Edge

chief’s shown an interest in what he’s doing. A lot of interest. I didn’t think about it at the time but why would the man in charge of detectives be interested in some accounting issue that involves all the departments? Transport, Com, Patrol, Crime Scene? Everything.”
    It seemed I’d made a good contribution to Westerfield’s new case. “Good question.”
    “Lewis . . .” Freddy mused. “Always wondered about him. Think there were some whispers in his past.”
    “About what?” Westerfield asked quickly.
    “I don’t know. They were whispers.”
    The government attorney now said, “Corte, look, you’ve been so busy trying to tree Loving that you dropped the ball on the primary completely.”
    Treeing prey and dropping balls. I supposed in court, before a jury, he didn’t mix metaphors so relentlessly.
    “And Lewis, or whoever’s behind this, has had a chance to destroy evidence and get to other witnesses, thanks to you. I really think it’s time to hand the case over to somebody else.”
    We fell silent for a moment; the sound track to our thoughts was the crackle and crash of the housedying, the shouts of the firemen. Flashing lights rippled on every nearby leaf.
    Finally I asked, “Jason? Can I talk to you?”
    We stepped aside, walking with heads down, away from the others, about ten feet or so.
    Westerfield glanced at the embers and sparks. “You get any clues there?”
    “Nothing helpful. We weren’t in time.”
    “Anybody hurt?”
    “No.” I noted it was his first inquiry about casualties. Then, staring at the sparks being sucked upward into the vague cloud of smoke, I said, “You mentioned evidence that Lewis might destroy.”
    A nod.
    “What if I told you that Kessler has it all with him. All the spreadsheets, the memos, the accounting books.”
    “In the safe house?”
    “That’s right.”
    A sparkle of enthusiasm lit his eyes.
    I lowered my voice further. “All right, Jason, how’s this? I’ll admit I’ve been a little focused on getting Loving and I haven’t focused on his primary as much as I should’ve. . . . A city-wide financial scandal? That’s just the sort of thing a primary’d bring Loving in for. It could go way to the top.”
    “Go on.” Meaning, Let’s hear your offer.
    “What do you say to this: I’ll get you copies of everything Kessler has. Tonight, as soon as I get back to the safe house. But I keep the protection detail. I control the Kesslers and their whereabouts.”
    “I’ll want to interview him.”
    I debated. “By secure phone. Not in person.”
    The U.S. attorney chewed on a lip. “There’ll be some fallout,” he said. “You outright lied to me.”
    “We’ll deal with that afterward. After Loving’s collared and Lewis’s in jail. Or whoever at police HQ or city hall’s behind it.”
    A nod. It amounted to a handshake.
    He, Teasley and the other agents returned to the black SUVs and headed off and I was treated to one of Freddy’s particular looks.
    “The hell are you doing, son?”
    I said nothing but called the safe house and asked Rudy Garcia for an update.
    “Everything’s fine, sir,” the agent told me. “Just checked with West Virginia and the grounds’re secure. The fellow there said, if you call in, to tell you the deer’re where they’re supposed to be. He said you’d know what that means.”
    “Good. How’re the principals holding up?”
    His voice lowered. “Kind of a soap opera.”
    The nature of our work.
    “The husband and wife got into it again. Over something crazy. Didn’t amount to squat. Maree wanted to take pictures of me, portraits. I had to tell her no and she started to, well, pout. That woman’s a handful.” That last sentence was delivered in a whisper. He continued, “At least the game was on. Baltimore. That gave Ryan something to do. At home we’re an Orioles family. How ’bout you, sir?”
    “Sorry. I go for Atlanta.” Sports don’t appeal to me much but spending so much time in hotel rooms and safe houses with male principals, I’ve watched plenty of games and over the years have developed an interest in baseball. I like the strategies involved. Football, not so much.
    Garcia continued, “My son’s only six but my wife told me he said Brigham blew the game when he tried to bunt. The man just doesn’t know his way around a bat. Funny, but Ryan and I had just been saying the same thing.”
    “And your boy’s just six? That going to be his sport?” I