by John Scalzi
“So your plan was to get your cat and your effects.”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“I had ordered a car. I was going to put Donut and my things in it and have it drive up to here in Boston. I was going to meet it outside of town and take delivery. Donut would go to my mother’s house. Everything else I would take home.”
“That’s a long drive from Boston.”
“I can afford it.”
“I meant, why didn’t you have a friend do it for you?”
“Because no one knew Duane and I were more than teammates.”
I turned to David Pena. “Is that accurate? That no one knew?”
“I didn’t know,” Pena said. “I don’t encourage players to screw around with their teammates. When they break up it makes things awkward. It still happens. But I didn’t know about these two and as far as I know none of their teammates knew, either.”
“And this car you hired?” I asked Silva.
“I got it from an app. It took a while to match me with someone willing to make the drive. But I paid well.”
“And to be clear,” I said, “did you, accidentally or on purpose, set the apartment on fire?”
“No, of course not,” Silva said. “It was on fire when I got there. As you know, you were already there.”
“And when you came to the apartment to get your things, you had no idea it was on fire.”
“No idea,” Silva said.
“Can you think of a reason why someone would want to burn down the building Duane’s apartment was in?”
“Are you suggesting there was arson involved, Agent Shane?” Medina asked.
“I’m following up on all possibilities,” I said.
“Nothing comes to mind,” Silva said. “Other than Marla being angry enough to do it.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Duane told me stories of her temper. But I don’t think she would do that. It’s one thing to be angry at your husband. It’s another thing to burn down an entire building and endanger the lives of other people.”
“What can you tell me about the box of your IV supplements that were in the apartment at the time it went up?”
“I had it shipped to the apartment once it arrived here at the Bays headquarters.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because Duane asked me to. He wanted to try my supplements.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked. “My understanding is that he could get in trouble with the league for using different IV supplements.”
“That’s not accurate,” Medina said. “He wouldn’t be in trouble with the league directly. Tigertone, our general IV supplement supplier, could argue breach of contract to us if it became known he was using a different supplement supplier, and we would then pay a contractual penalty to them. It would be up to the Bays organization to then fine or reprimand Chapman.”
I turned to Pena. “Would you have fined him?”
“Probably,” Pena said. “The league wants us to take endorsements seriously. I’ve fined other players for it.”
“How much?”
“The last time I did it, it was five thousand dollars. First offense.”
“Five thousand dollars wasn’t trivial for a player like Mr. Chapman,” I said. “He wasn’t a franchise player, and wasn’t getting paid like one.” I turned back to Silva. “So my original question still stands. Why would he risk it?”
“Because he wanted to have a good game,” Silva said.
“It was just a pre-season game.”
“No, it wasn’t just a pre-season game,” Silva said, and I could hear some annoyance in her voice. “This was the game the league was using to woo potential new owners and investors. This was the game where your father and other important people, Agent Shane, might see him have a great night and decide to make him a key part of their new team in the expansion draft. Duane wasn’t a fool. He knew he was never going to be anything but a role player here in Boston. So he wanted an edge.”
“How would your supplements give him an edge?”
“They wouldn’t, and I told him so when he asked. When you’re endorsing a product you’re supposed to pretend that it’s better than everything else. But come on. There’s no real difference between the supplement mix Labram uses and the one Tigertone uses. Everyone knows that. Duane knew that.”
“So why did he ask?”
Silva laughed. “You understand that athletes are superstitious, right? We’ll try anything if we think it’s going to give us an edge. Even if we know logically it won’t. Duane knew there was no difference in our supplements. He also knew I was the one of us with a multimillion-dollar deal and he wasn’t. And if he felt like borrowing a bag or two of my supplements would give him an edge, you know what? Maybe it would.”
“A placebo effect,” I said.
Silva nodded. “Placebo, psychological projection, superstition. Call it what you want. So I took a box of my supplements, shipped it to the apartment, and he used a bag of it on Sunday.”
“Are you saying that you think there was something in the supplements that triggered a reaction?” Medina asked.
“I can’t say anything about it,” I said. “The Philadelphia office of the Bureau has it in their labs and will let us know if they find anything.”
“What about the rest of the box?”
“The damage at the apartment was pretty substantial,” I said.
“Agent Shane, when I called you yesterday I asked about Donut,” Silva said. “You said he was all right.”
“He is all right,” I said. “He’s at my home at the moment. He’s very popular.”
“That’s nice. I want to know when I can get him back, please.”
“I’d say probably in a few days, although it might take longer.”
“What’s the holdup?” Medina asked.
“He’s relevant to our investigation,” I said.
“How? It’s a cat, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m aware how it sounds,” I admitted. I turned to Silva. “Be that as it may, we need him a little longer. As soon as we can, we’ll release him to you.”
“I’m worried about his well-being,” Silva said.
“He’s being fed tuna.”
