Tim Green: The Letter Of The Law

Now, though, Bolinger could check specific names and places and identify victims. With this disk, he could build a case so foolproof all the Casey Jordans in the world couldn't get Lipton off.

"Bob," Farnhorst said, breaking into his reverie, "I gotta get some lunch."

"I'll order some sandwiches. You sit right here."

Bolinger turned to the small crowd of detectives who were watching them from across the room. Every so often, one of them would amble over and catch a bit of what was going on, but for the most part, they kept the respectful distance of spectators at a monumental event.

"Hanson," Bolinger said, "will you get a couple of roast beef sandwiches and some sodas sent up?"

Hanson nodded and scrambled to a phone, glad to help out in any way.

"Hey," Bolinger continued, "don't the rest of you guys have work to do?"

As the group dispersed, another detective said, "Sarge, there's a call for you in your office."

Bolinger gave Farnhorst a look of warning not to abandon his post and got up from his seat. It felt good to stand. The two of them had been sitting for more than two hours.

"Tell you what," he said to Farnhorst, "take five, but don't make me go chasing you down. I got sandwiches coming."

Bolinger picked up the phone in his office. It was Unger.

"How's it going?" the agent asked.

"Fine," Bolinger said impatiently. "I've got a potential breakthrough, so I can't talk."

"A breakthrough?" Unger asked.

Bolinger sensed a hint of alarm in the agent's voice. "Yeah," he said warily.

"You… did you find Lipton?" Unger said unable to disguise the concern in his voice.

"No," Bolinger replied suspiciously. "But I may have some information that will get a lot more people than you and me looking for him. But you don't have to worry about it. I've got the whole thing under control."

Bolinger was about to hang up when Unger shot back, "I want to come down and see what you've got, Bob. I… I really want to get going on this case. I've got some things of my own that I can't talk about over the phone, but I may have a breakthrough, too."

"Fine," Bolinger said, feigning as much interest as he could. "Come on down."

Bolinger could and would mobilize his people under the auspices of the Frank Castle investigation. He had that authority and he would use it. He wanted to be the one to bring Lipton down. But on a grander scale, this was an FBI case, and once they found out that murders as spectacular as the ones Lipton had committed had occurred across state lines, they would step in and grab the whole deal. A special task force would be assigned, and a Fed would run it. Bolinger could only imagine the publicity over a murderer set free with the woman who helped him sitting on his hit list. He made a mental note to contact Casey Jordan. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to keep someone with her in the event that she really had seen Lipton following her. Meanwhile, every Fed in the country would be clamoring for a piece of this case. It would certainly be enough to make Dean Wentworth forget about his string of bank robberies.

But if it had to be a Fed running the show, it might as well be his Fed. He'd seen Unger's type before. He was burned out before his time, lackadaisical and ineffective. Bolinger could control him. But at the same time, in the interest of staying as close to the case as he could, Bolinger would do his best to make it look as though Unger had outdone himself. He wanted the FBI to think that Unger was not only capable but the best choice of agent to see the investigation to its finish.

James Unger arrived in his charcoal suit, freshly pressed, and an electric blue Italian tie. His hair was slicked back off his big, high forehead and glistening with gel. Bolinger and Farnhorst looked at the agent and then at each other. Unger was a caricature of himself, a trumped-up nerd. The detectives probably would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the unusual emotion burning in the agent's eyes.

Unger had a hard time controlling those emotions as he sat through his computer session with Bolinger and Farnhorst. Things were even better than he'd imagined. The timing of the disk was perfect. They now had spectacular evidence that Lipton was a homicidal maniac of epic proportions. Unger's mind was racing with the kudos he could win if he played this right. This case would change his entire career. But he had to play it right, and part of that meant not saying a thing to anyone about knowing Lipton's whereabouts until he had the media in place.

So it was with great self-control that he listened to Bolinger's exposition about where they were in the investigation and what direction the disk would now take them. The air in the room grew stale, and the early afternoon sun glared down through the windows of the squad room. Unger had shed his jacket and an anxious sweat stained the armpits of his shirt, but still he managed to remain calm, with his tie snugly knotted at his throat. Finally, Bolinger drew to a close.

"So what I'm proposing, James," he said, "is that you call your office in Atlanta and set up a conference call with your boss and whoever is directly above him. I'll be the one to suggest that you head up the investigation because of your familiarity with the case and how far you've taken it to that point. The important thing is that we don't lose the case."

Farnhorst looked on with open amazement. Bolinger shamefully averted his gaze. It was uncharacteristic of him to conspire with someone he didn't know or like, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime case for Bolinger as well.

Unger was unfazed by the local detective's obvious embarrassment at the ruse. He grinned knowingly at the seasoned cop, and it was the closest he had come thus far to divulging the ace he held so closely.

"I'll set up the call," he agreed. "But let's wait until tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you…" Bolinger began.

"No, I know how to handle this, Bob," Unger said with a casual familiarity that made Bolinger bite the inside of his cheek. Unger stood to go. "You get this stuff together. I've got some calls I need to make and I'll meet you back here around five. I've got some ideas and I think you'll be able to help me execute them, but I have some work to do first."

With a nod, Unger left the detectives staring after him.

"What an asshole," Farnhorst muttered. "Geez, Bob, if that's not enough to make you puke, I don't know what is."

Bolinger took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, there's not much we can do about it. We can step up our search for Lipton on the premise of the Castle investigation, but we sure as hell can't start calling around the country asking after the women on this list without the Feds. I can only imagine the shit we'd catch if we got out in front of them and trampled on their case."

"Their case?" Farnhorst said disdainfully.

"Yeah," Bolinger said, turning somberly toward his burly friend. "It belongs to them now no matter how hard either you or I wish it wasn't so…"

Lipton pitched his voice into a low, gruff mumble, identified himself as Kurt Lamb, and asked for Casey Jordan. The receptionist funneled him to Gina, who began a series of questions that bordered on belligerence.

"I gotta speak to her," Lipton persisted in his disguised voice. "It's an emergency. I'm a client. At least she told me I was. I just met her through her husband. She'll know me."

At the words "client" and "emergency," Gina's protective toughness melted away. She became conciliatory and even apologetic when, after several minutes on hold, she got back on the line and explained that she had tried every means she knew of getting hold of Casey.

"I've left messages everywhere, Mr. Lamb," Gina said. "I'm sure she'll be checking in, and I'll make sure she gets right back to you. Where can you be reached?"