J. Jance - Without Due Process

“What do you think?” I asked her.

“Wild-assed guess?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know Ben Weston personally, but from what people have told me about him, if he could go bad, then anybody in the department could go bad, you and me included.”

Detective Danielson’s bleak assessment wasn’t that far from my own. She put her pen down and pushed her napkin with its good guy-bad guy notations in my direction. “Any additions or corrections to the minutes?”

“No, you’ve pretty well covered it all.”

“Any suggestions about what to do next?”

That last question gave me the opening I had been looking for, a way to bring up the question of Ben Weston’s computer project.

“It would help a lot if we knew for sure about Ben Weston, wouldn’t it?” I suggested tentatively.

In a homicide investigation, sometimes the small and seemingly unimportant answers to side questions lead to answers on the important ones as well. Sue grabbed the bait and ran with it. “It sure as hell would.”

“Has anyone talked to you about what exactly Ben was doing in the gang unit?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Doesn’t it seem like they should? I found out today, almost by accident, that he’s been building a gang profile data base. It includes all kinds of information on the various gang members-where they came from, what their affiliations are, that kind of thing. He was doing it all on the CCI computer.”

“Sounds reasonable,” she said.

“Maybe. Today I saw a very early version of that data base, something he was doing on his own long before he ever transferred into CCI. Two of the bank loan names were on even that early version. We need to get a look at what he’s been doing recently. Maybe then we’ll be able to sort out a pattern or see some connection.”

“Are you sure Detective Kramer hasn’t already done this?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Kramer’s got his hands full. He might not even have thought of it, but I’ll tell you one thing, if I ask him to look into it, it’ll be a cold day in hell before it actually gets done. Remember the court orders?”

Sue looked at me warily. “So why are you telling me? Do you want me to go see if I can get you a copy of whatever it is?”

I tried to look as innocent as possible. “You’re still supposed to be locating those missing cosigners, aren’t you? And having their families’ names and telephone numbers couldn’t hurt that process, could it? In fact, it might just make your job a whole lot easier.”

She smiled then, for the first time since we’d entered the restaurant. “Men are so damn transparent it’s disgusting. This is still part and parcel of what’s going on between you and Kramer, isn’t it? You’re afraid to give him the information for fear he’ll ignore it. And you think I’m dumb enough to jump into the cross fire.”

“Are you?”

She grinned back at me. “I prefer to call it curiosity rather than stupidity, if you don’t mind.”

“Which is why you’re going to be one hell of a detective one of these days, if you aren’t already.”

I was deliberately baiting her, expecting a little on-the-job male-female give-and-take. Instead, Sue nodded and raised her Coke glass in acknowledgment, ignoring the teasing and accepting my comment as a compliment.

“And what do you suggest we do about IIS?” she asked. “Call them in? Leave them out of it?”

“That’s a sticky one. I would imagine they’re already looking into the Ben Weston matter. Their concern will be what exactly he was up to and whether or not any other police officers were involved. For right now, though, until we get a better handle on your ”players,“ as you call them, I don’t think we should call the Double I’s in. It would be premature, and it just might backfire.”

She nodded. “That’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you about it, Detective Beaumont. I figured if anybody could give me the benefit of the long view, it was you.”

I’m sure Sue Danielson meant her comment as a compliment-at least I think she did-but there’s a certain amount of ego damage that goes along with being considered the ancient, all-knowing, and time-honored dispenser of the long view. When she offered to buy my coffee, I let her, and I left the restaurant feeling more butt-sprung than ever.

We walked back to the Public Safety Building together. Sue headed for CCI while I went back to my little cubicle in Homicide. Big Al was gone, giving me some working peace and quiet for a change. I was just getting a good start on the Emma Jackson report when the phone rang. It was Sue. I could tell from the sound of her voice that something was seriously wrong.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Meet me on the eleventh floor,” she answered tersely. “We’re going to IIS for sure, now, and I do mean now. I tried to get hold of Kramer to tell him, but he’s not around, and neither is Watty. I don’t think we should sit on this any longer. It’s too important.”

“For Christ’s sake, Sue, tell me what’s happening?”

“I had to jump through all kinds of hoops, but I finally got Ben Weston’s password and current verification question from the only person who supposedly has it, Kyle Lehman, the department’s computer systems operator. Captain Nichols, the head of CCI, woke him out of a sound sleep to do it. We logged into Ben’s directory on the computer just a few minutes ago.”

I didn’t like the way she verbally underlined the word “supposedly.” “And?” I prompted.

“Between one forty-five and two-fifteen on the morning of April fifteenth, all but two of the files in Ben Weston’s directory were opened and closed.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that within hours of Ben Weston’s death, someone went through his secured computer directory in CCI. The directory shows log-on and log-off times. In each case the file was open for less than a minute.”

“Was anything changed?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But someone was looking for something.”

“Someone inside Seattle PD was looking for something,” Sue Danielson corrected. “You know yourself. The computer operates on a secured system. You don’t get into it without having the proper passwords as well as coming up with all the right answers to the verifying questions.”

“What do you suppose they were looking for?” I asked.

“And did they find it?” Sue added.

Of course, that changed everything. If someone had tampered with Ben Weston’s files on a secured computer system located in the Public Safety Building within hours of his murder, then it was definitely time for someone to pay a visit to Internal Investigations. High time.

“You’re absolutely right, Sue,” I said. “See you on the eleventh floor just as soon as that damned slow-boat-to-China elevator can get us there.”

In my opinion, the internal investigations Section is a whole lot like a plumber’s friend-one of life’s necessary evils. A bathroom plunger isn’t something you’re particularly proud of owning. You don’t wave it around and brag about it, but when you need one, there’s nothing in the world quite like it. As circling water rises ominously and inevitably toward the rim of a backed-up toilet bowl, you’re usually damned grateful to have one in your hand.

I wasn’t ready to brag about IIS, but knowing that in the aftermath of Ben’s murder someone inside the Seattle Police Department had gained unauthorized access to his computer files made me more than ready to go see them. Sue Danielson, still too new at the Detective Division to have rotated in and out of IIS, was edgy about the entire process. I, on the other hand, had done a couple of stints in IIS over the years. Once again, I was able to offer some moral support from that dubiously gratifying vantage point-the long view.