corrected him, “not some.”

  I shook my head. “I’m still not quite-”

  “She lived 4.4 million years ago,” Olan said impatiently, “and if she was a biped it would seem to indicate that we did not evolve from modern primates but rather separately from them, from some ancient ancestor.”

  “Which means,” Tessa interjected, “there is no missing link between us and modern apes, and postulating human origins from modern primate behavior or biology is casuistic.”

  Olan stared at her. Blinked.

  “Well,” he said, “since no members of the Ardipithecus ramidus family are still with us today, we study chimps, whose DNA is 96 percent the same as human DNA.”

  She looked ready to counter, but I stopped her with a small head shake. I was more concerned about the focus of the center’s research than resolving how someone might have walked four and a half million years ago. “Tell me about the second area,” I said to Olan. “The cognition research.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps I should have specified that it’s mainly in the field of metacognition.”

  This time I was familiar with what he was referring to, but Tessa beat me to the punch. “Theory of mind,” she said. “Consciousness, empathy, understanding.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Self-awareness, the roots of empathy, the ability to understand that others have thoughts, feelings, sensations just as you do.”

  We arrived at a fully equipped research room with a metal meshed-off area that led to the gorilla habitat.

  “Are you saying apes have those abilities?” I asked.