“I think you overestimate your power, Lauren. You were a protégé, not a designated successor to Wilson Caufeld’s respect, power, or position. Do you understand that?” Abram asked.
“Yes, I do. I want to be clear that this is not a threat. But I do remember the lessons Wilson taught me. He always said that those in power should be the ones who know how to use it properly. I’m not sure any of us deserve to be doing what we are doing.”
“We do deserve what we have, Lauren. We are the best there is.” Abram laughed with actual delight. “I can’t believe you haven’t figured that out. Government service is only a brief stop for most lawyers. Trial experience means bigger salaries in the private sector. Edie and I, and you of course, are the exception. Government is our life and we are as good as you’re going to find here. So, Lauren, whatever dreams of ethical grandeur Wilson Caufeld put in your head, you can just put them right out again. Deserving of power, indeed.”
“That may be the case, but I could make it a topic of conversation, Abram. A call to the broadcast news, a lunch with a reporter from one of the weeklies. Perhaps talking about it would make me feel better.”
“I doubt Wilson Caufeld taught you how to bargain like that,” Abram said as Edie wandered back to the window. “I haven’t the energy to fight you, so let’s get to the bottom line. What is it you want, Lauren?”
“I want to prosecute Caufeld’s murderer.” Lauren pushed, now that she had him where she wanted him. “I want to be in from minute one. I want to be the one to handle the grand jury and get this bastard indicted, and then I want to witness the execution. Let me do that and I won’t make any trouble.”
There was silence in the office. On the street below, a horn honked and then another. In Abram’s office a clock ticked. Edie looked over her shoulder and then out the window, as if jumping was a consideration. When she looked back, Abram was waiting for her to speak. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, palms against the ledge, shoulders hunched, her gaze fixed at a point in Lauren’s middle.
“Damien Boyd’s already been indicted, Lauren,” Edie said quietly. Edie Williams had Lauren Kingsley’s full attention.
“That’s impossible. I thought he was picked up yesterday?”
“He was. We got him in the morning and had him in the grand jury yesterday. Mark Jackson is the case agent and he testified as to hearsay. Assignment’s been made to Judge Petty. We’re set for trial in three weeks.” Edie paused then added, “I’m prosecuting.”
“I want to know everything.” Stunned, Lauren sat paralyzed in front of them.
“No.” Edie was firm. “You won’t be part of this. Abram, would you excuse us for a minute?”
“Absolutely.” He got up. Lauren blinked at him, unable to understand why he would relinquish his chair. “Take as long as you like.”
When they were alone, Edie sat close and put her hand on Lauren’s – a most personal gesture that Lauren didn’t trust.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Lauren. Nobody wants you on this one. No matter how you think you’d act, the truth is you couldn’t help making this extremely personal.” Lauren took her hand away from Edie’s. Edie looked almost sad. “Don’t try to tell me it wouldn’t be. We screwed up from the minute Caufeld was assigned. We put you in front of him, we put the pressure on you to perform and we were wrong. We won’t do it again.” Edie reached in the pocket of her skirt, found a pack of cigarettes but decided against lighting one. “Abram and I’ve had extensive talks about you. We don’t want to lose you. We’ve already decided that you’ll be reinstated at the wrap of the Stewart case. It will be quiet, so there won’t appear to be preferential treatment. There will be no discussion of the inquiry as to your involvement in Henry Stewart’s escape in the garage of this building.”
“There never should have been any discussion in the first place,” Lauren objected quietly. “If I called for help, he could have killed me.”
“Your opinion. Look,” Edie put a hand to her forehead, obviously tired, “I think you are extremely talented, I think you’ve suffered a great loss and I think this office is having a hell of a time holding things together at the moment. I’m tired, Lauren. There are administrative concerns that Mark and Abram have expressed.”
“What administrative concerns?” Lauren insisted. “You know, I just don’t get that line of reasoning, Edie. Publicly prosecuting Wilson Caufeld’s murder will do more good than harm. Let people see that you are taking care of business.”
“There’s more involved than that.”
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll work with you,” Lauren pleaded.
“No!” Edie yelled. She yelled and stood up so quickly Lauren fell back. Edie walked away, closing her eyes as if she could ignore everything that had just happened. “Stop pushing, Lauren. I am tired. I will do my best to prosecute both these cases, but I’m not going to get into all the reasons why I’m the one handling these things. I’m not going to argue policy with you because, truthfully, I don’t have the time or the energy, okay?”
Quietly, Lauren rose from her chair. She hadn’t been able to do anything about her mother. Now she was being denied the opportunity to bring justice to Wilson Caufeld. She looked at Edie and saw true sorrow in her expression. Lauren appreciated that, as far as it went. Well, she was tired, too. Tired of letting Allan, Edie, and Abram decide how far anything should go. Nodding to Edie, Lauren walked to the door, but Edie had one more thing to say.
“Lauren, I want you to know something. I want Damien Boyd in jail just as much as you do. Maybe more.”
“I doubt that, Edie,” Lauren answered ruefully and left.
