Flight

Frank shrugged. “Thanks for the faith, but popularity contests aside, I may not be able to learn much. Ten years—”

“I don’t expect miracles.”

Frank was silent.

“If you had already decided to stay with the case,” Bredloe asked, “what brought you into my office?”

“Lefebvre’s funeral arrangements.”

Bredloe frowned, and Frank suddenly wondered if he had made a mistake in bringing Lefebvre’s funeral to the captain’s attention; perhaps the captain, like the others in the department, wanted only to distance himself from the pariah — dead or alive. Deciding it was too late to turn back now, Frank recited the information on the note.

When he finished, Bredloe turned back to the windows, staring out with an unseeing look. “Is the family asking for—?”

“No. Not a thing. They — they’re quite bitter toward the department, sir.”

“Yes, I remember how difficult they were. Refusing to speak English, even though they obviously understood it. They clearly hated us. And yet you are invited to attend Lefebvre’s funeral.”

“I asked to be invited,” Frank said.

“Still—”

“I’m sure they expect me to give the information to the rest of the department, so that any of his friends who want to attend—”

“He had no friends in this department,” Bredloe said calmly.

“So I’ve been told. But I don’t want to assume anything.”

“No, of course not. Ask Louise to send out a memo. I’ll have Public Relations prepare a press release. Thank you for keeping me informed.”

It was said in a tone of dismissal. Frank stood to leave. He had his hand on the doorknob when Bredloe said, “Matt Arden, perhaps.”

Frank turned back to him. “Matt Arden?”

“Friends in the department. Matt Arden was one. On the other hand, I always thought Matt lied to us.”

“About what, sir?”

Bredloe looked toward him. “About Lefebvre’s plans to visit him.”

“I’m fairly sure he did lie, sir.”

Bredloe seemed startled by this response. “What makes you say so?”

“Lefebvre had no reason to tell you he was on his way to see Arden if he intended to disappear.”

“It gave him an excuse to be out of town.”

“He could have told you he was going somewhere else, to see someone unknown to the department. Made up a name, a place. Instead, he told you that he would be with someone you knew. Someone you could easily contact. Why didn’t he just disappear? Why not leave you waiting for him to return to his condo or make you search for his car? Instead, he tells you he’s flying his own plane — and he does take off in it. If you were planning to kill a witness in a capital case, would you act that way?”

“No,” Bredloe said. “But—”

“Would you make sure the guard saw you go into Seth Randolph’s room just before you killed the boy?”

Bredloe shook his head, then said, “But Lefebvre made sure no one saw him leave.”

“What if the boy was already dead when he went in?”

“Then why not tell someone?” Bredloe said angrily. “Why not summon help immediately? Why flee?”

“I don’t know,” Frank admitted. “This gets into pure guesswork. But maybe — maybe he felt he needed time or thought he was being framed.”

“Framed!” Bredloe shouted. “By someone in this department?”

“All right, all right,” Frank said, making calming motions. “Let’s back up a few steps. Arden lied to you. Why?”

The captain fell silent.

“There were three of you who heard Lefebvre say that he was going to visit Arden, right?”

“I don’t recall,” Bredloe said.

“According to the file, you, Lieutenant Willis, and Pete Baird were in the room when he called in, and you heard him say he was going to spend time with Arden.”

“Yes — now I remember. On the speakerphone in Willis’s office.”

“Right. Anyone else in the room with you?”

Bredloe frowned in concentration. “I don’t think so. Why?” he asked warily.

“I’m just wondering who or what scared Arden into lying.”

“Scared Arden? Are you implying—”