by Aaron Pogue
"Hey, you caught them, right?"
She shook her head. "Our forensic accountants say you brought thousands of those things into the country. So far, we've accounted for about a crate's worth."
He shrugged. "It's the nature of the business. Don't give up, though! You guys do good work." He waved his hand toward the desk with a look of disgust. "I had no idea it was so boring, but you do good work."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "You thinking about leaving?"
"Nah," he said. "Way I see it, I'm here by Senate appointment, so I don't figure Reed can bust me over a productivity analysis. So I'll leave the paper pushing to you and just tag along when you're ready to do something fun."
"Fun?" The chill in her voice should have frozen him in place, but he just nodded.
"Yeah. You know! Buenos Aires, Denver, Baltimore, At-Atlanta." He faltered on that last one, for just a second, but finished it and raised a defiant glare to meet her eyes. "You've had your share of adventures."
"I almost died in Atlanta," she said softly, knowing he knew. "Because of your products."
She saw sweat on his forehead, but she also saw the steel in his eyes as he decided not to back down. He put a lot of effort into giving her a casual shrug and forced a smile on top of it. "That's what I'm talking about," he said. "Adventure."
She didn't answer him. She turned back to her casefile, but her attention was entirely focused on the man across the desk from her. She took a breath, quietly pushed it out, and then looked up again. "You've spent an awful lot of time in my personal history, Eddie."
He met her gaze, steady as a rock now. "Man's gotta know his partner, right?" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Forewarned is forearmed. They say that, right?"
"Not about partners," Katie said. "But yeah. They also say to keep your enemies close."
"And that's what surprises me, Katie," he said. "Why are you fighting this so hard? The way you came after me following the Atlanta job, I figured you'd be delighted to have me under your oh-so-watchful eye." He nodded toward Reed's office, eyes glittering. "Sounded like that was Reed's plan, anyway."
"Why are you here?" she asked. "What is it you're hoping to get out of this?"
"I want to make the world a better place," he said. "Didn't Reed mention that? That's all I've wanted all along. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, and I figured out how to make the system squeak until you couldn't ignore it."
"And now you're here."
"And now I'm here." He shrugged. "Like it or not. So what are you going to do with me? Are we really going to waste the vast resources of both of us on data analysis a reasonably intelligent handheld could process, or are you going to talk to Reed and get us a field assignment?"
"That's not how it works," Katie said, but Eddie leaned forward across the desk, suddenly intense.
"It is for you," he said. "I have spent my time in your history, Katie, and I know how it is for you. You've got resources...and you've got friends in management, unless I've seriously misread all the evidence. Either way, wherever you go, you fix things. March in that office, ask Reed to assign you something big and important, and I guarantee you he will."
Her mocking chuckle came easily. "You've really misread something. I'm the rookie around here. Barely a year with the department—"
"And in that time, look what you've done!"
She slammed her hand down hard on the desk, cutting him off, and he gave her a look like she'd slapped him instead. She leaned forward, nose-to-nose with him, and said, "Knock it off. I don't care what you've read, you don't know what goes on up here."
He started to argue, but she spoke over him. "No. You don't. Some idiot on the hill has given you the opportunity to learn it, but you don't know a thing yet. So shut up, do the work, and pay attention. Maybe in a couple months you'll have a clue. Then we'll talk."
She held his eyes, her glare as stern as she could make it, and after a few tense seconds he retreated. He slumped back in his chair and gave a pathetic little shrug. "Fine," he said. "Sorry. Whatever." He stretched his arm out to flip a page on his half of her desktop, not looking, and went on in a little pout. "You don't have to be rude."
She ignored him, settling back into her work, and this time he really seemed to take the point. She read through twenty pages of dense database reports, straining to spot anything out of place, until she felt as restless as Eddie had been.
She sat back, rubbed her eyes, and then dropped her hands to find Eddie resting his chin on one hand. He was watching her with a fascinated expression. She sighed. "What?"