“See, now, that’s no good,” Silva said. “It doesn’t have all the nutrients a cat needs. And if you feed him too much, he can get mercury poisoning.”
“And if it’s raw tuna it will disrupt his ability to absorb B vitamins,” Pena said. We all turned to him. He suddenly looked defensive. “My mother was a vet.”
Silva turned back to me. “Now I’m very concerned about my cat. I’d like him back.”
“I promise I will pick up proper cat food today,” I reassured her. She appeared unconvinced. “Now. Did you know Alex Kaufmann?”
“Commissioner Kaufmann? I knew him, sure. Him and most of the people in the commissioner’s office. I wouldn’t say that I knew him particularly well. I know I’ve talked to him from time to time but I can’t say we ever talked about anything I can remember.”
“Do you know if there was any relationship between him and Duane Chapman?”
“They weren’t friends, no,” Silva said. “Commissioner Kaufmann was a kind of a climber, Agent Shane. I mean, in terms of status. He’d be happy to be seen with me, but he wouldn’t have wasted his time with someone like Duane.”
“This bothered you?”
“There’s a reason I don’t have any conversations with Kaufmann that I particularly remember. Why? Do you think Kaufmann’s death has something to do with Duane’s?”
“It happened right after Mr. Chapman’s, and right after Mr. Kaufmann ordered his data feed pulled from the public.”
“I don’t know why he did that,” Silva said. “It wouldn’t have been because they were close, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What do you think it might be?”
“You’re the FBI agent,” Silva said. �
��You tell me.”
“Agent Shane, if I may,” Medina said, raising a hand. “It’s very important to us that these discussions remain confidential. I’m sure you’re aware Duane’s death and your investigation are national news, and it’s not escaped the notice of the press that you and your partner are the Bureau’s leads on this. We have a concern that if news of Duane and Kim’s relationship gets to the press, it’s going to be an untenable situation for everyone. It will make your job harder. It will make our job harder too.”
“It’s our policy not to discuss active investigations,” I said.
“And yet they leak.”
“Not from me. I’ve done my time in the press. I know how to handle them.”
“What about your partner?”
“You’ve met her, Mr. Medina. I don’t think you can tell me she’s the sort to buddy up with a reporter. You recall you threatened her about going to the press when you released Mr. Chapman’s data feed to us. It didn’t leak.”
“We just don’t need the distraction,” Pena said. “This has been a difficult enough week for everyone here with the Bays. Duane wasn’t our star player, but he was admired by everyone here. A lot of us lost a friend on Sunday, Agent Shane. We’re barely keeping it together. And we have a game on Friday.”
“I can’t tell you there aren’t going to be leaks,” I said. “There are a lot of moving parts to this investigation. All I can tell you is that the leaks won’t be coming from me, or from Agent Vann. That much I can guarantee.”
Medina nodded at this. “Then are we done here, Agent Shane?”
“For now,” I said. “If I have any follow-up questions for Ms. Silva, I will let her know.”
“You’ll let me know,” Medina said. I looked over at Silva, who nodded her agreement.
“As long as you’re here, would you like a tour of the facility?” Pena asked. “We can show you the practice field, at least.”
“Thank you,” I said to Pena, and then looked over to Silva. “I’ve already seen it.” I stood. Silva and Pena stood when I did. Medina did not.
“Agent Shane, if I may have a word with you alone,” he said.
“What is it?” I asked when Silva and Pena were gone.
“I understand you and your partner have plans to question Alton Ortiz today in Philadelphia.”
“In fact, as soon as I get back from here, she and I are driving up to talk to him.”
“Well, you do keep yourself busy, Agent Shane.”
“You have no idea,” I said.
“Well, allow me to save you a trip,” Medina said. “Speaking for his lawyer, we’re not going to offer him up to speak to you today.”
“Speaking for his lawyer?” I repeated.
“Mr. Ortiz couldn’t afford adequate representation and didn’t want to risk the public defender, so an associate of mine out of the league’s counsel office offered to represent him pro bono. She knew I would see you today at this meeting and asked me to speak to you on her behalf. I’ll send you all her information.”
“And when do you plan to make Mr. Ortiz available for questions?”
“I don’t know that we will. At the very least, my associate will have to meet with him first. She has her first meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s not great for our schedule.”
“I sympathize, Agent Shane. But as a matter of legal responsibility, we’re not interested in your schedule.”
“I don’t understand why you made Silva available and not Ortiz,” I said.
“Obviously, I made Silva available because I didn’t think there was any risk in making her available to you,” Medina said. “She’s not guilty of anything other than choosing an ill-advised man to have an affair with. But we don’t know what’s going on with Ortiz. And until we know, you can’t talk to him. And when we do know, you still might not be able to talk to him. That’s how these things work, Agent Shane. Surely you knew that.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Who am I looking at?” I asked Vann as she had lunch at a storefront pho shop in Sterling, and I watched her eat. Vann had picked me up at my parents’ once I came back from Boston. She offered to let me into the trunk but I declined. When we were seated she sent over photos.
