Backfire
Page 5
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“Ah, here’s Virginia. Let’s go to speakerphone.”
“Is Emma all right?” Savich asked.
Virginia said, “She was bordering on shock at first, with everything that was happening, but Emma’s a tough little nut, she’ll hold it together. When I was at the house I heard her tell her brother Cal she’d play him the theme from Harry Potter on the piano this morning—with variations—if he stopped shining a flashlight into Gage’s eyes. Cal said he wanted to see if it would cause seizures.” Virginia’s voice hitched. “Where’d a three-year-old kid hear about lights and seizures?”
Savich said, “Don’t ask. Our flight gets in this afternoon. You playing nice with Cheney? And Harry Christoff?”
“Oh, yeah, Cheney’s a nice guy”—pause—“he’ll throw us some crumbs, even though you FBI guys are going to have jurisdiction. All I hear about Christoff is that he came off an ugly divorce a year and a half ago, and he’s been a nasty git ever since.”
Savich heard Cheney say in the background, “Crumbs? You know what we know. Hey, and Harry’s not a nasty git any longer, he’s just nasty.”
Virginia said, “And you, Mr. SAC? You’re newly married. That means you’re stupid happy all the time. Wait till you’re married a few years, then I’ll check back in with you. My guess is you’ll still be stupid, but the happy part isn’t a given.”
Cheney said, “I’ll be sure to pass that along to Julia.”
Stupid happy? Savich liked the sound of that.
—
Savich said to Virginia, “Since you’ve known Ramsey for a long time, you know his habits, his friends. Cheney and Agent Christoff will see you as a valued resource.”
Virginia gave a curiously charming snort. “Sure, like I’ll expect to see that from any of his precious special agents.” She sighed. “Every single cop in San Francisco wants to help get this crazy craphead, Dillon. You know Ramsey’s a hero, even after five years, he’s still Judge Dredd to all of us.”
Savich remembered how Ramsey had been dubbed Judge Dredd by local and world media after he’d jumped down from the bench, black robes flying, and single-handedly took out the three gunmen who’d invaded his courtroom with guns and violence and death.
He said, “Keep repeating that to Cheney and Christoff.”
“Just saying, Dillon. This is tough, really tough. It’s personal, not only for me but for most of the force.”
“We’ll get the crazy craphead together, then, Virginia,” Sherlock said. “See you later today.”
Ramsey, Savich thought, who did you push over the edge? And then he realized he and Sherlock would be three thousand miles away from the guy who’d written the letter to him. And they could take Sean with them, to stay at his grandparents’. That was a relief.
—
Cheney called again when they were on their way to Dulles. “Here’s what I know so far. Ramsey postponed a hearing at a trial yesterday morning because he believed the federal prosecutor wasn’t conducting the case properly, that he might have been threatened. He met with the federal marshal and the U.S. attorney, who are all in the same building with us, as you know.
“Now the prosecutor is a twelve-year veteran, Assistant U.S. Attorney Mickey O’Rourke. Ramsey had asked to speak to him in chambers, naturally, after he came to suspect Mickey might be purposefully jeopardizing the case. Mickey made an excuse. According to Olivia, Ramsey’s secretary, Ramsey told O’Rourke he wanted him and his people at the meeting he was calling. Mickey didn’t show, and none of his staff had any clue where he was. They hadn’t seen him since Ramsey adjourned the hearing, and they were worried about him. His second chair said Mickey seemed off. But this? No one could believe it. In any case, we can’t find O’Rourke. He’s now officially missing. There’s quite an uproar, as you can imagine.”
“The name of the defendant?”
“There are two co-defendants, Clive and Cindy Cahill, up for the murder of a rich software geek here in Silicon Valley. Either the Cahills have lots of money stashed offshore or they have some rich friends, because they have hired a first-rate counsel.”
But once the prosecutor was suspected, Savich thought, what would it matter which judge presided anymore? And O’Rourke’s disappearance would mean only a delay. None of it made sense yet to Savich.
He asked, “Why are the Cahills a federal case?”
Cheney said, “Because there’s espionage involved, that’s why. The murder victim, Mark Lindy, was working on a top-secret project for the government, and was probably murdered because of it. That’s why the FBI handled the case and not local law enforcement. We’ve got the Cahills pretty cold on the murder, but we could never find out the particulars of the project Lindy was into, because it involved national security. You know the CIA—they refused to tell us anything at all, even with CIA operations officers out here digging around.
