Chương 7
Thomas Vale.
I took out my phone.
No signal.
Owens had apparently found a way to block reception in the conference room.
I almost admired that too.
I folded the letter and put everything back into the envelope except the Polaroid.
Then I stared through the glass.
Owens stood twenty feet away speaking to Daniels.
Luis sat with his elbows on his knees.
Ruth watched the conference room door.
I looked back at Michael’s instructions.
If Vale is dead, walk away.
I opened the door.
Every face turned toward me.
Owens approached first.
“Well?”
I held up the Polaroid.
“This was inside.”
He reached for it.
I kept hold for half a second too long.
Then let go.
Ruth saw the image and covered her mouth.
“That’s him.”
“Michael?”
“The other man.”
Owens turned the photo over.
“Elliott?”
“Yes.”
“Full name?”
“I never knew.”
Luis looked at me.
“What did the letter say?”
I glanced toward Owens.
Then Daniels.
Then Ruth.
Michael had written twenty-seven years earlier because he did not know whom to trust.
I had less reason than ever to think the problem had improved.
“Mostly that he was scared.”
Owens studied me.
“That’s not all.”
“No.”
“What are you holding back?”
“Something I need to verify.”
His expression hardened.
“We’re past private investigation.”
“I’m not investigating.”
“What are you doing?”
I looked at the faint name still visible through the envelope paper.
“Checking whether a dead man was right about the living.”
Owens did not like that answer.
His mouth flattened, and for a moment I expected him to take the envelope from me by force.
Instead he looked toward Daniels.
“Give us the room.”
She did not move.
“Detective.”
“Five minutes.”
Her eyes shifted to me.
Then to the envelope.
Finally she nodded and walked away with the younger officer.
Luis started to follow her.
Owens stopped him.
“You stay.”
Luis blinked.
“Why?”
“Because he listens to you more than he listens to me.”
“That’s a dangerously low standard.”
Ruth stood.
Owens pointed toward the lobby.
“You too, Mrs. Mercer.”
She looked at me before leaving.
The look carried no request.
Only worry.
The conference room door shut behind her.
Owens pulled out a chair and sat.
He did not tell me to sit.
That was either courtesy or strategy.
“Whatever your brother wrote,” he said, “someone is willing to commit identity fraud, stalk an elderly woman, and carry a firearm in public to control it.”
I said nothing.
“That makes withholding information from us a risk.”
“It also makes handing information over a risk.”
“To whom?”
“Anybody.”
“Convenient.”
“Accurate.”
Owens leaned back.
“You think I’m involved?”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Luis stepped between us verbally before I could answer badly.
“Bear doesn’t trust vending machines.”
“I’ve been robbed by two.”
“That was one machine twice.”
“It knew what it was doing.”
Owens did not smile.
Luis sighed.
“Tough room.”
I sat across from the detective.
“My brother said not to trust institutions until I verified something.”
Owens’ gaze sharpened.
“What something?”
“A person.”
“Name?”
“No.”
Luis rubbed both hands over his face.
“Bear.”
“What?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you confuse stubbornness with operational security.”
“I don’t use the phrase operational security.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Owens leaned forward.
“If you contact this person privately, you could alert whoever is behind this.”
“Maybe.”
“You could also get them killed.”
That stopped me.
He saw it.
“Hadn’t considered that?”
“I had.”
“No, you hadn’t.”
I looked away.
He was right, which made him irritating.
Through the glass, Ruth was accepting a bottle of water from Daniels.
She unscrewed the cap and immediately dropped it.
The bottle rolled under a chair.
Daniels retrieved it.
For some reason, that ordinary little failure made the situation feel more serious.
Owens lowered his voice.
“Give me the name.”
I looked at Luis.
He gave one small nod.
“Thomas Vale.”
Owens’ expression changed.
Not recognition.
Something closer to disbelief.
“You know him?” I asked.
“I know the name.”
“How?”
He took out his phone.
“Sergeant Thomas Vale was on a list connected to an old congressional inquiry.”
“What inquiry?”
“Military procurement irregularities.”
“When?”
“Early 2000s.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he a witness?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said you knew the name.”
“I said I know the name.”
He searched.
Nothing came up immediately.
He frowned and tried a different spelling.
Luis stood behind him.
“What kind of procurement irregularities?”
“Missing matériel, subcontracting, black-market diversion allegations.”
“Anything proven?”
“Not much.”
Owens looked at me.
“Most of the inquiry died in committee.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It happens.”
“Things die in committee?”
“Often.”
He kept scrolling.
Then stopped.
“There.”
He turned the screen.
A scanned article from a regional newspaper showed a younger Thomas Vale leaving a federal courthouse.
The photograph was grainy.
Vale wore dress blues and a hard expression.
The caption said he had declined comment after testimony before a closed panel.
My eyes went to the publication date.
February 2001.
“He was alive after Michael wrote the letter.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
Owens searched again.
The answer came from an obituary.
Thomas Edwin Vale had died eleven years earlier in Ohio.
Age fifty-eight.
Heart attack.
Survived by a wife, one daughter, two grandchildren.
I read it twice.
If he is dead, walk away.
Michael’s instruction sat inside my skull like a command.
Luis read over my shoulder.
“Well.”
Owens looked at me.
“Your brother anticipated this possibility.”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you to do?”
I did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Walk away?” Owens asked.
My head snapped toward him.
Luis looked at me too.
Owens shrugged.
“It’s not complicated.”
I hated that he had guessed.
“He said if Vale was dead, whatever Vale knew might already be compromised.”
“That’s an interpretation.”
“It’s mine.”
“Then what did the letter actually say?”
I looked through the glass again.
May you like
Ruth had found the water cap.
She was screwing it back on with both hands.