“Those two gentlemen are Martin Lau and Yegevney Kuznetsov.”
“You photographed them coming out of Fowler’s house.”
“Yes.”
“Did they see you?”
“No. I lurked.”
I pictured Vann lurking in my mind and enjoyed the image. “What about Fowler?”
“She didn’t come back out before I left.”
I nodded. “So who are these gentlemen?”
“Lau works for Richu Enterprises out of Singapore, and Kuznetsov is an associate of Egor Semenov, an oligarch type from St. Petersburg. The one in Russia, not Florida.”
“Are they bad people?”
Vann shrugged and poked at her pho with her chopsticks. “It depends on what you consider ‘bad.’ I ran both of them through our system and Interpol’s and they both come up clean in themselves. But who they work for aren’t great. Richu is a conglomerate with some ethically shaky business in their recent past, and Semenov is a real piece of work. He’s the sort of person who politely asks the Russian government to arrest journalists snooping around his business.”
“And the journalists are arrested.”
“No, they are not,” Vann said. “But they do show up dead a week later, having been conveniently mugged. Having that happen once is a tragic coincidence. Having it happen three times to date is a pattern.”
“Got it.”
Vann pointed at my head, where she assumed the photos she sent me were floating around, and she wasn’t wrong. “Both Lau and Kuznetsov are lawyers. They’re not musclemen. They’re not the sort to have criminal records. They’re the sort to keep others from having criminal records. Or civil judgments against their companies and bosses, take your pick.”
“So what do Richu and Semenov have in common that they need to send lawyers to a suburban tract home in Virginia for?”
“They don’t,” Vann said. She took a drink of her Vietnamese coffee. “On the legitimate side of things Richu and Semenov have no business with each other, going back a decade at least.”
“How do we know that?”
Vann looked at me levelly. “I repeat: They’re not great.”
“Meaning they’ve been on our investigative radar for shady business for years now,” I said.
“Yes. I called in a favor with an analyst friend of mine at the CIA. It took her all of fifteen seconds to send me a pile of documents.”
“Got it.”
“So legitimately they have no business with each other,” Vann continued. “But illegitimately, they don’t really have much to do with each other either. Their spheres of influence and interest are almost entirely separate. Semenov keeps his interests largely in Russia and the Baltics, and Richu is almost exclusively in Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia. Other than tangentially, they have almost nothing to do with each other.”
“So it’s not what they have in common with each other, but someone else they have in common.”
Vann, who had a mouth full of noodles, nodded.
“Which is someone Fowler has in common with them, too. Unless she’s the one they have in common.”
Van swallowed. “Well, she does have a history.”
“You mean with that Western Hemisphere Institute thing.”
“I’m thinking afterward. Her client history has a larger-than-average percentage of shitty people in it, no matter what she says about it.”
“Well, not to take her part—”
“Oh, Jesus,” Vann said, and reached for her coffee again.
“—but she had a point when she asked you whether all the clients you had when you were an Integrator were on the up-and-up all the time. Hadens aren’t any more ethical or law-abiding than any other group of people. That’s w
hy the two of us have jobs.”
Vann set down her glass. “I can’t say what any of my clients were doing in their personal lives because that wasn’t any of my business. I can say when they were with me they didn’t do anything illegal. Integrators are like lawyers. Our so-called client-Integrator privilege stops if we help our clients participate in a crime. Integrators remain active when we’re with a client because we have to help them move around in our bodies. Anything they do with our bodies, we do, too. And I wasn’t going to risk going to jail for a client.”
“So you never did anything illegal for a client,” I pressed.
“I made it clear to clients before we integrated that if they tried to use my body for anything outside the law, I’d disconnect them and immediately put a note in their record. Integrators don’t want to deal with clients who are a pain in the ass. Someone who wants you to break the law is a pain in the ass.”
“I can’t help but notice that you didn’t actually answer the question.”
“Then you can assume I’m not going to,” Vann said.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “The statute of limitations is probably expired by now.”
“It’s definitely expired by now.”
“Vann.”
Vann actually looked around and then leaned in. “Fine. I did some coke with a client.”
“Actual cocaine,” I said.
“Yes, you jackass. I’m not talking about soda.” Vann leaned back.
“Why?”
“Because the client was curious and because back in the day I liked cocaine. So when the client offered me an extra grand because she was curious, I took it.”
“And then you went and bought some coke.”
“Well, no. I just went to my stash. You think I was going to score some off the street? That shit’s mostly baby powder and fentanyl. It’ll kill you.”
“I like that I’m still learning things about you, Vann,” I said, after a minute.
“Oh, don’t act shocked,” Vann said. “You know my past. The irony is, the client hated it. Made her paranoid as hell.”