"What was it like?" he said.
"Probably a lot like this, or worse," she said. "But I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about Buenos Aires. About meeting Velez." His eyes danced as he said the name, and Katie felt a renewed urge to hit him. "What was that like?"
"It was like being trapped in a small space with a vicious sociopath," she said, keeping her voice even. "That and the screaming pain."
He nodded, that stupid grin only growing wider. "Oh, I read about that. You're a tough girl."
"I'm a cop," she said, glaring him down. "I do whatever's necessary to get the job done. Sometimes that's fighting through the pain, sometimes it's fighting through the boredom. Different fight, same purpose."
He dismissed her speech with a little wave of his free hand. "What about Ghoster? I met him once at a conference, but he doesn't really do much of that anymore."
She opened her mouth to answer, and his eyes widened in anticipation. She cocked her head. "You're really fascinated by those guys, aren't you?"
"Oh, you have no idea!" he said. "Ghoster, Velez, Martin.... They're like my idols."
"Idols, huh?" She shook her head, disgust pinching at her eyes. "That says a lot about you. You're talking about a sociopath, a sleazebag—"
"Hey!" he snapped, then frowned. "Wait. Which one's the sleazebag?"
"Ghoster," she said, and a smile played at her lips. She remembered how she'd first met him, catching his attention when she tossed his name around in a conversation with a prosecutor back in Brooklyn. She wondered if he was listening in on this little exchange.
"Ghoster does good work," Eddie said. "He even helped you a time or two, didn't he? I read he helped get you out of Velez's clutches—"
"He did," Katie said, unwilling to relive any more of that memory. "He lent some assistance in Atlanta, too. That doesn't change who he is, though. He throws Ghost Targets a bone from time to time. It's just a practical consideration."
"Wow," Eddie said. "You're a hard woman, Katie. You know that?"
She smiled, her lips pressed tight together. "I'm a cop," she said again. "I do what's necessary to get the job done."
She looked down at the desk between them, and she noticed for the first time what he'd been reading. It was transcript copy of a series of voice messages she'd left to her father. She sighed and shook her head.
"I don't know what you're playing at," she said. "I don't know why you're here. But I want you to understand this. Are you hearing me?"
She hit him with a demanding glare, and he nodded right away. She nodded back. "This isn't a game," she said. "You've read about me. Good. Now consider this: people who get in the way of my investigations tend to end up in prison."
Eddie paled, just a touch around the eyes and maybe high in his cheeks, but it was enough to satisfy Katie. She leaned forward, driving the point home.
"You've got some really wrong ideas about how the world works. Velez is a monster, anxious to break it. Martin is...." She sighed, and shook her head. "Martin's a good man. But look what it got him. He sacrificed his family to grab what power he has, and now he's having to spend every bit of it to protect himself from the very system he's trying to defend."
Eddie jerked a shoulder. "You gotta admit, that's a good story."
"It's a sad one," Katie said. "He's not a story. He's a good man forever on the run. And Ghoster makes himself rich hi
ding the sins of the powerful. He's half a step above criminal." She stopped herself, and shook her head. She held his eyes.
"And that makes him half a step above you," she said. "So I guess I shouldn't be surprised you look up to him."
Eddie opened his mouth to answer her and couldn't find the words. He frowned, then pulled his eyes away from hers. Without looking, he reached over and closed out the transcripts he'd been reading, then he pulled his hand back. He sat there, silent, not meeting her eyes, and Katie realized she'd probably gone too far.
Her stomach roiled in objection, but she knew she had to apologize. She leaned forward, but Eddie flinched away. Before she could speak, a shadow fell over her. She and Eddie turned in perfect sync, to stare up at Phillips towering over them.
The big man clapped Katie on the back, "You tell 'im, Katie." Then he jabbed a threatening finger at Eddie. "And you'd better watch yourself. Got it? We take good care of our own around here."
