Deputy Houseman, is that you are getting into a very sensitive and dangerous area.’’
‘‘Tell Lamar and Bud,’’ I said. Unfair, maybe. But true.
‘‘Point well taken,’’ he answered.
‘‘You know what I want.’’ I looked at him. Were we doomed to repeat this conversation every day until the case was solved?
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘You also know that,’’ I said evenly, ‘‘aside from his involvement in the shooting of a narc cop, DEA couldn’t give a damn about what Gabriel does with his life.’’
‘‘Very true.’’
‘‘You should also know that I have a very deep interest in who he is, and what he does, and whom he associates with. Not to mention where he is.’’
‘‘I know that too. Yes,’’ said Volont. ‘‘I don’t doubt it.’’
‘‘What you obviously don’t know is that I am also able to differentiate between intelligence data and prosecution data.’’
‘‘Oh, no,’’ said Volont. ‘‘I don’t doubt that. Not at all.’’
‘‘Then,’’ I asked, ‘‘what’s the problem? Why won’t you brief us, Hester and George and me, and let us get on with the business at hand? With George to play watchdog for you. We have no problem with that.’’ Well, just a little bit of a lie, but I didn’t want George to get in any more trouble than he was already in.
‘‘There are things I’m not allowed to disclose.’’ He looked at both of us. ‘‘I simply can’t. You know that.’’
‘‘So,’’ I said, ‘‘the identity of Gabriel is one of those, right?’’
‘‘I shouldn’t even say that,’’ said Volont, and a small smile flickered over his face. ‘‘But, yes.’’
‘‘Do you have to obstruct our efforts, though?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘I’ll have to ask,’’ said Volont. Very serious. Wow.
‘‘I’ll tell you,’’ I said, ‘‘I’d rather go through you than have to try other approaches. And I’d think you, or your boss, or whoever would agree with that.’’ I forced a grin. ‘‘Better the devil you know …’’
He smiled. ‘‘I agree… Just who do you think my boss is, by the way? Nichols at the DEA?’’
‘‘Well, yeah,’’ I said, realizing that I really didn’t have any idea who his boss was.
‘‘I don’t believe I ever said I was in narcotics,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m a counterterrorist agent. I do counterintelligence. I have no interest in narcotics-specific cases.’’
Well, damn. Pieces clicked furiously. I began to feel we were right about the right-wing extremists, then. If that was it, then that was Volont’s interest in the whole thing.
‘‘I don’t think you’d have any connection with my boss,’’ he said.
‘‘Well,’’ I said, playing the only trump card I could think of, ‘‘I was thinking of a man I know with Mossad. One with Shin Beth. I even know a guy with GSG 9, for God’s sake. And I’ve got a friend with a connection with the SAS, now that I think of it. Could they know him?’’
‘‘What,’’ he said, ‘‘no CIA connections?’’ He smiled again.
He thought I was kidding. ‘‘I don’t know anybody in CIA,’’ I said. ‘‘I did attend a lecture by Admiral Bobby Inman once. But I sure wouldn’t want to imply that he’d even talk to me.’’
Volont was silent.
‘‘Your guys were the ones who brought the Mossad agent to our office to talk with us.’’
That got him. It was true. The Israelis had been checking on possible Nazi connections with the extreme right in the United States. We were far from the only ones the Israeli had talked with, and I personally think he was there because he’d pissed off his boss. But it had happened. The fact that I didn’t even remember his name, let alone have a way to reach him, had nothing to do with it. Volont wouldn’t be able to confirm that, and confirmation is the key word in the intelligence business.
That also got Hester, by the way. I’d only seen her look that surprised once before.
‘‘I really want to keep this in the family,’’ I said. I held up my thumb and forefinger, in a pinching motion. ‘‘But I want to solve these killings just a little, tiny bit more.’’
Volont pursed his lips. ‘‘Thanks for the dessert,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll be in touch.’’
For the record, I felt a little angry with myself for having become angry at Volont. This was balanced, I felt, by my being delighted with the Mossad bit. If you threw in a meal that was excellent until dessert, the evening had been a plus. Hell, even the dessert wasn’t that bad.
I got to Maitland about 2300. Long, tired drive. I waited to use my radio until I pulled my unmarked into our garage, just so they wouldn’t be tempted to give me anything to do. I picked up the mike, and went 10-42, giving my ending mileage to the office, as required.
Sally was working. She acknowledged my transmission, and requested I phone her at the office ASAP.
Wonderful.
I walked in the door, and met Sue, who was bringing her popcorn dish to the kitchen sink. We kissed, and I said, ‘‘I’m supposed to call the office.’’
A short hug later, and I was on the phone.
‘‘Nation County Sheriff’s Department.’’
‘‘I hope you know what you’re asking, here,’’ I said.
‘‘ME!!!’’ She nearly took my ear off. ‘‘ME! Holy shit, Houseman. You should talk. You gave me some son of a bitch that doesn’t exist. I can’t get anywhere with this Connie Wittman. I mean it, I can’t get shit.’’
She was talking so fast I couldn’t get a word in.
‘‘What do you want, for shit’s sake? You want me to start running women with that last name, and then call ’em up and ask where their son Connie is? Huh?’’
She ran out of breath. I really liked that about Sally. She gave that job everything she had, and would drive herself harder than any boss ever could.
‘‘No. That’s okay,’’ I said blandly. On purpose, just to slow her down.
Silence. Then: ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Yeah, that’s okay. You can’t get ’em all.’’ I waited a beat. ‘‘Just go home and get a good sleep. It’s okay.’’
‘‘Well…’’
‘‘Sure. Good night, Sally.’’
‘‘Well… night.’’ As I put the phone down, I heard an increasingly faint ‘‘I’ll try again tomorrow…’’
Twenty-one
The next day was Sunday. I got to the office just after lunch. There was an envelope waiting in my box, sealed with red evidence tape. It just had ‘‘Houseman’’ written on it, in Sally’s hand.
Inside was this:
A handwritten note that said, ‘‘Don’t EVER ask me to do this again, ’cause I can’t. Sally.’’
Stapled to the note were two sheets of teletype paper.
The first one looked like this:
TCAM CANCELED SSN 933 99 9901 OLN 933 99 9901 WITTMAN, JULIUS CONSTANTINE HWY 220 CLOSTOWN, IA 52933 COUNTY: HOMER PROCDAT: 02-12-91 DOB: 02-10-47 SEX: M RAC: W EYS: BLU HT: 510 WT: 225
It was followed by three traffic entries in ’93.
The second sheet looked like this:
NCIC FEDERAL OFFENDER CRIMINAL HISTORY NAME FBI NO. INQUIRY DATE WITTMAN, JULIUS CONSTANTINE 995622441AQ 07/28/96 SEX RACE BIRTHDATE HEIGHT WEIGHT EYES HAIR POB M W 02/10/47 509 235 BLU GRY IA ARREST-1 06/11/86 AGENCY-US MARSHAL’S SERVICE CEDAR RAPIDS IA (IAUSM0002) CHARGE 1-PASS COUNTERFEITED SECURITIES COURT-IA CEDAR RAPIDS 09-22-86 DISPOSITION-CONVICTED OFFENSE-PASS COUNTERFEITED SECURITIES SENTENCE-6M CONFINEMENT, 30M SUSPENDED, 3Y PROBATION