“Is Emma all right?” Savich asked.
Virginia said, “She was bordering on shock at first, with everything that was happening, but Emma’s a tough little nut, she’ll hold it together. When I was at the house I heard her tell her brother Cal she’d play him the theme from Harry Potter on the piano this morning—with variations—if he stopped shining a flashlight into Gage’s eyes. Cal said he wanted to see if it would cause seizures.” Virginia’s voice hitched. “Where’d a three-year-old kid hear about lights and seizures?”
Savich said, “Don’t ask. Our flight gets in this afternoon. You playing nice with Cheney? And Harry Christoff?”
“Oh, yeah, Cheney’s a nice guy”—pause—“he’ll throw us some crumbs, even though you FBI guys are going to have jurisdiction. All I hear about Christoff is that he came off an ugly divorce a year and a half ago, and he’s been a nasty git ever since.”
Savich heard Cheney say in the background, “Crumbs? You know what we know. Hey, and Harry’s not a nasty git any longer, he’s just nasty.”
Virginia said, “And you, Mr. SAC? You’re newly married. That means you’re stupid happy all the time. Wait till you’re married a few years, then I’ll check back in with you. My guess is you’ll still be stupid, but the happy part isn’t a given.”
Cheney said, “I’ll be sure to pass that along to Julia.”
Stupid happy? Savich liked the sound of that.
—
Savich said to Virginia, “Since you’ve known Ramsey for a long time, you know his habits, his friends. Cheney and Agent Christoff will see you as a valued resource.”
Virginia gave a curiously charming snort. “Sure, like I’ll expect to see that from any of his precious special agents.” She sighed. “Every single cop in San Francisco wants to help get this crazy craphead, Dillon. You know Ramsey’s a hero, even after five years, he’s still Judge Dredd to all of us.”
Savich remembered how Ramsey had been dubbed Judge Dredd by local and world media after he’d jumped down from the bench, black robes flying, and single-handedly took out the three gunmen who’d invaded his courtroom with guns and violence and death.
He said, “Keep repeating that to Cheney and Christoff.”
“Just saying, Dillon. This is tough, really tough. It’s personal, not only for me but for most of the force.”
“We’ll get the crazy craphead together, then, Virginia,” Sherlock said. “See you later today.”
Ramsey, Savich thought, who did you push over the edge? And then he realized he and Sherlock would be three thousand miles away from the guy who’d written the letter to him. And they could take Sean with them, to stay at his grandparents’. That was a relief.
—
Cheney called again when they were on their way to Dulles. “Here’s what I know so far. Ramsey postponed a hearing at a trial yesterday morning because he believed the federal prosecutor wasn’t conducting the case properly, that he might have been threatened. He met with the federal marshal and the U.S. attorney, who are all in the same building with us, as you know.
“Now the prosecutor is a twelve-year veteran, Assistant U.S. Attorney Mickey O’Rourke. Ramsey had asked to speak to him in chambers, naturally, after he came to suspect Mickey might be purposefully jeopardizing the case. Mickey made an excuse. According to Olivia, Ramsey’s secretary, Ramsey told O’Rourke he wanted him and his people at the meeting he was calling. Mickey didn’t show, and none of his staff had any clue where he was. They hadn’t seen him since Ramsey adjourned the hearing, and they were worried about him. His second chair said Mickey seemed off. But this? No one could believe it. In any case, we can’t find O’Rourke. He’s now officially missing. There’s quite an uproar, as you can imagine.”
“The name of the defendant?”
“There are two co-defendants, Clive and Cindy Cahill, up for the murder of a rich software geek here in Silicon Valley. Either the Cahills have lots of money stashed offshore or they have some rich friends, because they have hired a first-rate counsel.”
But once the prosecutor was suspected, Savich thought, what would it matter which judge presided anymore? And O’Rourke’s disappearance would mean only a delay. None of it made sense yet to Savich.
He asked, “Why are the Cahills a federal case?”
Cheney said, “Because there’s espionage involved, that’s why. The murder victim, Mark Lindy, was working on a top-secret project for the government, and was probably murdered because of it. That’s why the FBI handled the case and not local law enforcement. We’ve got the Cahills pretty cold on the murder, but we could never find out the particulars of the project Lindy was into, because it involved national security. You know the CIA—they refused to tell us anything at all, even with CIA operations officers out here digging around.
