Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

"The shell casings from Pell's gun on the beach were found closer to Kellogg's position than Pell's. Kellogg probably fired Pell's weapon himself to make it look like self-defense. Oh, and the lab found sand in Kellogg's handcuffs. That means Kellogg-"

"Suggests," Overby corrected.

" Suggests that Kellogg disarmed Pell, got him into the open, tossed the cuffs down and, when Pell went to pick them up, killed him."

Dance said, "Look, Charles, I'm not saying it'll be a shoo-in, but Sandoval can win it. I can testify that Pell wasn't a threat when he was shot. The pose of the body's clear."

Overby's eyes scanned his desk and settled on yet another framed fish picture. "Motive?"

Hadn't he paid attention earlier? Probably not.

"Well, his daughter. He's killing anybody who's connected-"

The CBI chief looked up and his eyes were sharp and probing. "No, not Kellogg's motive for killing him. Our motive. For bringing the case."

Ah. Right. He meant, of course, her motive. Was it retribution because she'd been betrayed by Kellogg? "It'll come up, you know. We'll need a response."

Her boss was on a roll today.

But so was she. "Because Winston Kellogg murdered someone within our jurisdiction."

Overby's phone rang. He stared at it for four trills then answered.

TJ whispered, "That's a good motive. Better than he served you a lousy steak."

The CBI chief hung up, staring at the picture of the salmon. "We've got visitors." He straightened his tie. "The FBI's here."

"Charles, Kathryn…"

Amy Grabe took the coffee cup that was offered by Overby's assistant and sat. She gave a nod to TJ.

Dance chose an upright chair near the attractive but no-nonsense special agent in charge of the San Francisco field office. Dance didn't go for the more comfortable but lower couch across from the woman; sitting even an inch below someone puts you at a psychological disadvantage. Dance proceeded to tell the FBI agent the latest details about Kellogg and Nimue.

Grabe knew some, but not all, of the tale. She frowned as she listened, motionless, unlike fidgety Overby. Her right hand rested on the opposite sleeve of her stylish burgundy suit.

Dance made her case. "He's an active duty agent killing these people, Amy. He lied to us. He staged a dynamic entry when there was no need to. He nearly got a dozen people hurt. Some could've been killed."

Overby's pen bounced like a drumstick, and TJ's kinesics read: Okay, now, this is an awkward moment.

Grabe's eyes, beneath perfect brows, scanned everyone in the room as she said, "It's all very complicated and difficult. I understand that. But whatever happened, I've gotten a call. They'd like him released."

"They-Ninth Street?"

She nodded. "And higher. Kellogg's a star. Great collar record. Saved hundreds of people from these cults. And he's going to be taking on fundamentalist cases. I mean terrorists. Now, if it makes you feel any better, I talked to them, and they'll have an inquiry. Look into the takedowns, see if he used excessive force."

"The most powerful handgun known to man," TJ recited, then fell silent under his boss's withering glance.

"Look into it?" Dance asked, her voice incredulous. "We're talking questionable deaths-fake suicides, Amy. Oh, please. It's a vendetta. Pure and simple. Jesus, even Pell was above revenge. And who knows what else Kellogg's done."

"Kathryn," her boss warned.

The FBI agent said, "The fact is he's a federal agent investigating crimes in which the perps are particularly dangerous and smart. In some instances they've been killed resisting. Happens all the time."

"Pell wasn't resisting. I can testify to that-as an expert witness. He was murdered."

Overby was tapping a pencil on his immaculate blotter. The man was a knotted ball of stress.

"Kellogg has arrested-he has arrested, you know-a lot of dangerous individuals. A few have been killed."

"Fine, Amy, we can go on and on about this for hours. My concern isn't anything other than presenting a single homicide case to Sandy Sandoval, whether Washington likes it or not."

"Federalism at work," TJ said.

Tap, tap… The pencil bounced and Overby cleared his throat.

"It's not even a great case," the SAC pointed out. She'd apparently read all the details on the trip to the Peninsula.

"It doesn't have to be a slam dunk. Sandy can still win it."

Grabe put the coffee down. She turned her placid face to Overby and leveled hard eyes at him. "Charles, they've asked that you don't pursue it."

Dance wasn't going to let them dump the case. And, all right, some of her goddamn motive was because the man who'd asked her out, who'd won a bit of her heart, had betrayed her.

…afterward. How does that sound?

Overby's eyes took in more pictures and mementos on his desk. "It's a tough situation… You know what Oliver Wendell Holmes said? He said that tough cases make bad law. Or maybe hard cases make bad law. I don't remember."

What does that mean? she wondered.

Grabe said in a soft tone, "Kathryn, Daniel Pell was a dangerous man. He killed law enforcers, he killed people you know and he killed innocents. You've done a great job in an impossible situation. You stopped a really bad doer. And Kellogg contributed to that. It's a gold star for everybody."

"Absolutely," Overby said. He set down the bouncing writing implement. "You know what this reminds me of, Amy? Jack Ruby killing Kennedy's assassin. Remember? I don't think anybody had a problem with what Ruby did, gunning Oswald down."

Dance's jaw closed, her teeth pressing together firmly. She flicked her thumb against her forefinger. Just as he'd "reassured" Grabe of Dance's innocence in contributing to Pell's escape, her boss was going to sell her out again. By declining to submit the case to Sandy Sandoval, Overby wasn't just covering his ass; he was as guilty of murder as Kellogg himself. Dance sat back, her shoulders slumping slightly. She saw TJ's grimace from the corner of her eye.

"Exactly," Grabe said. "So-"

Then Overby held up a hand. "But a funny thing about that case."

"What case?" the FBI agent asked.

"The Ruby case. Texas arrested him for murder. And guess what? Jack Ruby got convicted and sent to jail." A shrug. "I'll have to say no, Amy. I'm submitting the Kellogg case to the Monterey County Prosecutor. I'm going to recommend indictment for murder. Lesser included offense'll be manslaughter. Oh, and aggravated assault on a CBI agent. Kellogg did take a shot at Kathryn, after all."

Dance felt her heart thud. Had she heard this right? TJ glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

Overby was looking at Dance. He said, "And I think we should go for misuse of legal process too, and lying to an investigative agent. What do you think, Kathryn?"

Those hadn't occurred to her. "Excellent." She noticed TJ's thumb subtly point upward.

Grabe rubbed her cheek with a short, pink-polished nail. "Do you really think this is a good idea, Charles?"

"Oh, I do. Absolutely."

Tears pooling in her eyes, a woman lay on the bed of the cheap transient hotel off Del Monte, near Highway 1. Listening to the hiss of traffic, she was staring at the ceiling.

She wished she could stop crying.

But she couldn't.

Because he was dead.

Her Daniel was gone.

Jennie Marston touched her head, under the bandage, which stung furiously. She kept replaying the last few hours of their time together, Thursday. Standing on the beach south of Carmel, as he held the rock in the shape of Jasmine, her mother's cat, the one thing her mother would never hurt.

Recalling how Daniel held the rock, turning it over and over.