Alone, Edie stared at the half-open door then snorted a little laugh.
She did so want Damien Boyd in jail.
More than anything in the world.
21
The outcome of Eli’s work depended on three things.
The first was patience. When he was serene and silent, other people became agitated and talkative. Few people truly listened and fewer still could endure a silence, no matter how companionable.
Reason was next. When Eli sat in his chair or drove in his car, he could make the most interesting connections between word, deed, and any two people’s perception of both. After years of methodical, meticulous, puzzle-like work Eli knew that two people might think they were saying the same thing. More often than not, they weren’t. Always there were subtle differences, strange little bits of information that, if put together correctly, made a wonderfully clear picture out of any up-at-night problem.
Finally, there was instinct. Instinct, above all else, made Eli good at what he did. Right now, instinct was on overdrive, reason was working overtime, and patience had been overindulged.
So after his lunch with Lauren and his face to face with Allan Lassiter, Eli had gone back to the office and listened quietly to the scuttlebutt about Damien Boyd. What struck him as odd was that everyone seemed surprised by the arrest and few knew a great many details about what had gone down.
Two days after that, Eli considered the facts as he knew them and found a few holes that needed filling in. A weapon, for instance. No one had mentioned it. A suspect indicted faster than Eli could say “this is curious” and an arraignment following hot on its heels. Mark Jackson taking a personal interest even though he hated Wilson Caufeld. All these things looked like a piece of the sky in Eli’s puzzle, but he had a feeling they really belonged right in the middle of the board where the big picture was. Edie Williams prosecuting when there were two hundred others who could do it was curious. The fact that Allan Lassiter was acting as if the case was closed gave Eli just enough impetus to drive him on.
Today, the third day after Eli’s lunch with Lauren, his gut was churning. Instinct said the whole thing smelled. It could come from a bit of trash clinging to his collar or an entire heap of garbage dumped on someone named Damien Boyd. With all his criteria for action met, Eli Warner got his act together and took it on the roa
d.
The first stop was the Federal Detention Center where Damien Boyd was incarcerated. Eli went to see him without expectations and armed with certain assumptions. He assumed that Mark Jackson’s arrest was solid, and he assumed Damien Boyd would be hostile. These assumptions made the scales of justice level, so that now anything he heard or saw that convinced him to tip those scales would be a truth.
When he came face to face with Damien Boyd, those scales shivered at the discrepancy in the weight of Eli’s assumptions. Damien Boyd was not hostile and if there was solid evidence, Mark Jackson was holding it close to the vest.
Damien Boyd was a young man who had never made it out the other side of the dark tunnel of puberty. His face was clean as a baby’s bottom, and with a long hangdog look. His ears stood out, his hair stood up, and his body had the look of a marionette strung together with rubber bands. Damien Boyd tripped over the lines etched into the linoleum, he ran into imaginary walls that seemed to spring up in front of him in the stale air. Damien Boyd’s face was a play of surprise and fear inspired, of all things, by Eli Warner himself. Eli half stood when Damien sat. Damien almost missed the chair. He was a boy with big features on a thin face, a tall guy, a confused kid in mini braids.
When their talk was over Eli left, carrying all he’d heard down in his gut where instinct was on alert; Damien Boyd went back to his cell never questioning who Eli Warner was.
Eli’s next stop was Edie Williams’ office, but she was busy. He only managed a short walk down the hall with her. He only managed to tell her he thought there were some hinky things going on. She was sympathetic, in that rushed, clipped, Edie sort of way. She was satisfied, given the information on her desk. Edie said everyone was satisfied, including the family. That’s when Eli stopped following her. He filed away the reference. Allan Lassiter, he assumed, was the family Edie was talking about. Nice that he was being kept appraised of all the details.
Eli went back to the Westwood building and straight up to Mark Jackson’s office on the off chance the man was there. Today, Eli was surprised. The Special Agent in Charge was there, behind his desk and willing to take a few minutes to talk to Eli.
“How’s Nick?” Eli asked as he settled himself.
“What’s up?” was the only answer Eli got. Mark’s mustache twitched then his expression settled.
“Wilson Caufeld.”
Mark Jackson’s head went west, his shoulders rotated a little north and south. Eli had his attention.
“What about him?”
“He’s dead and I think you may want to take another look at Damien Boyd. He didn’t do it.”
Mark Jackson laughed. “Eli, you are a piece of work.”
Eli was smiling. Mark Jackson’s shoulder came back to roost and one hand found its way to the desk. His fingers fidgeted, but ever so slightly. That was a surprise from an agent who knew about patience and reason and instinct. Mark Jackson seemed to have forgotten his trade.
“First, Eli,” he said quietly, “why in the hell were you talking to Damien Boyd? Last I heard that was my assignment and I don’t remember asking you to help out.”
Eli grinned and his eyes curled into the half-moon shape that Lauren found so intriguing. Mark Jackson wasn’t affected in quite the same way. Eli wasn’t offended.
