Michael Connelly - The Poet

"You want to go up to the room or talk down here?"

He moved toward the elevator saying, "Your room."

We didn't speak in the elevator of anything of consequence. I looked at his clothes again and said, "You've already been home."

"I live off Connecticut on the other side of the beltway. Maryland. Wasn't that far."

I knew that was a toll call and that was why he hadn't called first. I also figured that the hotel was on the way from his house to the foundation. I was beginning to feel the small tick of excitement in my chest. Warren was going to turn.

There was a damp smell in the hallway that seemed to be the same in every hotel I had ever been in. I got out my card key and let him into my room. My computer was still open on the little desk and my long coat and the one tie I had brought with me were thrown across the bed. Otherwise, the room was neat. He threw his coat on the bed and we took the only chairs in the room.

"So what's going on?" I asked.

"I did a search."

He started to take a folded paper out of his back pocket.

"I have access to main computer files," he said. "Before I left for the day, I went in and searched the field reports for victims who were homicide detectives. There were only thirteen. I have names, departments and dates of death here on a printout."

He offered me the unfolded page and I took it from him as gently as if it were a sheet of gold.

"Thank you," I said. "Will there be a record of your search?"

"I don't really know. But I don't think so. It's a pretty wide-open system. I don't know if there's a security trace option or not."

"Thank you," I said again. I didn't know what else to say.

"Anyway, that was the easy part," he said. "Going through the protocols in file storage, that's going to take some time… I wanted to know if you'd want to help. You'd probably know better than me which ones were important."

"When?"

"Tonight. It's the only time. The place will be closed up but I have a key to file storage because sometimes I have to dig out old things for media requests. If we don't do it tonight the hard-copy files may be gone tomorrow. I have a feeling the FBI isn't going to like them sitting up here, especially knowing you asked for them. They'll come and grab them first thing tomorrow."

"Is that what Ford said?"

"Not exactly. I heard it through Oline. He talked to Rachel Walling, not Backus. He said she's-"

"Wait a minute. Rachel Walling?"

I knew the name. I took a moment but then I remembered she was the profiler who had signed the VICAP survey Sean had submitted on Theresa Lofton.

"Yes, Rachel Walling. She's a profiler down there. Why?"

"Nothing. The name's familiar."

"She works for Backus. Sort of the liaison between the center and the foundation on the suicide project. Anyway, Oline says she told Ford she's going to take a look at all of this. She might even want to talk to you."

"If I don't talk to her first." I stood up. "Let's go."

"Listen, one thing." He stood up. "I didn't do this, okay? You use these files as an investigative tool only. You never publish a story that says you had access to foundation files. You never admit that you even saw a file. It could be my job. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely."

"Then say it."

"I agree. To all of it."

We headed toward the door.

"It's funny," he said. "All those years procuring sources. I never really realized what they were risking for me. Now I do. It's kind of scary."

I just looked at him and nodded. I was afraid if I said anything he'd change his mind and go home.

On the way to the foundation in his car, he added a few more ground rules.

"I am not to be a named source in your story, okay?"

"Okay."

"And any information from me cannot be attributed to a 'foundation source,' either. Just a 'source familiar with the investigation,' okay? That gives me some cover."

"Okay."

"What you're looking for here are names that might be connected to your guy. If you find them, fine, but later on you don't have to report on how you got them. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, we've been over this. You're safe, Mike, I don't give up sources. Ever. All I'll do is use what we get here to get other confirmation. It'll be the blueprint. It's no problem."

He was quiet for a few moments before doubts must have crept into his mind.

"He's going to know it's me, anyway."

"Then why don't we stop? I don't want to jeopardize your job. I'll just wait for the bureau."

I didn't want to do that but I had to give him the option. I wasn't that far gone yet that I'd talk a guy into losing his job just to get information for a story. I didn't want that on my conscience. There was enough there already.

"You can forget the FBI as long as it's Walling's case."

"You know her? She tough?"

"Yeah, one of those as hard as nails with fingernail polish on. I tried shooting the shit with her once. She just shut me down. From what I hear from Oline, she got divorced or something a while back. I guess she's still in her 'men are pigs' mode and it's looking permanent to me."

I held up saying anything. Warren had to make a decision and I couldn't help.

"Don't worry about Ford," he finally said. "He may think it's me but he won't be able to do anything about it. I'll deny. So, unless you break the agreement, he'll have nothing but his suspicions."

"You've got nothing to worry about with me."

He found a spot on Constitution a half block from the foundation and parked. Our breath was coming out in thick clouds when we got out. I was nervous, whether or not he thought his job was in danger. I think we both were.

There was no guard to be fooled. No staff members working overtime to surprise us. We got in the front door with Warren's key and he knew right where we were going.

The file storage room was about the size of a double-wide garage and was taken up by rows of eight-foot steel shelves stacked with manila files with different colored tabs.

"How're we going to do this?" I whispered.

He took the folded printout from his pocket.

"There's a section on the suicide study. We look up these names, take the protocols to my office and copy the pages we need. I left the copier on when I left. Won't even have to warm it up. And you don't have to whisper. There's nobody here."

I noticed he said "we" one too many times but I didn't say anything about it. He led me down one of the aisles, his finger out and pointing as he read the program headings printed on the shelves. Eventually, he found the heading for the suicide study. The files had red tabs on them.

"These here," Warren said, raising his hand to point.

The files were thin, yet they took up three complete shelves. Oline Fredrick had been right, there were hundreds. Each red tag protruding from a file was a death. There was a lot of misery on the shelves. Now I had to hope that a few of them didn't belong there. Warren handed me the printout and I scanned the thirteen names.

"Out of all of these files only thirteen were homicide cops?"

"Yeah. The project has accumulated data on over sixteen hundred suicides. About three hundred a year. But most are street cops. Homicide dicks see the bodies but I guess for them the misery is over by the time they get there. They're usually the best and the brightest and the toughest. Seems like less of them eat the gun than the cops out on the beat. So I only came up with thirteen. Your brother and Brooks in Chicago also came up but I figured you have that stuff."

I just nodded.

"They should be alphabetical," he said. "Read me the names on the list and I'll pull the files. And give me your notebook."

It took less than five minutes to pull the files. Warren tore blank pages from my notebook and marked the spots in the stacks so they could be slipped back in quickly when we were done. It was intense work. It wasn't meeting a source like Deep Throat in a parking garage to help take down a president but my adrenaline was flowing anyway.