Color of Blood(51)

“No, of course not.”

“Do you want my advice?” Peter asked.

“Sort of.”

“I’d go back and tell Massey that you’ve reconsidered, and that you’re not up for the assignment. Make something up.”

“He got me detailed,” Dennis said. “The IG signed me over. It’s too late.”

“Mmm. Next time you get involved with folks like Massey, come see me first before you commit to anything.”

“So you think he’s that bad?”

“It’s not just him, it’s the context. There are no more rules, and when there are no rules, anything can happen—especially bad things. At least we had rules against the Russians, the East Germans, the Bulgarians—well, maybe not the Bulgarians—but there were rules, as strange as it sounds.”

“And you think it’s worse now?”

“Of course it is. You know that. Or you used to know that. I’m troubled by the fact that the first thing you do after coming back to work is insert yourself into Massey’s group.”

Dennis frowned and looked out into the street again. “Like I said, it was a mistake.” They sat in silence.

“I was tired of sitting at home brooding and thought this chase was perfect for me. I like the chase; I’m good at it.”

“In that case you’ve done the right thing, Dennis.” Peter pushed his empty cup away. “Just watch Massey. Happy hunting. Let me know how it goes. And how bad could it be if you get to visit Australia?”

***

And still Dennis waited.

It was the same quirky method he’d used over the years: he would ruminate over the details of a case and wait for something to emerge to point him in the right direction. Maybe it didn’t always work, but his most successful cases had turned out that way.

More than anything, Dennis felt impelled to prove his worth to Massey.

Dennis reread the schoolboyish notes that he kept in his spiral notebook. Now that Massey had reopened the Garder case, he also had access to the official files again.

There were a couple of new items he discovered: Garder was missing once for three weeks. His report showed that he had visited several mining operations, including a nickel mine five hundred miles northeast of Perth called Adams Mining Ltd. Garder’s notes on his interview with the director at Adams Mining were painfully boring, like nearly all his reports.

But there was no explanation for one particular three-week period that was marked as “intrastate travel” in his daily report. In contrast to his other travel reports, no destinations were listed. It was blank.

Dennis was also perplexed by one aspect of the Garder case: how did Garder know so much about mining in Western Australia? His files and research materials on mining companies were perfunctory. How did he learn so many corporate details about the vast, desolate expanse of Western Australia? How did he know where to visit? And what was he looking for?

Dennis wondered again about the interview with Drew Pearson from the WA Mining Board. It had been a useless interview, but of all the people Garder had contacted, Pearson would have known the most. If Garder had money to spread around to buy information, wouldn’t it make sense that Pearson could have been a key paid source?

Massey had finally given Dennis access to Garder’s black money account. It showed he had originally been given fifty thousand dollars to pay for information and develop contacts. He barely drew down the account, and then suddenly in September the account was drained and was replenished with $1 million. Soon that money was gone, too.

Dennis was given the list of people Garder was allegedly paying as sources. Not only were the sources ordinary citizens of WA that Garder had used to cover his tracks, but Drew Pearson was specifically not on the list. Normally Dennis would interview the Canberra station chief who handled Garder. But Garder was being run outside of normal channels directly by Massey’s group.

The poetry-reading, wristwatch-loving kid had run off with a million bucks that belonged to the US government. Dennis loved exactly this kind of case where right and wrong was clear. Some Agency employees simply chose wrong. His usual role was to lead the foxhunt until the fox was cornered; this time he’d have to lead the hunt and catch the fox.

***

Judy sped to work, anxious not to be late for a scheduled conference. She had just left her lawyer’s office and was furious. Phillip had petitioned the court to adjust alimony payments downward, and even though her lawyer told Judy it would certainly be denied, Judy was infuriated. Why would he bring this frivolous item to court? To torment and humiliate her? To cause her to burn money for legal fees, as her father had wondered?

Phillip was a well-connected criminal lawyer in Perth with a small commercial and civil practice on the side. His criminal work had forced Judy to recuse herself from several cases because he was defending the suspect. Perth was a small city with too many solicitors and barristers, but Phillip seemed to find plenty of work.

They had rarely discussed their work at home. Maybe that’s why the relationship did not work out, she had wondered after the divorce.

A taxi pulled out in front of her on Stirling Highway, and she rode the car horn for a few seconds, releasing her frustration. Her mobile phone rang, and she kept looking at the road while blindly groping her open purse.

“Judy, it’s Dennis again. I looked at the clock, and I think it’s noon there, right?”