us for a few minutes?” he said to his companions, who quietly rose and headed toward the billiard tables. Campbell motioned to the chair next to him. “Please have a seat, Sergeant.” Campbell held up a heavy crystal tumbler. “Would you care for a scotch? We have some of the finest single malts in the world.”
“No, thank you.”
The waiter who had escorted Sinclair to the room bowed his head slightly and took his leave.
“Sinclair—that is Scottish isn’t it?” Campbell said.
“My father was English and Scottish. The exact lines became blurred generations ago.”
“Of course.” Campbell swirled the amber liquid in his glass and took a sip.
Sinclair could smell the aroma from where he sat.
“And your mother is Latino?” Campbell said.
It was obvious Campbell had been well briefed. “Her mother was Mexican and her father was American. And you, sir, Scottish?”
“Ah yes, both of my parents trace their lines back to the old clans of feudal times. They weren’t too pleased when I married a beautiful woman of Austrian-Hungarian descent, but I don’t concern myself with such pedigrees as did my parents.”
Sinclair wondered if Campbell was truly impressed with his record and wanted to get to know him better or if this was this just preliminary ice breaking, but he wasn’t left wondering for long.
“The victim in the murder that prompted your investigation into Special Ladies Escorts was a prostitute, is that correct?”
“That’s right,” Sinclair said.
“I’m curious as to why you went to such great lengths—mounting an undercover operation into the service and gathering a mountain of information—when wading through it would take an army of analysts and likely get you no closer to solving the murder?”
“Are you asking why I took on so much work, or why I did so for this victim?”
“I’ve been told about your work ethic, so on that I’m clear, but this victim is not exactly a prominent citizen.”
Sinclair fought to control his composure. “She had friends and family that loved her. I don’t pick which murders to work based on someone’s determination of the victim’s worth. I investigate them all, because in my world, people shouldn’t be allowed to commit a murder and get away with it.”
“So you work as much for society as for the victim. Very noble. I admire that. However, is it practical? In my office, I make decisions about whom to investigate and prosecute daily. Often my decisions have national implications. For example, you’re well aware that under the current administration, police brutality is a major issue. My stance doesn’t please my law enforcement brethren, but the President and Attorney General are trying to reshape the way law enforcement agencies in our great nation do business. One of the ways in which we are doing so is by using the FBI’s civil rights division to investigate excessive force when it falls under federal jurisdiction and by using the US Attorneys to prosecute individual officers when the evidence is sufficient.”
Sinclair was well aware of the witch-hunts by the Attorney General. He announced federal investigations into incidents even before the local jurisdiction had a chance to investigate. “Are you saying I’m doing too much because Dawn Gustafson—that’s the victim’s name, by the way—was just a hooker?”
Campbell took a long pull of his scotch. “What I’m saying is that we all have only so much time, resources, and goodwill. We need to use it wisely. The path you’re taking may consume every bit of goodwill you’ve earned. You must ask yourself if it’s worth it, or if it’s wiser to save up some goodwill for the future. You’re a man of great honor—a noble knight, if you will—but this may not be the battle you want to ride into with sword and shield in hand.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you have access to the client list?” Sinclair said.
Campbell looked down at his drink for a few counts. He then locked eyes with Sinclair. “What information I have access to is, quite frankly, none of your business. Your question might be more properly posed to your police chief.” Campbell raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The waiter who had brought Sinclair to the meeting reappeared. “Thomas here will escort you back to the party. Tread carefully, Sergeant, you’re too good a man to have this be your downfall.”
Chapter 22
Sinclair met Braddock at the office at nine the following morning. It was Saturday, so he conceded an hour so she could spend some morning time with her kids. When Sinclair had left the Scottish Rite