Edge

repeated.
    Freddy, at a tennis match.
    “Agent Corte, I think we’ve been in this business too long to play games,” Westerfield said.
    “A slammer was not the right strategy, Jason. You kept pushing. I had no choice. My first job’s to keep my principals safe.”
    “Interesting to hear that. My impression would be that you felt your first job was to harpoon your white whale. Agent Fredericks? Could I see some handcuffs, s’il vous plaît ?”
    Freddy, who worked more for Westerfield than he did for me, seemed nonetheless marginally on my side. He said, “Whatever he’s doing is working, Jason. The family’s safe.”
    “But I can’t help but notice he’s here, not with them. . . . And, on top of it all, Loving got away.” He waved to the burning house.
    That was true, though I hadn’t expected to find him here. I was more interested in clues to his life—now, of course, dissolving into ash and embers.
    Westerfield glanced toward the senior FBI agent. “Are you going to arrest him?”
    “Probably not.”
    A disgusted sigh. The U.S. attorney looked my way. “Corte, you’ve even missed the boat on the primary.”
    I looked away from the house to him. “What doyou mean? We’ve eliminated Graham. Now we’re concentrating on Ali Pamuk.”
    “Pamuk’s not the one either. You said he was a terrorist.”
    “I said that was a possibility since most of the fund’s money was showing up in the Middle East. My associate is still investigating his involvement.”
    “Ms. duBois.”
    “That’s right.” I wondered how he knew about her. And—more interesting yet—how he knew the name was pronounced the non-French way. “You got it wrong, Corte. You’ve been spinning your wheels with Pamuk. We’ve been doing some work on our own. I’ve found the primary.”
    “Who?” Freddy asked.
    I was frowning and I said nothing.
    He turned to Teasley. “Chris, could you tell Officer Corte and Agent Fredericks what we’ve learned?”
    She said, “Detective Kessler has been involved in some internal administrative work for the Metropolitan Police.”
    I said, “Something about the budget, accounts.”
    “So you know about that?” Westerfield said with some satisfaction.
    “He mentioned it, yes.”
    “You didn’t think it was relevant?”
    “To Loving and the primary? No.”
    Westerfield glanced toward Teasley again.
    She continued, “A year ago, there were some mix-ups with expenses in the police department. Overtime charges. Nothing big, it seemed. But the head of budgeting told the chief of police, who thought it’d make sense to have somebody—somebodyin their financial crimes division—look over the books and see what was going on.”
    “It seemed to be nickel-and-dime stuff,” Westerfield filled in. “But bottom line . . . tell him the bottom line.”
    Teasley continued, “Expense checks were issued for tens of thousands of dollars but the money ended up in different department accounts. Been going on for years.”
    I said, frowning, “You’re saying that it was intentional? Some kind of a plan to skim money out of the police budget?”
    “Exactly,” Westerfield said.
    Catching on, Freddy said, “And whoever was behind it—somebody senior in the police or city government—got scared because Kessler had a background in investigating money crimes. He was getting close to figuring out who.”
    I looked absently at the burning house and mused, “High up in the city government—somebody high enough to have access to an MPD helicopter. Claire couldn’t find a flight plan or charter.” I grimaced and shook my head. “She even wondered if it was a government chopper that’d been used to extract Loving and the partner but I said, no, it was probably private. I didn’t have her check police department logs. My fault.”
    Westerfield wasn’t gloating but he liked my last sentence.
    I said to Freddy, “And somebody within the department would have access to police equipment too.”
    “What equipment?” Westerfield asked.
    The senior agent answered, “Loving’s partnertried to plant trackers on Corte’s car earlier. They were the same model that’s used by the District of Columbia police.”
    Westerfield liked this addition too and he shot a look toward Teasley, questioning why this helpful piece of the puzzle had eluded her.
    I cocked my head, frowning in thought.
    “What?” Westerfield asked.
    “Just that Kessler’s mentioned Chief of Detectives Lewis a few times. The