Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

lost—Mandel was keeping company with said blonde. Someone, again unnamed, saw a couple that might match the Mandel-blonde description leave a car at the airport rental agency.”
    “So?” Kennedy said.
    “Lee Mandel is gay.”
    Kennedy looked at the end of his cigarette and then at Doug, who shook his head, silently telling his SSA that it was news to him too.
    “Give me that file,” Kennedy said.
    Sam handed it over.
    There wasn’t any small talk while Kennedy read through the file with the speed and intensity of man who has seen a lot of files like it. When he was finished, he wasn’t smiling.
    “I see a lot of stuff that wasn’t in my file,” Kennedy said.
    “The moment your file is updated, Kate Chandler is nominated for the lead role in a turkey shoot,” Sam said.
    “Says who?”
    “The last time the FBI’s Mandel file was updated,” Sam said, “she got a threat on her answering machine—stop pushing on the Mandel case or die. Mechanical voice distorter. The lab is working on it, but nothing has come back to me yet.”
    Kennedy didn’t take one second to get to the bottom line. He gave Sam a narrow-eyed glare. “Where’s the leak?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Guess,” Kennedy said flatly.
    “Someone on the crime strike force,” Sam said.
    Doug braced himself for the explosion that would end Sam’s career, and probably his own.
    Twin blazes of color appeared on Kennedy’s cheekbones. He opened his mouth to tell Sam what a miserable piece of shit he was.
    But Kennedy hadn’t gotten where he was by ignoring all inconvenient facts—just most of them. Some of those unhappy facts had a way of biting you on the ass if you ignored them. The line of Sam’s investigation was shaping up to be a career breaker.
    Or, handled the right way, a career maker.
    The silence was punctuated by the subtle sounds of a man smoking, knocking ash off, smoking some more. Thinking fast and hard and mean.
    Sam’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, answered, and listened. It didn’t take long. He punched out and faced Kennedy.
    “It wasn’t a pot roast,” Sam said.
    “Mandel?” Doug asked.
    “No doubt of it. Local law enforcement will begin searching the favorite dumping grounds for bodies. After five months…” Sam shrugged. “Flesh gone, bones scattered by tide, storms, and predators. We might get lucky, find something, and have closure for Mandel’s family, but I wouldn’t put money on it.”
    Sizemore shook his head. “I hate those swamp jobs. Worse than cremation for evidence.”
    Everybody looked at Kennedy.
    “All right,” Kennedy said, standing up. “Here’s the way it’s going to be. That file gets updated and it gets updated right now, along with a full summary by Special Agent Groves of where he has taken the investigation and with what results, tentative, imaginary, or solid. I want it all.”
    Sam nodded.
    “Include a summary of your conversations with your CI,” Kennedy said. “You can leave her name out of it.”
    “That won’t be enough to keep her safe,” Sam said. “Whoever isbehind these murders isn’t stupid. They’ll connect the dots very quickly. And then they’ll try to kill Kate.”
    “Does your snitch have any more information that’s not in the file?” Kennedy asked.
    Sam heard what wasn’t said: If you’ve wrung the snitch dry, who cares what happens to her?
    “My CI isn’t your average mutt,” Sam said, stepping into Kennedy’s face. “She’s the kind of victim that would make Tawny Dawn light up like a Christmas tree. You want to look bad on the six o’clock news—as in seriously fucking stupid? Cut my CI loose. I guarantee the result will destroy your career.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “No.”
    Sam met Kennedy’s furious glance, held it, and waited. After a long, tight time, Kennedy nodded.
    “All right, Groves. We’ll do it your way. Hide her name or put it in bold face in the file. Put it on the nightly news for all I care.” Viciously Kennedy stubbed out his cigarette. “As of now, you’re responsible for keeping your CI alive.”
    “Twenty-four/seven?”
    “Yes.”
    “One man isn’t enough to—” Sam began.
    “I’ll be sure to explain that to Tawny Dawn,” Kennedy said, “while I wring my hands on camera about federal budget cuts and rising crime.” He smiled thinly and faced an imaginary camera. “Just think, this lovely young woman and her valiant FBI escort would still be alive if not for a