Brian Haig - PrivateSector

Now I really looked confused, so she asked, “You mean you still don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“I thought you… well, I thought you knew.” She put down the wineglass. “You recall that Lisa was dating someone for a good part of the past year?”

When I said nothing, she added, “I think I also mentioned that my father, my sisters, and I were very upset about it. He’s much older, for one thing. But like everybody, we were also aware of his reputation, and that wasn’t very reassuring.”

“What did Lisa see in him?”

“He’s charming and successful.” But she contemplated my question further, then suggested, “I think partly it was the bad-boy image. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Lisa’s whole life she was very… what’s the word here? Whatever she set her mind to, she always excelled at-first in the class in everything, track star, boys always calling. That can leave a woman vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?”

“Yeah, vul- You don’t know women very well, do you?”

Well, I knew them well enough not to answer that.

She explained, “Some women… Lisa was one, maybe, they’re very self-confident and that leads to a strong reforming instinct.” Her eyes sort of wandered around my apartment as she added, “Possibly it’s why Lisa liked you, too.”

Hmmm. “Go on.”

“Most women have a streak of it. Why do you think guys like Richard Gere and Vin Diesel are such big stars? Women watch them on the screen and dream of saving them from themselves.”

Well, this was weird. Life truly is just filled with these little men are from Mars and women from Venus oddities. A guy sees a bad girl, does he even think about reforming her? No-he wonders, What are the odds I can get a piece of that action and sneak out the back door before she learns my real name and phone number? If I ever have a daughter, we’re going to have a long chat about men. Pigs. Complete pigs.

But back to the subject. I said, “And how did it end?”

“This is Cy we’re talking about.”

“Lisa caught him cheating?”

“She did.”

“With who?”

“Didn’t say. Just that Cy and another woman started an affair.” She added, “When Lisa confronted him, Cy actually tried to persuade her to enter a sharing arrangement.”

“I’ll bet that went over well.”

“You can’t imagine.”

A piece of this made no sense, and I mentioned, “Cy said Lisa was offered a partnership in the Boston office. She accepted, and was preparing her resignation from the Army.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“Well… I don’t know about it.”

“But you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But I’d think-”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

I looked at her with confusion. I mean, Lisa would discuss where her boyfriend was tucking his ex-senatorial weenie, yet she failed to mention a job that would place the two of them in the same city? Weird. Just weird.

But there was a more pressing subject, and I said, “Have you ever heard of a company called Grand Vistas?”

“Should I have?” She then asked, “Is this another case the Boston DA’s handling?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Possibly. It’s an international company with holdings in everything from shipping to precious metals to telecommunications.”

“Why would I have heard of it?”

“No particular reason.” I refilled her wineglass. “I wondered if Lisa ever mentioned it.”

“No.”

“Do you know anybody who could maybe research it?”

She contemplated this and me a moment. “The Boston DA’s office has a corporate fraud unit. It often works with the SEC. John Andrews, the head of the unit, is a friend.”

“How good a friend?”

“He’d like to be more than a friend.”

“So you could ask and-”

“And he’d want to know why. Johnny’s in that job for a good reason. He bends the rules for no man… or woman.”

“That would be problematic.”

“I see.” She took another sip of wine and asked, “A public or private company?”

“Private. And registered in Bermuda.”

Just as she was on the verge of asking the next question, the phone rang. Daniel Spinelli identified himself and said I should meet him at the Alexandria police station as soon as I could get my butt over there. He further asked, Did I happen to know how to find the lovely Miss Janet Morrow? Indeed I did.

It wasn’t hard to guess what this was about.

There were no vacant desks in the Detective Section of the Alexandria police station. All hands were on deck, to borrow a naval term, indicating that Lieutenant Martin and his grim flatfoots had escalated to full crisis mode. Phones were ringing, scores of people were being interviewed, detectives scurrying from desk to desk, trading tips and case notes and the odds on Sunday’s Red-skins game against the loathsome Dallas Cowboys. In short, all the trappings of a roomful of dedicated professionals working diligently to catch the bad guy before he struck again.

Anyway, Lieutenant Martin was in his glass cage, and appeared exhausted and wrung out; collar unbuttoned, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, thick bags under bloodshot eyes-a man with a world of shit on his shoulders. Also I noted Spinelli and a stranger in a gray suit seated side by side against the back wall. Black-and-white photos of dead bodies in gruesome poses were everywhere, taped to the glass walls, spread around desks, piled in stacks on the floor.

It has been my experience that the more flustered the cops become, the more they make up for lack of progress by fabricating the signs of frantic activity. Cops are very good at faking it. These shots of dead girls were a sort of picturesque camouflage, or perhaps guilty reminders. In any regard, a guy was still free and running around town who would likely regard the gallery as a fine testament to his prowess and handiwork.

Janet nodded at Lieutenant Martin, then turned in the direction of Spinelli and the guy seated beside him, and she froze.

The guy got out of his chair, smiled, and said, “Hello, Janet.”

“George.”

Uh-oh-it seemed I had heard that name before.

He crossed the floor and planted a kiss on her cheek.

He said to her, “I am truly sorry about Lisa. I’ve been angling to get on this case since I heard. Of course, I had to wait till it turned federal.”

She was staring at him like a corpse that popped out of a coffin. “You’re on the case?”

“As of last night. But the Director decided that since two of the victims lived in Alexandria and the third was deposited here, the overall lead will stay with the locals. I’ve just been appointed the SAC for the Bureau’s contingent.”

SAC, if you don’t know, is FBI-speak for Senior Agent in Charge. This is how Boy Scouts pronounce BMIC, Big Motherfucker in Charge, which would be more accurate, as the FBI tends to treat locals like idiots and leave lots of bruised feelings in its wake.

Special Agent George Meany, the guy who screwed his fiancee for a promotion, was tall and well-built, scrubbed and dressed like an overgrown choirboy, with clean-cut good looks and a John Wayneish way of moving and standing. Also, he looked remarkably like Eliot Ness, meaning a younger Robert Stack, right down to his cleft chin and scrunched-up forehead that seemed to convey eternal thoughtfulness and seriousness of purpose. Or possibly he had gas.

Anyway, he looked at me and held out a hand, which I took. He said, “I’m Special Agent George Meany. I assume you’re Major Drummond.”

“Well… somebody has to be.”

He regarded me more closely and said, “Janet and I are old friends.”