Invasion of Privacy

she checked all the mirrors before speaking. “If your client believes in love, she does not hire a private investigator, and you never disturb the hornets’ nest.”
    “Ms. Robinette, my client told me she was crazy about Andrew Dees, told me by word and body language both. She’s an intelligent, aware businesswoman. What was she supposed to do, ignore that her lover seems to have been dropped as an adult from a spaceship?”
    Robinette started to say something, then deflected herself. “What are you going to do about your client?”
    “Try to find her. Or at least, find out what happened to her.”
    “You think she is with Dees ?”
    “On the level?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m afraid to think.”
    Robinette glanced over again. “I do not understand.”
    “You’ve been part of the marshals’ program long enough to have had some contact with the mob by now?”
    “Some,” she said dryly.
    “You ever know them to be subtle about the body of a guy who flipped on them?”
    A moment before, “No.”
    “They make a statement, some splashy kind of taboo warning to others who might be so inclined.”
    Some steel came into Robinette’s voice again. “We pronounce it ‘voodoo,’ Mr. Cuddy.”
    “Don’t get you.”
    “I am Haitian. You think I missed your ‘taboo’ comment?”
    “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
    A third glance.
    Looking toward her, I said, “Truly. I was picturing some old movie, the skull on a stake at the entrance to the valley. ‘Walk no farther.’ ”
    “ ‘Said the savage black native to the civilized white explorer.’ ”
    “If that’s the way you want to take it.”
    Another moment before she said, “I am sorry. You really were not trying to be insulting, were you?”
    “No, I wasn’t.”
    We passed through Plymouth Mills, the sidewalks downtown as quiet as if someone had rolled them up. Just before the bridge, I turned to Robinette. “Straight answer to a straight question?”
    “Try it and see.”
    “You people really don’t know whether my client and this Dees guy hit the silk together, do you?”
    “Straight answer: we really do not. And you were right back there at Boyce’s place. We almost do not care. Our job is to protect the people in the program. As far as we know, Andrew Dees left it voluntarily, there being no evidence the other way.”
    “Before they slugged me a couple of hours ago, Braver-man and Kourmanos went through his unit?”
    “Yes. Not forensically, of course, but a thorough search. Some gaps in the closet where clothes would have hung, and in the bureau, for socks, underwear. No suitcase when I am sure he had at least one. No wallet, no checkbook.”
    “You talk to the neighbors?”
    “On what grounds? That another neighbor, named Andrew Dees, who I had little to do with, might not have been around for a day or so?”
    Staying sidesaddle, facing Robinette, I said, “There’re still a few things I don’t understand.”
    “Probably always will be.”
    “First off, Hendrix is an idiot.”
    “No comment.”
    “Why do you put up with him?”
    A glance, away from the road but not quite to me. “He is my superior.”
    “That’s not how it played back in the interrogation room.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Everybody—including Hendrix himself—took their cues from you.”
    A smile. “We did run a check on you. Military Police, correct?”
    “For a time.”
    “And overseas. Back then, did you ever notice how some superior officers yield to others when things are going into the toilet?”
    I saw her point. “Yet, Hendrix still outranks you.”
    The smile flew away. “There are statistics on women serving in the federal law enforcement agencies, Mr. Cuddy. We have been ‘allowed’ to be field agents for over twenty years now, but the FBI is less than ten percent female, ATF less than five percent. And the Secret Service? Worse than that.”
    “How about the U.S. Marshals?”
    “No comment.”
    I shifted a little on the seat. “Second thing bothering me, I don’t see you going off to a school concert with Jamey if you thought a cooperating witness you were watching was in any kind of jeopardy.”
    Robinette didn’t say anything.
    “I also don’t see Chief Braverman up in Vermont failing to get word to his relative on your team that this private investigator who visited Plymouth Willows, ostensibly to talk about Hendrix Management, was at Dees’ alma mater the next day, obviously tracing the background of the