them anything specific why he might have killed himself. ‘Ongoing investigation,’ et cetera. If someone does make the connection between Bertok’s death and the Pentad, deny it unequivocally.” Kaulcrick turned back to everyone there. “If there is any leak of this—any leak—there will be more Bureau polygraphers in this division than falsified time sheets. Now get going.”
As the group around the car started to disperse, the assistant director said, “Well, Steve, I guess you can head back to Chicago.”
“What are you talking about?” Kate asked.
“He was asked to find Bertok, and he’s done that. This is all drone stuff now: go to the rental places and show the key. It’s just a matter of time until someone stumbles across it. I think we can take it from here. I would think you’d find that boring, wouldn’t you, Steve?”
“Actually, the director asked me to find Bertok and the money. You wouldn’t mind if I hang around until you do find it, would you? I promise not to get in the way.”
“Does that mean you don’t think we will find it?”
“It means I’m curious, nothing more.”
“Sorry if I’m a little defensive. I’d like to think that the Bureau could solve at least part of this case.” There was something strained about Kaulcrick’s attempted humility.
“I’d just like to see how it turns out. I’ll keep my hands off,” Vail said.
Kaulcrick stared at him for a moment. “Are you sure that’s possible?”
Vail smiled. “Probably not.”
THAT NIGHT VAIL watched the SAC on the early news. He stood at the lectern and read from a prepared statement. “Special Agent Stanley Bertok of this division, a twelve-year veteran with the FBI, committed suicide earlier today in this city. Agent Bertok had not reported to work for the last several days, and agents from this office had been searching for him. One of those teams finally located him and discovered that he had killed himself. This office is continuing to investigate the matter. Once that investigation is completed, our findings will be made public.”
The statement, short by design, caused the reporters to start firing questions at Hildebrand. “Any idea why he killed himself? Was he depressed?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I believe depression is involved in most suicides. If he was depressed, we had no indication of it prior to this.”
Another reporter asked, “How hard were you looking for him? Why wasn’t there a public plea for help in locating him?”
The only answer that occurred to Hildebrand he knew could open Pandora’s box. He looked back past the lights for some signal from Kaulcrick, who sat in his chair passively. “Like any organization, on rare occasions,” Hildebrand started, “we have employees who are out of pocket for short periods of time. And when they are located, the explanations are usually quite innocuous. We had no reason to believe this was any different.”
Then someone asked, “Was there any connection between the suicide and the unsolved murders committed by the Rubaco Pentad?”
Again the SAC looked at Kaulcrick, who gave no indication that he had even heard the question. “No, there was absolutely no connection,” Hildebrand said. “I’m sorry, I’m late for another meeting.”
The reporters, smelling blood in the water, fired their questions on top of each other as the SAC picked up his notes and hurried out of the room.
FIFTEEN
AT NINE O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, VAIL TAPPED ON TYE DELSON’S office door before pushing it open. She was leaning over a half-dozen law books that covered her desk, lost in her reading. “You got a minute?”
She looked up, and it took a moment for her to remember where she was. “Oh, Steve, sorry. I was trying to figure out something.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no. Shut the door, will you. I could use a break.” She shoved up the window behind her desk until it was completely open, drew a cigarette, and lit it. “Please, sit down.” She sat down on the sill.
“You’ve heard, I assume.”
“About Stan, yes. They called me for a legal opinion for a search of the house and car. After the fact, I’m guessing.”
“What do you think about Bertok’s involvement now?”
“If you remember, the first time we met I told you I didn’t think he could be involved in any murders. They said he shot at you. I guess I’ve always been better with books than people.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. I want to ask you a people question—which has to stay in the room.”
She took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke