Color of Blood(37)

“Even if there is blood, it doesn’t lead to the conclusion that he was killed,” Massey said finally.

“The whole thing doesn’t work,” Dennis said. “I’ve been doing this a while, and this one doesn’t work. Something’s wrong.”

Massey looked down at a manila folder and opened it slowly, his large sausage fingers barely able to grasp the thin folder.

“Yes, I see you’ve been at this a long time. Even before the IG’s office, you were an investigator for military police.”

“That was a short stint in the CID,” Dennis said.

“Yes, I see it was during the Bosnian crisis. That must have been interesting. Crazy times.”

Dennis was caught off guard by the fact that Massey had his personnel folder. He could not remember the last time someone had shown they had access to his file. It was certainly not standard operating procedure, and the brazen intimidation angered him.

“You ever deal with the IG’s office before?” Dennis asked.

“No, can’t say I have,” Massey said.

“Well, you must be a big shot to have my personnel folder.”

Massey chuckled. “We just want to see who we’re dealing with.”

“Right.”

Massey closed the folder with a flourish. “Listen Cunningham, we appreciate your interest in Garder’s disappearance, but to be honest, we don’t see much evidence to suggest foul play was involved. Your report said he was likely killed by a shark, and we see no reason to reopen the investigation.”

“Tell me,” Dennis said, “did the two agents you sent out before me remove anything from Garder’s apartment or his office in the consulate? I couldn’t get access to their report.”

Dennis noticed that the hulking man blinked twice in rapid succession—it was a small thing, but he looked for small things with professionals like Massey.

“What do you mean?” Massey said.

“I mean did those bozos take anything that they shouldn’t have? Garder’s office desk was too clean; even his calendar had been replaced—clumsily, I should mention—with a brand new one. If they removed stuff, I need access to it.”

Blink, blink.

“I’m not aware of anything that was removed,” Massey said.

“Well, if anything was removed, that would be a serious breach of Agency rules,” Dennis said with relish. “There would have to be an investigation. The OIG takes this stuff seriously.”

Blink.

“Don’t get your bowels in an uproar,” Massey said. “We’re accepting your report as it stands. Feel free to do whatever you IG folks do. It’s 2007, and we have two wars going on and don’t have time to waste on closed cases. As far as we’re concerned, Garder is shark feces at this point.”

***

Judy stood in the shade of a large eucalyptus tree trying to make out Simon across the field. He was on the school’s track team, and they were competing against Scotch College, another of Perth’s private schools. Seeing all those healthy young men assembled in one place always stirred her maternal emotions—the young men seemed so strong, invincible, and innocent.

Simon was an incredibly handsome young man. Judy figured he had his father’s height and good looks, but mercifully had her down-to-earth sensibilities.

Judy was talking to one of the mothers when she froze. She spotted Phillip walking arm in arm with his fiancée, making their way down the slope from the parking lot.

At first she didn’t hear her mobile phone ringing over the raised cheers from parents as the distance runners went by in a group. Digging it out of her purse, she saw the incoming number was blocked.

“Hello?” she said.

“Judy?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dennis: from the States.”

“Dennis, I know where you’re from,” she said, smiling into the phone and moving away from her friends.

“How are you doing?”

“Well, to be honest, Dennis, at this very moment I’m not doing so well. I’m at an athletic event where my son is competing, and my former husband just showed up with his trollop. And I’ve had quite a strange turn of events on one of my cases. One day, if you ever pass through this side of the world again, we’ll sit down for a drink and I’ll entertain you with that story.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Judy,” he said. “I really am. Hope it’s not a serious problem at work. And try not to let your ex-husband bother you. He’s a dope.”

She desperately needed someone to make her feel better, and even if they were the awkward entreaties of a Yank on the other side of the world, she would take them.

“You’re too kind, Dennis.”

“I mean it. The guy is a loser.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Tell me, Judy, I hate to take you away from your son’s event, but did you happen to get the results of the latent blood test?”

“Yes, Dennis, I got it this afternoon. That spot you were looking at on the floor in the back seat. It’s not blood. It’s oil.”

“Oil? Motor oil?”

“Actually, the report said it was a drop of transmission fluid.”

“Transmission fluid? In the back seat?”