Part 33 (1/2)

”A witness claimed to see a brand-new Ford or Mercury luxury sedan, dark blue, with Colorado plates in front of Carolyn Chang's home the night of her disappearance. The prefix on the plate was A-M-K. The only Colorado vehicle fitting that description with an A-M-K prefix is an unmarked Crown Victoria registered to your office.”

”What's the plate number?”

”A-M-K 8115.”

”Yeah.” He sighed. ”That's one of ours. What else you got?”

It took more than a half hour, but I laid it all out for him. Everything. Polk's lie to Gilbert, his ties to the Koch Group, a man fitting Polk's description breaking into Jayne's town house, Polk's being in Boston at the time of Underwood's death and in Was.h.i.+ngton at the time of Fontaine's death, and Koch's attempt to kill us the other night. Polk was a southpaw and the man who had stabbed Carolyn Chang had been left-handed. ”This look familiar?” I asked. I handed him the tracking device we'd found on my truck. He studied it.

”It's ours,” he said, sighing again.

I told him my theory. Showed him the doc.u.ments Gilbert had found that established conclusively that the three victims had been working together on a model designed to predict market behavior. He was initially skeptical, but I thought I saw his doubts dissipate as the circ.u.mstantial evidence of Polk's involvement became overwhelming.

”Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he leaned forward and placed his hands on his desk, ”a weapon taken from our evidence room is used to commit a murder we're supposed to have investigated.” He shook his head slowly from side to side. Gumby just stared out at the Denver skyline. Scott sat quietly and took it all in. I inventoried the military awards and college degrees behind Dittmer's desk. ”Where's Polk now?” Dittmer finally asked, the question clearly directed to Gombold.

”He's in the building,” Gumby said. Dittmer pressed a b.u.t.ton on his telephone set and a young woman's voice came over the speaker.

”Sir?”

”Have Agent Polk come in here,” he said.

”Yes, sir.”

Several minutes pa.s.sed before Polk arrived. He wore gray slacks, a light blue s.h.i.+rt with short sleeves, a solid navy tie, and a leather shoulder holster with his howitzer in it. He wasn't happy to see me. ”What's this?” he said.

”Close the door,” Dittmer said. Polk complied. ”I need your weapon and badge,” Dittmer said.

”What's going on, boss?” Polk asked. Surprised.

”Your weapon and badge,” Dittmer repeated.

”What the f.u.c.k is going on?” Polk demanded.

”You're suspended until further notice,” Dittmer said loudly as he stood. ”Now give me your G.o.dd.a.m.ned weapon and badge.”

”Why?” Polk demanded.

”Killing three math professors seems like a pretty good reason,” I said from my chair. I was roughly halfway between Polk and Dittmer, and I made no effort to hide my contempt.

”You think I killed them?” he shouted.

”That's where the evidence points,” I said.

”We're not discussing this now,” Dittmer said. He extended his long arm to signal Polk he still wanted my former cla.s.smate to surrender his badge and gun.

”What evidence?” Polk shouted. His denial angered me. I stood up and faced him.

”I'll tell you what evidence,” I shot back. ”A weapon you logged into evidence was used to kill Fontaine. You lied to the police about it. You're in Boston at a s.e.x crimes seminar when Underwood dies in an autoerotic death, you're in Richland when Fontaine takes a bullet. A blue Crown Victoria with Colorado plates is seen outside Carolyn Chang's home the night she disappeared, and that plate traces to the Denver office of the FBI. Carolyn's killer was left-handed and you're a lefty. Three people who developed a revolutionary way of constructing economic models are dead and you work for an economic consulting company. You reinterviewed witnesses who had already been interviewed by other agents, to make sure n.o.body was on your trail.”

”I was working on the G.o.dd.a.m.ned case!” he shouted. ”You think I didn't know something funny was going on? You think I didn't know that I was in the vicinity when all three murders took place?”

”You broke into Jayne's house and-”

”To find out what you knew,” he said. ”I couldn't get into your house because of your f.u.c.king dogs.”

”We're not discussing this now,” Dittmer repeated firmly, but the situation was slipping away from his control.

”By the way,” I said to Polk, ”Koch botched the job the other night. We confiscated his FBI tracking device and gave him a good beating. Probably should've killed the f.u.c.ker, but the prosecutor may need him to testify against you.”

”What are you talking about?” Polk demanded.

”We're not discussing this now,” Dittmer shouted.

Polk turned to Dittmer. ”You son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he said. ”You set me up.”

Dittmer pressed the intercom again and said, ”Send some agents in here to take custody of Agent Polk.”

”Right away, sir,” a female voice replied.

Polk looked at me, then at Dittmer, then back at me. ”Don't you get it?” he pleaded. ”Dittmer's the one who decided our office would run the investigation. That's why he was so interested in knowing whether the phone records could connect any of the victims.”

”You're the one who logged in the gun,” I said.

Polk turned to Dittmer again. ”You f.u.c.kin' set me up,” he repeated. He was as angry as I'd ever seen him. Every vein and artery in his neck was bulging. ”You got me that job with Koch. You sent me to Boston. Told me to take time off to attend my reunion. You had me drive to Lincoln with you for that stupid meeting. How f.u.c.king stupid could I have been? I ought to f.u.c.kin' kill you right now.” I knew what was about to happen and reached for my Glock. Then everything went into slow motion.

Polk started for Dittmer, his face filled with rage. ”You f.u.c.kin' set me up,” he repeated yet again. Dittmer stepped back and began to draw his weapon with his left hand. Gumby saw what was about to happen and went for his gun, as did Scott, but I got to mine first. I shot Dittmer once in the chest.

36.

I'M NOT SURE I CAN explain it,” I said. ”I guess the idea had been floating around in the back of my mind, but it didn't come together for me until Polk started going off on Dittmer. All of the sudden everything made sense.”

”Lucky for you,” Gombold said. He wore a gray suit, white s.h.i.+rt, and maroon tie. Black wing tips. Two weeks had pa.s.sed. We were sharing a booth in an upscale bar near the federal building. It was four P.M. on a Friday afternoon and the place was filling up. He looked at me, signaling me to continue. I'd given a formal statement immediately after wounding Dittmer, but now was our chance to talk in a more relaxed setting.

”I'd been studying Dittmer's glory wall while we waited for Polk,” I said. ”It struck me that he and Hawkins had both been in Vietnam at about the same time. Both in intelligence. Then I noticed that Dittmer had attended Duke. And I remembered that Hawkins had attended Duke. And even though Dittmer was taking notes with his right hand, he was going to shoot Polk with his left hand.”

”And the coroner in Kansas said Carolyn had probably been stabbed by a lefty?”

”Yeah.” I took a few cashews from the bowl between us and washed them down with red wine.

”Well,” Gumby said, ”the important thing is, you were right. The pubic hairs we took from Dittmer match the ones found with Carolyn's body. It took some work, but we verified that he flew to Seattle and Boston under an alias.”

”And he drove to Lincoln with Polk in an FBI car?”

”Yeah, Dittmer scheduled some kind of meeting in Lincoln that week just so he'd have an excuse to go there, and he decided to take Polk with him. Polk says they took the Crown Victoria, and the mileage records seem to support that. They put about fourteen hundred miles on the car during that time period.”

”Enough to get you to Lincoln and back, with maybe a little side trip down to Kansas so Dittmer could dump Carolyn's body.”