Eddie raised his chin, defiant. "I'm one of your own now."
Phillips snorted. "Hardly." Then he turned to Katie. "Reed wants you."
A knot formed in her belly at the words. Had he been listening to her conversation with Eddie? Had Senator Bruin? She kept her face passive, pushed herself to her feet, and then slid the open reports on her desk across to Eddie.
"Work on that," she said. "Let me know what you find." Then she left him to it.
Twenty paces across the room was time enough for her to review everything she'd said. She'd taken the whole situation too personally. She knew that now. It didn't look good, but the worst they'd do is make her apologize—and she'd do whatever was necessary to get the job done.
Either way, a couple weeks crawling through paperwork would be enough to convince Eddie he didn't want to be here. She smiled at that, enough of a victory to buoy her through the reprimand and humiliating apology she knew was coming. As long as they were working this case, there was no chance Eddie was going to find Ghost Targets the grand adventure he'd expected.
Heartened by the thought, Katie stepped through the door and made herself meet Reed's eyes. He set aside his handheld and smiled up at her. "Katie! Good news," he said. "You've got a new case! Should be exciting."
2. Timothy Burke
"What?" Katie slumped down into the chair opposite him. "You've got to be kidding me."
Reed stared at her for a moment in silence. "I don't understand."
"How can you—" she cut herself short. Seconds ago she'd expected a rebuke, and now she was challenging her boss. She felt a blush climb into her cheeks. "Sorry, sir."
"No, don't worry about it." He frowned. "What's the matter?"
"It's just bad timing, pulling us off the El Paso job," she said.
Reed narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you close to a big break or something?"
"Not at all," Katie gave a sad sigh. "Still weeks of work, easily."
"Well, we got something bigger for you to look at, unless...is there some reason you should be in El Paso?"
She glanced over her shoulder, but there were too many bodies between her desk and Reed's office to see if Eddie was watching them. She shook her head. "Forget it."
He held her eyes for a heartbeat then shrugged. "All right. I'll hand that over to the analysts, and you can take your new shadow out to West Virginia."
Her brows came down. "West Virginia? What's out there?"
"Trees," Reed said, sarcastic. "Lots and lots of trees. Oh, and a dead sheriff."
Katie nodded. "Any chance it's a crime of passion?"
"Not likely," Reed said. "Looks more like an assassination. And given his occupation...."
"Yeah," Katie let out a heartfelt sigh. "This should be interesting." Reed raised an eyebrow in question, but she waved it away. She thought for a moment, a distant memory nagging at her. There was something in the way he'd asked about the El Paso case.... And then she remembered, and asked oh-so-casually, "So...when do you want me out of here?"
The look in Reed's eyes said she'd guessed right—cautious and grateful, with just a hint of admiration. That made her smile in spite of herself. "Tomorrow's fine," he said, matching her casual tone. "I've already got your travel approved—"
"How much?" Katie asked, and Reed paused, thinking.
"Well, however long you need of course, but I'm guessing it'll take a week. Maybe two. Actually...yeah. I'd plan on ten days, minimum."
She nodded, thinking it through. The last time Reed had hustled her out of the office like this, they'd been under an Accountability Office audit. He'd come with her that time, though. Somehow, she figured this one would prove a bigger challenge.
"I understand, sir. I'll plan for ten days." She stepped to the doorway, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "I assume it's something I can handle?"
"You'll do fine," he said. "If you have any problems...well, we'll figure it out."
That stopped her short. He was supposed to say, "Call me." She felt a chill. "We'll figure it out" didn't sound promising at all. She stood frozen, eyes locked with Reed, and he must have seen her worry.
He just nodded, once, then said softly, "You'll do fine." She nodded back, and left.
At her desk, Katie found Eddie waiting with a look of eager anticipation. The database reports she'd left him with were gone, replaced by a map of West Virginia and a news search that showed a couple sketchy articles about a dead lawman in a remote part of the state but nothing useful. No surprise there—most of the news services pulled their data directly from the database, and if Hathor had anything to go on here, Ghost Targets wouldn't be on the case.
