Flight

“He wasn’t a stupid man, right?”

“Not at all.”

“So, being a cop, he’d know you could trace his movements if he used his credit cards, right?”

“Certainly.”

“And so this man who supposedly has a half a million in cash, who knows you can put a trace on his credit cards, buys gas for a plane on one and only pulls forty-three bucks out to cover his other expenses during his great escape?”

“But if he hid the cash in Las Piernas—”

“He’s coming back here, where his face has already been on television and all over the newspapers?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“There’s no sign that he stopped off anywhere between here and that mountainside, right?”

“Right,” Carlson said. “We checked every possible landing strip in the local area. But we don’t really know when that airplane crashed, do we?”

“Not definitely, but the logbook and other indicators say it was the night he left town. No one saw him after that?”

Carlson shook his head.

“Even if he was dumb enough not to take all of the money with him,” Frank said, “he would have carried a couple hundred, don’t you think? How long can a man hide out on forty-three bucks? What’s he planning to do, write a book called How to Lie Low on Pennies a Day?”

“You mentioned the possibility of a confederate.”

“Same argument. Why does he take off with only forty-three dollars?”

“Perhaps he anticipated we would catch up with him, thought he might be questioned, and decided that this would make him appear to be innocent.”

Frank shrugged. “Even two hundred out of this rumored half-million would have looked innocent.”

Carlson had been frowning, but now a slow smile came over his face.

“What?” said Frank, mistrusting any of Carlson’s smiles.

“Read the files. The ones for Lefebvre and the Randolphs.”

“Lieutenant, just because — listen, he could have asked for a wire transfer to a foreign bank account. I’m just saying he didn’t have it with him, that’s all. After this beginning, I don’t think — I’m requesting that you put someone else on this case.”

“Your request is denied.”

“Shouldn’t this go to IAD?”

“We have discussed this with them. For the time being, this will proceed as a homicide investigation. Unfortunately, the two members of IAD who originally investigated the case have retired — and one is deceased.”

“Natural causes?”

“Yes,” Carlson said, narrowing his gaze. He apparently decided that Frank was not being flippant and continued. “Because all the current IAD investigators were involved in the Dane case, they will be assigning someone new to IAD to handle their part of the investigation — someone like yourself, who was not with the department at the time. Until then, you are in charge of investigating Detective Lefebvre’s death. Naturally, if you discover evidence implicating him — or any other member of this department — in wrongdoing, we will make that available to IAD.”

Carlson lifted the stack of files and held them out again. “Read these. If you still want someone else to take over the case — you may talk to Captain Bredloe on Monday morning with my blessing.”

“I may talk to him on Monday morning with or without it.” Frank took the files and walked out. He noticed that the other detectives had left. He sat down at his desk and locked the files away without looking at them, knowing Carlson was watching him.

Carlson stepped out of his office, locked it, and marched over to Frank, briefcase at his side, walking with his typical stiff-assed gait. What does this guy do to relax? Frank wondered. He pictured Carlson at home, practicing drills in the living room while his CD player blasted The Complete Works of John Philip Sousa.

“I don’t want to be accused of letting you walk into another situation without fair warning,” Carlson said. “So there’s something you should know before you step into the captain’s office on Monday.”

Frank stood, forcing Carlson to look up at him. “Oh?”

“There are times, Detective Harriman, when you fail to show me the level of respect you owe a superior.”

Frank didn’t answer.

“You’ve felt safe in doing so, because the captain has always been something of a protector of yours, hasn’t he? Perhaps you should know, then, that I’ve already told him you were my choice for the Lefebvre case. He said he was in complete agreement and asked me to give you the other cases as well.”

He turned on his heel and walked out.

Frank listened to the fading sound of Carlson’s soldierly footsteps on the old linoleum.

He glanced toward Bredloe’s office, sat back down at his desk, and unlocked it.