Time Bomb

Graff lifted something from the floor of the van. Glass cone with a microphone in the center.

“This is a Stevens Twenty-five-X long-range parabolic microphone,” said Burden. “Good up to two miles.”

I said, “Another sample of Eastern Bloc creativity?”

“Perish the thought,” said Burden. “This one’s all-American.”

“Born in the U.S.A.,” said Graff.

Burden said, “When you arrived, trussed and shackled, Detective Sturgis, we were waiting. You held up nicely. Your own military background, no doubt- quite impressive. Rest assured that had you been in any serious danger, we would have saved you, but we knew from our previous monitoring that they planned to keep you alive, finish both you and the doctor off in a sexually suggestive manner. You, however, had no way of knowing that and you did very well.”

“Aw, shucks,” said Milo.

“I’d suggest,” said Burden, “that you conserve your anger for those who deserve it. For example, why do you think they came after you in the first place, masquerading as FBI?”

Silence from the back.

“Are you truly ignorant, Detective? Or just repressing?”

No answer.

Graff said, “Your own people sold you out. Extremely bad form.”

I said, “Frisk.”

Burden nodded. “Another piece of lint. When he came to interrogate me, the day of the shooting, he actually attempted to install a monitoring device in my living room. Primitive piece of junk. Needless to say, I left it in place. Talked to it, played the cello for it. Leading Frisk exactly where I wanted to lead him: in circles. Because he’s a moron, I could see right away there’d be no use working with him. The next time I saw him at his office, I returned the favor. So I have a very clear picture of what he’s been up to. And it’s nothing I would tolerate if I were you, Detective.”

“Polish lentils at Parker Center?” said Milo.

“Our vaunted Anti-Terrorist Division,” said Burden. “If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny, the incompetence. You see, Latch and company have been under investigation for quite some time. But not for the right reasons. Frisk hasn’t the slightest inkling, no suspicions about Wannsee Two. He suspects Latch of being a communist subversive, an unrepentant left-winger- because Latch’s political enemies have been feeding him that.”

“Massengil?” I said.

“Among others. The late assemblyman was a prime source of disinformation on Latch, because he knew Latch had designs on his job. Dr. Dobbs helped him compose little false reports of Latch’s supposed subversive activities. Dr. Dobbs actually made direct phone calls to Frisk. Using a code name. Santa. Talking on pay phones. All of it very malicious and childish. Cinematic cloak-and-dagger nonsense. But our Lieutenant Frisk took it very seriously. Compiled a file on Latch- a classified file.”

Chuckles. Echoed by Graff.

I said, “Why didn’t he move against Latch?”

“He considered it,” said Burden. “I have recordings of him talking to his dictaphone, thinking out loud, considering his options. Playing every angle against the other, ruminating endlessly. But he was afraid to confront Latch without solid evidence, yet unable to get any evidence, because A, he didn’t know how, and B, the whole thing was a sham. The man really is incredibly stupid. That’s why he was so eager to take over the Massengil murder. He suspected Latch might be behind it- this would be his big chance. And he was right.”

“But for the wrong reasons.”

“The idiot,” said Burden. “He actually believed he had a chance to be promoted to deputy chief. You, Detective Sturgis, were considered a threat to that ambition. The possibility that you might solve the case yourself. You threaten him because down deep he knows you’re what he isn’t- a competent investigator. And also, of course, on another level. I believe ‘despicable fag bastard’ is the way he generally refers to you. If you’d like, I can play you the tapes.”

Milo was silent.

Burden got off the freeway at the Pico exit and headed east, toward Westwood.

“During the course of my brief surveillance,” he said, “I haven’t been mightily impressed by the Police Department. Too much time spent on what officers do in bed, whom they do it with, religious beliefs, other irrelevant issues. That’s not the way you win a war. It must be an awful strain on you, Detective Sturgis.”

Milo said, “Thanks for the sympathy, Mother Teresa.” But I could tell he was digesting what Burden had told him.

Burden drove smoothly and rapidly. “Like a true politician, Frisk used you. Called Latch. As a supposed confidant. Informed him that you were the one who was suspicious about him. Apologetic. Yon were an embarrassment to the Department. A rogue cop. Rogue fag cop, with a drinking problem. The Department only kept you on the payroll to avoid lawsuits and political hassles. It was only a matter of time before you’d be drummed out in disgrace. Frisk told latch you’d been asking questions about him, were unstable, prone to violence. Warning the good councilman. So Latch began having you- and Dr. Delaware- tailed. Meanwhile, Frisk tailed Latch. You were his decoy, Detective. Had you died tonight, he might have blundered into a solution, maybe even had glory and his promotion. Deputy Chief Frisk. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Milo thought out loud: “He didn’t tail me tonight.”

“No, not tonight. Tell him why, Gregory.”

“He and his staff are having a retreat,” said Graff. “Lake Arrowhead.”

Burden said, “To share feelings. Outline management strategy. Frisk is a modern policeman. Reads his textbooks and knows his operations manuals.”

I said, “Sounds like something out of Dobbs’s book of tricks.”

“They’re all the same,” said Burden. “Pencil-pushers. In any event, don’t you think I’m a hundred percent correct, Detective? About focusing your anger properly?”

Two blocks of silence.

We approached Sepulveda.

Burden said, “Do you want to know what we used to demolish the building?”

On the edge of my seat. Linda, Linda… “Sure.”

“Selectively applied dabs of plastique. Not Semtex. Something better. Brand-new.”

“A little dab’ll do you,” said Graff.

“A very little dab, “said Burden. “Complete with a tiny little detonating cell stuck smack in the middle. They didn’t see us because the entire front wall of the warehouse was windowless. Their idea of security, but they ended up hoist on their own petard. Gregory dabbed, then retreated to the van, where we relaxed, ate sandwiches, and listened. You were very good, Doctor. Trying to play them off against each other. Holding onto your nerves. Then, when the time came, we pushed buttons.”

“Boom,” said Graff.

“I’d say it was poetic justice,” said. Burden. “Wouldn’t you? Too bad Mr. Latch wasn’t around to see it. What exactly happened to him? We heard some sort of commotion.”

I waited for Milo to reply. When he didn’t, I said, “He fell on Ahlward’s knife. It went through his neck.”

“Splendid.” Big smile. “Literally hoist on his own petard. What a pretty picture. My only regret was that I wasn’t there to see it. All in all, a very productive adventure, wouldn’t you say, Gregory?”

“A-one, Mr. B.”

“Lots of people died,” I said. “There’ll be questions.”

Burden took one hand off the steering wheel and made a whoop-de-doo spinning gesture. “The more questions the merrier. City and state commissions, senate subcommittees, our beloved press. Bring them all on. I love Washington, D.C., in the winter. A certain bleakness sets in on the Capitol Mall that matches the spirit of the petty bunch who work there. I especially love it when I go there with something to trade.”

“The unmasking of Ahlward’s other covert Nazis?”

“It should prove to be quite a revelation,” he said. “After I supply the names, I guarantee you I’ll be a hero.