Eddie bounced on the edge of his seat, all signs of his earlier injury gone. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he said. "Homicide, my first day on the job! What are the chances?"
"You'd be surprised," Katie said, and he barked a laugh she hadn't expected.
"Oh yeah!" he said. "Forgot about that. Funny!"
"Thanks." She cleared her desktop and brought up the new casefile. Not exactly more information than the newswire had to offer, but better organized. For her purposes, anyway.
She started at the top. The victim's name was Timothy Burke, but everyone called him Timmy. He was a bowler, a softball player, a churchgoer, a hunter, and a sheriff. Those last two, of course, figured prominently.
Hathor's last record of Timmy had him leaving town in a rental car that took him up a little logging road into the woods and dropped him off. That was 6:12 AM on a Saturday, and after his wife reported him missing Sunday morning, he was found dead twenty-nine hours after the fact by a buddy, Paul, who knew his favorite hunting spots. Two bullets from a hunting rifle passed clean through his torso, and another one missed the mark completely, but all three were found buried in the trunk of the tree behind the limb he'd been sitting on.
Katie flipped to the crime scene stills, and found a gruesome shot of the corpse crumpled head-down under the tree, blood from his chest wounds caked and dried on his neck and face.
"Whoa! Whoa!" Eddie said, batting Katie's hand aside. She blinked at him in surprise. She'd forgotten he was there.
"What's wrong now?" she said.
"I wasn't done reading that," he said. "You go too fast."
"You were actually reading it?"
"Of course I was. This is our case!" Eddie said. "I'm not sure what some of the abbreviations stand for, though."
There were lots of abbreviations—a constant hazard in government work. Katie skipped back to the first page of the report and patiently walked him through it, one line at a time.
It took half an hour before she got to turn the page, but only because Eddie was genuinely interested. He asked good questions—lots of questions—and Katie took the time to train him up. They were halfway through the next page (and only five minutes in) when Katie realized just a year ago she'd been almost as green as this guy. Now, she felt confident she could train the rookies as well as anyone on their floor.
Her cheerful thoughts got lost som
ewhere in the bottom half of the second page, the details of the case pushing aside all other considerations once again. The victim's watch was smashed, its face a dozen fractured shards from the damage it had taken in his fall down the tree. That had been sufficient to stop it reporting home when the recorders came back on, a little over an hour after he'd been shot, but a technician with Hippocrates had been able to crack it open and recover the log of his last minutes. Katie read it through and shuddered.
The recorders were a mystery unto themselves. Katie had at first assumed the remote area where he died was simply unmonitored wildlands, but a technical report attached to the casefile showed almost total geographic coverage for the region. The problem was, huge patches of the forest periodically went offline from one technical problem or another. The tech report indicated a reliability right at sixty percent, which was thirty-nine-point-lots-of-nines shorter than the ones in the city, but only a few points off the manufacturer's stated reliability for that model.
Katie realized she'd abandoned Eddie again, and this time he'd left her to it. He was just sitting back, watching her. He must have seen the bafflement in her eyes because his narrowed and he said, "What?"
She took a deep breath, then looked him up and down. "You're a hardware guy, right?"
He looked puzzled, but he nodded. "Yeah. I mean...yeah. Why?"
"Did you know there were different types of recorders?"
He laughed, a startled bark that surprised her, and then he softened his tone. "Yeah." He leaned forward. "There're hundreds. You didn't know that?"
She shook her head. "Never thought about it. I only know about two types." She shivered at the memory, then gestured to the desktop. "Three now."
He looked down, taking in the tech report at a glance, the way she'd done with the crime scene description earlier. "Yeah. These rural cameras are cheap crap. They're meant to be scattered like seed over thousands of acres. Do you have any idea what it would cost to cover that kind of ground with residential courtesy recorders?"
