What? Mac thought. “Others?” he asked neutrally.
“You didn’t know? Two deputies have died since Norton’s taken office. Both times, it was a failure of backup. They called for backup, and no one came. Both were shot. No suspects. But then there was only a superficial investigation, I hear.”
“Where were they shot?” he asked.
“You mean geographically? One way out — outside Concrete. The other was near Lyman, I think. So even if someone had responded to their calls for help, they’d be hard pressed to get there in a timely fashion. But no one even tried.”
“Why not?” Mac asked.
“Good question. I don’t have an answer for you. Both happened before I got here. Dispatch recorded a call, issued an all-points bulletin. And then?” Mac could almost hear her shrug.
“Be safe, then,” Mac told her.
“Yeah, I won’t be taking chances,” she agreed.
The treadmill’s timer went off, pulling Mac out of his thoughts. He hopped off, wiped it down. The good thing about thinking on a treadmill is at least you got something out of it — the exercise if nothing else. Because things were no clearer in his head. He still didn’t know what to think about Skagit County and its sheriff — except that there was something seriously wrong up there.
Shorty was eating stir-fry when Mac got out to his apartment in Bellevue. He gestured to the wok, and Mac helped himself. Shorty was a good cook; he’d learned from both his Filipino father and Mexican mother. This meal involved wide rice noodles, chicken, garlic and he didn’t know what else. It was really good, and Mac was hungry.
“So, I did the content analyses that we talked about,” Shorty said as Mac continued to eat. “I think the sheriff is MLK4whites. Someone may have helped him set it up — like I’ve done with you — if his wife is right about him not having the tech smarts to do it. I found a letter he wrote to his constituents, and I’d say there’s at 70 percent chance he’s behind that account.”
Mac nodded. “That’s consistent with what I’m learning,” Mac said. He told Shorty about Norton’s previous life as a Skinhead.
“Fuck,” Shorty said. “I came across an article last night that said in the late 80s-early 90s Skinhead leaders decided that they needed to grow out their hair, cover their tats and exchange their clothes for the military and the police. That white supremacy required it of them.”
“And you think that’s what they’ve done? Gone undercover so to speak?” Mac asked.
“Don’t you?”
Mac took a deep breath and blew it out. “You’re talking intentional enlistments, not just cops who lean toward white supremacy.”
Shorty shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But you said Rodriguez was afraid of his own co-workers. Maybe he has reason to be.”
“He has reason,” Mac said grimly. He told him about the FBI report Janet had sent to him. “In 2008,” he added. “They’ve known for six years, that there were white supremacists — organized, militant supremacists — in our police force and in our military. And they’ve suppressed those reports. Marking them confidential, or even rejecting them. Because no one wants to deal with it.”
“Well you’ve opened the can of worms now, Mac,” Shorty said.
“Any progress on the Sensei?”
Shorty shook his head. “He’s not Anderson, Malloy or Norton,” he said definitely. “Still looking at the other names, but they don’t know you, do they? I reread that email he sent you last night. He knows you. Someone you’re not looking at. Maybe someone in the SPD? Or Mac? And this is what’s got me worried tonight — maybe someone at the newspaper? But it’s someone you know.”
Mac thought about Steve Whitaker and his all-white-male team.
“It may be someone I know, but it isn’t someone I trust,” he said slowly. “Because on my list of people I trust? They’re mostly women, or they’re people of color. Weird, right? But I can’t think of a white man I trust. I mean the Examiner publisher, executive editor and managing editor seem like good men, but they were willing to sell me out during the Howard Parker story. That’s a bit harsh. But they didn’t back me. Janet did.”
“Women can be white supremacists,” Shorty pointed out. “But I’m pretty sure the Sensei is male. So, you’re right, probably not a colleague you rely on. But you need to be careful, because you could get blindsided on this. He knows you.”
“Could he know me because he’s read my work? Knows about me, not necessarily met me?” Mac asked, thinking about it. A lot of readers started thinking they knew him because they read his stuff. They wrote him fan letters. He’d never been sure whether to feel flattered or stalked.
Shorty hesitated. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But I think he’s met you.”
“OK,” Mac said. “I won’t ignore someone as irrelevant or dismiss someone as not being a threat.”
When Mac went home, there was an email waiting from the Sensei. Two of them, actually. One was clearly an email that went out to the general list. It was talking about self-discipline, and that a man couldn’t expect others to respect him and accept his authority if he didn’t respect himself. Mac snorted. He was pretty sure he’d heard that as a sermon in church with Kate. Didn’t sit any better minus the God part. Wasn’t that he disagreed, particularly, about self-respect and self-discipline, he thought. But he didn’t want an authoritarian relationship with his hypothetical wife.
So what kind of relationship did he want? He thought that might be something worth thinking about. Kate was looking for this kind of relationship. She liked Mac’s authority. She wanted a man who would be the head of the house. So, if he didn’t want that, and he knew he didn’t, then what the hell was he doing?
Not the first time that question had
