Michael Prescott: Mortal Faults

“We didn’t have to turn him. He called us. He was very eager to talk. The information he supplied is what persuaded Shanker to deal. And the combined effect of Stenzel’s and Shanker’s statements, plus the tape recording, motivated the congressman to make a deal of his own.”

“So all the dominos fell in a neat row.” Abby tried to see ahead to the conclusion. “And the result is… no trial? For any of them?”

“No trials. Reynolds and Shanker are going away for a while. Stenzel escapes with probation.”

“It figures he’d land on his feet. Weasels always do.”

Tess spoke up beside her. “That’s cats. Cats land on their feet.”

“Weasels, too,” Abby said. “It’s a little-known fact. How about Andrea Lowry? Is there a courtroom in her future?”

Michaelson shifted in his seat. “She is certainly guilty of kidnapping and assault with a deadly weapon. She doesn’t even contest it. But there are extenuating circumstances.”

“I’ll say.”

“She’s been released, and no charges are pending.”

“Well, it seems like everything is all wrapped up. Except I can’t help wondering about a little detail I like to call… me. Where’s yours truly in all this? Still facing a murder rap for Dylan Garrick?”

Michaelson got up and moved to the windows, which provided a nice view of the city in the morning light. “You didn’t kill Garrick. We already have the killer in custody.”

Abby let out another sigh of relief, with no need to exaggerate it this time. “Let me guess. Shanker.”

“Very good. You get a gold star.”

“I don’t deserve it. It’s obvious. If Shanker was running the Santa Ana organization, he’d be held responsible for the screw-up at Andrea’s house. He would’ve been sucking heavy heat from Reynolds. He blamed Dylan for the failure of the operation, so it only makes sense that he would go after Dylan. And he would do it personally. No middleman. No more delegating.”

“That’s essentially the line of thought we followed.” Michaelson studied her coldly. “You have a good head for these things.”

“Next you’ll be recruiting me for the Bureau.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for that offer.”

“I’m not really cut out for the cubicle farm, anyway.” She was starting to enjoy herself, but then Tess had to ruin it.

“I don’t get it,” Tess said. “Why would Shanker confess to killing Garrick? We had nothing on him for that crime.”

Abby turned to her, irritated. “Tess, that kind of question is called looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“At first, naturally, he wouldn’t own up to it,” Michaelson said, “even though, for all the reasons you suggested, we were starting to think he was the likely suspect. So we got creative. We’d heard your story about what happened to Dylan Garrick. We used it against Shanker. Told him there was a witness. We described everything Shanker had done, from finding the door unlocked to picking up the gun and the pillow on the floor. By the time we were through, he must have thought we had a hidden camera in Garrick’s apartment. It broke him. When he started talking, he wouldn’t stop.” He turned his gaze on Tess. “He even informed us about ordering a hit on Agent McCallum, to be carried out by the bartender she interviewed.”

Abby was surprised. “Tess, have you ever come to L.A. without someone trying to kill you?”

Tess ignored her. To Michaelson she said, “It was nothing. The guy put some moves on me, and I busted his chops for it.”

“A detail you omitted when you related the encounter to me.”

“I made a deal with him. He ID’d Abby from a six-pack, and I forgot about his momentary misjudgment. Now, if you want to bring him in on the basis of Shanker’s testimony, which I had nothing to do with

…”

Michaelson nodded. “We’re trying, believe me. After Shanker was taken, word got out to the rest of the club. All the Scorpions have crawled under rocks for the moment.”

“Excuse me,” Abby cut in. “Not that I’m uninterested in the fate of the homicidal barkeep, but am I getting the right impression here? Am I off the hook?”

The sigh that escaped from Michaelson’s lips was a profound expression of frustration. “Ms. Sinclair, there are a dozen things for which we could prosecute you. None of them would be as sensational as homicide, but the sum total would be more than enough to put you away in a maximum security facility for many years. However…”

“I like that word ‘however.’”

“However,” he repeated, “to put you on trial would mean opening up the details of this case to the public, and since the major players have already plea-bargained, we’re not sure a trial would really be in anyone’s best interest.”

“Certainly not mine,” Abby agreed.

Tess was watching him. “You’re not telling us everything, Richard. There’s a reason you don’t want to go public, and I think I know what it is.”

“I’m sure you do. You must have had your publicity mill in D.C. working overtime.”

“You know I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Abby was getting lost. “To do with what? A little backstory for the exposition-impaired, please?”

“The story has generated national interest,” Michaelson said. “A sitting congressman, a twenty-year-old murder case that was notorious in its day, a shootout in a downtown parking garage…”

“It’s page one everywhere,” Tess added.

Abby frowned. “They haven’t mentioned me, have they?”

Michaelson shook his head. “Your name has been kept out of it. Actually, there’s only one person whose name keeps coming up.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Tess said again.

“Well, regardless of how it happened, the spin on the story is that Tess McCallum, already famous for her earlier exploits in Los Angeles, foiled the abduction and took Andrea and the congressman into custody-all on her own.”

“Nice work, Tess,” Abby said warmly.

Tess regarded her with a sour look. “Shut up.”

“Witnesses saw a second woman with Reynolds in the hotel lobby. The second woman, we are told, was Agent McCallum, undercover. It was apparently Agent McCallum who pursued the congressman and shot it out with him and Mr. Shanker in the garage. It was Agent McCallum who made the arrest. Another triumph for you, Tess-though of course,” Michaelson added, “you weren’t responsible for leaking any of these details.”

“The leak originated in D.C. You said so yourself.”

“You have friends in D.C.”

“Not friends who could put that story in the pipeline.”

“Perhaps you have a guardian angel. How nice for you. The bottom line-”

“The bottom line,” Abby said, “is that you guys have got a story that makes the Bureau look all nice and shiny like a brand new car, and you don’t want to spoil it by revealing that some unlicensed civilian did the real heavy lifting.”

Michaelson’s distaste for her was becoming almost palpable. It exuded from his body like ectoplasm. “We are concerned with the Bureau’s reputation, yes. And there are certain benefits to the positive publicity accruing to Agent McCallum-”

Tess got it. “You can’t touch me, either. That’s right, isn’t it? You can’t even discipline me without risking a media inquiry.”

“No final determination has been made-”

“Don’t use Bureauspeak on me. You can’t suspend me, let alone fire me, let alone charge me with anything criminal. Not without opening the whole can of worms. And you know it.”

Michaelson’s eyes shut briefly, as if in anticipation of a headache. “You won’t be punished. But you won’t be going places, either. Any other agent who’d reaped a public relations bonanza like this would be headed straight to upper management.” He leaned in close to the sofa. “Not you, McCallum. You’re going to stay in that cow town of yours for the rest of your career.”