“I’m wrapping up Caufeld’s background. Just want to put it to bed the right way. When I heard what happened, I realized talking to Damien Boyd would be the way to do that.” Eli lied easily when necessity demanded. He played the game, concerned and deferential, and knew that Mark Jackson was playing one of his own. There was only one problem. Eli was playing blindfolded. “I know how sensitive this is. Our office is going to come under scrutiny, and I don’t want anyone vulnerable. Especially me.” He chuckled. Mark wasn’t moved.
“No harm done. Finish with that file and get it on my desk. I’ll include it in my case file. Anything else?” Mark picked up a pen. Tip down on the desk, he slid it through his fingers, turned it, put the top down and repeated the motion.
“Not really. Just wanted to give you my impressions of this whole Damien Boyd thing. He doesn’t seem like he could pull your leg much less the trigger of a gun.”
“We have him placed at the scene. Time is right. Eyewitnesses. Not to worry.” Down went the pen. “I think I’ve got my bases covered. I’m on top of it.”
“Yeah. I know you’ve taken a great personal interest. I talked to Jim Walsh and he told me you were the one who relieved his protection detail the morning before Caufeld died. Guess you feel kind of responsible.”
“The judge didn’t want protection. It happens. I’d be less than human if I didn’t feel some responsibility,” Mark said.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” Eli let his head roll side to side commiserating with his boss.
“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t.” Mark gave the pen in his hand a click. “When do you think you’ll get me the Caufeld file?”
“Well, that’s a problem. It’s going to be hard to finish considering the way I feel about this kid. He’s scared and he tells me nobody’s really listening. He’s says nobody’s bothered to take a full statement, that his lawyer is always in a rush. You know, stuff like that.”
Mark laughed, thoroughly amused. “I’ve taken a statement. I’ve taken a couple, if you must know. The guy is good. He looks like a sitcom comedian but believe me he’s not.”
“He must be a heck of a liar, or I’m losing my touch. I had him pegged as afraid, confused, not too bright. He swears he was with his homeboys...”
“A gang. A blast. Nothing to it. Happens every day in Los Angeles.”
“But Damien swears they don’t carry weapons since the truce. He told me nothing was found at his house. His mother hadn’t washed his clothes so I guess my next question would be was there any residue on them. Then he told me about someone else on the street that night. It was hard for him to see because everything happened too fast, but he says the car was dark. Gray maybe. The person was white and tall.”
“Hey! Whoa.” Mark was back on track. His face had transformed from curves of discomfort to planes of exasperation. “That’s enough. If you’re so interested in Damien Boyd, then sit in on the trial on your own time. I heard the same story. A lone Caucasian in that neighborhood is a stretch but I’m checking that, too. Now, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, Mark, I had some thoughts of my own. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but something came up during my investigation. If you really want to find out what happened to Wilson Caufeld, I think you’ve got to look into...”
“Warner. Listen carefully.” Mark got cozy with his desk. “Until you sit in my chair don’t try to do my job. You got it?”
“I’m not, Mark. I’m trying to do mine.”
“Bull.” Mark threw the pen on the desk. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re one of my most reliable agents. I can always count on you to get just what you’re supposed to get, now you’re muddying the water on this Caufeld thing. I don’t get it.”
“I guess it boils down to semantics. You say muddying; I say I’m moving things out of the way. I’m telling you, Boyd’s getting railroaded.”
“And you want to point the finger at one of the most prominent attorneys in the state.”
“I don’t think I mentioned any names,” Eli said casually.
“Maybe I’ve been keeping my ears open, too. I’ve heard from Mr. Lassiter about your harassing questions. I’ve heard from Edie Williams, who has also heard from Mr. Lassiter. How many other people do you want me to hear from about this little theory of yours? There are a few reasons it’s not smart. First, I want this thing closed and off the books. Second, Judge Martinelli is the third judge on the Stewart case. It’s time to finish that one. Nobody wants Caufeld’s murder outshining a militia trial. They are more afraid of the militia effort than random street crime. Third, Edie Williams can make a case. Everyone except you is happy and, if you don’t mind me p
ointing this out, you weren’t asked.” Mark was winding up. “Your concerns are noted. It’s in Edie’s hands now, if she wants to talk to you make yourself available. Other than that, you’re done. Turn in the Caufeld file and attend to your new assignment.”
Eli nodded. The discussion was over, the investigation wasn’t. Eli didn’t even have to think twice about that. He left Mark’s office. Mark waited just long enough to be sure Eli Warner had cleared out before picking up the telephone. He never dialed. Who was there to call, after all? He’d have to rely on himself. If Eli meant to overstep his bounds, Mark would have to create some boundaries he couldn’t step over. Thankfully, as Special Agent in Charge, creating them wouldn’t be too tough.
22
“Thanks for coming.”
“I haven’t got a whole lot of better things to do,” Lauren said as she slipped into his car and pulled the door shut behind her. They were parked in the red zone in front of the courthouse. Neither worried about getting a ticket. Credentials were effective little items that warded off all sorts of evil. Besides, Eli wasn’t going to stay long. He was going with or without her.
The Mentor Page 29
