Michael Connelly - The Poet

"That's the hard part," I said. "You should ask Brass."

"I will. But you try it."

I thought a moment before starting.

"A young girl, I don't know, twelve, thirteen years old. She's abused by her father. Sexually. Her mother either… her mother leaves. She either knew what was happening and couldn't stop it or just didn't care. The mother leaves and then the girl is left alone with him. He's a cop. A detective. He threatens her, convinces her she can never tell anyone because he's a detective and he'll find out. He tells her she won't be believed and she believes him.

"So one day she's finally had enough or she'd had enough all along but didn't have the chance or hadn't thought out the right plan. Whatever. But that one day comes and she kills him, makes it look like he did it himself. Suicide. She gets away with it. There's a detective on the case who knows something isn't right but what's he gonna do? He knows the guy had it coming to him. He lets it go."

Backus was standing in the middle of the room staring at the floor.

"I knew about her father. The official version, I mean."

"I had a friend find out the details of the unofficial version."

"What next?"

"What happens next is she blossoms. The power she had in that one moment makes up for a lot of things. She gets past it. Few do, but she makes it. She's a smart girl and she goes on to the university to study psychology, to learn about herself. And then she even gets drafted by the FBI. She's a prize and she moves fast through the bureau until she's in the unit that actually studies people like her father. And like herself. You see, her whole life has been this struggle to understand. And then when her team leader wants to study police suicides he goes to her because he knows the official story about her father. Not the truth. Just the official story. She takes the job, knowing inside that the reason she had been chosen was a sham."

I stopped there. The more I told of the story the more power I felt. Knowledge of someone's secrets is an intoxicating power. I reveled in my ability to put the story together.

"And so," Backus whispered then, "how does it all come apart for her?"

I cleared my throat.

"Things were going good," I continued. "She married her partner and things were going good. But then things weren't so good. I don't know if it was pressure from the job, the memories, the breakup of that marriage, maybe all of those things. But she started coming apart. Her husband left her, thinking that she was empty inside. The Painted Desert, he called her, and she hated him for it. And then… maybe she remembered the day when she killed her tormentor. Her father. And she remembered the peace that came after… the release."

I looked at him. He had a far-off look in his eyes, maybe envisioning the story as I conjured it from hell.

"One day," I continued, "one day a request for a profile comes in. A boy has been killed and mutilated in Florida. The case detective wants a profile of the person who did this. Only she recognizes the detective, knows his name. Beltran. A name from the past. A name maybe brought up in an old interview and she knows that he, too, was a tormentor, an abuser like her father, and that the victim he is calling about was also probably his victim…"

"Right," Backus said, taking up the strand. "So she goes down to Florida to this man, Beltran, and does it again. Just like with her father. Makes it look like a suicide. She even knew where Beltran kept his shotgun hidden. Gladden had told her that. It was probably an easy thing to get to him. She flies down, goes to him with her bureau credentials and gets inside the house to do it. It brings her peace again. Fills that void. Only thing is it doesn't last. Soon she is empty again and she has to do it again. And then again and again. She follows the killer, Gladden, and kills those who are after him, using him to cover her tracks before she had even made them."

Backus was staring blankly at some vision as he spoke.

"She knew all the touches, all the moves," he said. "Wiping the lubricated condom off inside Orsulak's mouth. The perfect deflection. It was true genius."

I nodded and took it from there.

"She had seen Gladden's cell and knew there was a photograph in the files that could be found one day," I said. "She knew the books about Poe were in the photos. It was all a setup. She followed Gladden around the country. She had a sense. She knew from the cases coming in for profiling which were the ones he did. She had an empathy. She'd follow him. She'd go out and kill the cop that was after him. She made each one look like a suicide, but she had Gladden to put it on if someday someone came along and it unraveled."

Backus looked at me.

"Someone like you," he said.

"Yeah. Like me."

Backus said the story was like a sheet hanging on a clothesline in high wind. Barely held on by a few clothespins, it was ready to fly away.

"We need more, Jack."

I nodded. He was the expert. Besides, the real trial had already been held in my heart and the verdict was in.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"I'm thinking. You had-you were beginning a relationship with her, weren't you?"

"It was that obvious?"

"Yes."

Then he didn't say anything for a full minute. He paced the room, not really looking at anything, all interior dialogue and thought. Finally, he stopped moving and looked at me.

"Would you wear a wire?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. I'll bring her back here, put her alone with you and you draw it out. You might be the only one who could."

I looked down at the floor. I remembered our last phone conversation and how she had seen through my act.

"I don't know. I don't think I could pull it off."

"She might be suspicious and check," Backus said, discarding the idea and searching the floor with his eyes for another. "Still, you're the one, Jack. You're not an agent and she knows if need be she can take you."

"Take me where?"

"Take you out." He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. You won't have to wear a wire. We'll put you inside the wire."

"What are you talking about?"

He raised a finger as if to tell me to hold on. He picked up the phone, wedged the receiver into the crook of his neck and carried it with him while he tapped in a number and waited for an answer. The cord was like a leash, containing his pacing to only a few steps in any direction.

"Pack your things," he said to me while waiting for the call to be picked up.

I got up and slowly began to follow his order, putting my few things in the computer bag and the pillowcase while listening as he asked for Agent Carter and then began issuing directions. He told Carter to call Quantico communications and to relay a message to the bureau jet with Rachel on it. Call the plane back, Backus ordered.

"Just tell them something's come up that cannot be discussed on the air and that I need her back here," he said into the phone. "Nothing more than that. Understand?"

Satisfied with Carter's reply, he pressed on.

"Now, before you do that, put me on hold and call the SAC's office. I need the exact address and key combination for the earthquake house. He'll know what I mean. I'll be going there from here. I want you to grab a sound and video tech and two good agents. I'll fill you in there. Call the SAC now."

I looked at Backus with a curious expression.

"I'm on hold."

"Earthquake house?"

"Clearmountain told me about it. It's in the hills over the Valley. Top to bottom it's wired. Sound and video. It was damaged in the quake and the real owners just left it, didn't have insurance. The bureau leased it from the bank and used it for a sting on local building and safety inspectors, contractors and repairmen. A lot of fraud involving the funds from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. That's where the bureau came in. Indictments are pending. The sting's been closed down but the bureau's lease isn't up. So it's-"