“There’s more than one kind?”
“Start with the enemies I see every day. The ones I deal with in public—in the papers and on TV,” Castelli said. “There’s the guys I don’t know for sure, but suspect. And then you’ve got the crackpots I’ve never met at all.”
“The first two, that could include your friends, your family?”
“There’d be some.”
“Can you make a list?”
“My staff’s working on it.”
“The FBI asked already?”
The mayor nodded.
“What about business interests? Not enemies, but people waiting on your decision—building permits, contracts. People who think they’d have a better shot if someone else were behind your desk.”
“They’re working on that, too.”
“The FBI is, with your staff.”
“That’s right.”
“If they’re doing all that, why am I here?”
“You’d have to talk to them. To Lieutenant Nagoya.”
“Nagata.”
“Nagata, then,” Castelli said. “But I already told them what I think you should be doing: tracking down the girl.”
“You give me three pictures of a woman and I’m supposed to find her.”
“You’re supposed to be the best,” Castelli said. “The best guys, they get an assignment and they do it. That’s how it used to be, anyway.”
Cain let that slide past. He gathered the photographs and put them back into the folder. He read the letter once more before he added it to the stack and closed the cover on it.
“Everyone’s going to recognize you in the next set of pictures. That’s what your friend says.”
“I read that.”
“Have you ever been in that room?” Cain asked. “Do you recognize it?”
“It could be anywhere—I’ve never seen it.”
“What’s in the next set of pictures?”
“How should I know, Cain? It could be anything. Think how easy it is to doctor a picture, to pay someone to do it for you.”
Cain stood up.
“Is there anything you want to tell me before I find it out on my own?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Cain said. “Just, now’s your chance.”
The mayor squeezed the back of his office chair. He turned his head and coughed into his right bicep. Then he sat down and picked up his glass. It was nearly empty.
“I’ve got nothing else. You should go meet with Nagoya and that girl from the FBI. Take your folder.”
“Fine,” Cain said.
He crossed the wide office to the door. When he had his hand on the knob, he turned and looked back at the mayor.
“I’ll need to know a good time to drop by your house.”
“What?”
“Your wife, your daughter—I’ll be interviewing them.”
“You’re not doing that. You’re not going anywhere near them.”
“I get an assignment,” Cain said, “and I do it. I don’t ask permission.”
“Inspector—”
“And so we’re clear? I run my investigations. I see anyone, I ask anything. And there’s no interference from the top down. I’ll set something up with your staff.”
He opened the door and stepped into the reception lounge. A woman in a charcoal skirt and matching jacket was waiting at the threshold, balancing a tablet computer on the stack of documents in her arms. She stepped back too quickly when Cain came out and nearly tripped. When she’d caught her balance again, he recognized her. He’d seen her standing with the mayor on television. Until tonight, he’d never put a name to her face.
“You’re Melissa Montgomery,” Cain said. “The mayor’s chief of staff.”
“I’m not sure I got your name.”
He took a business card from his badge holder, but her hands were too full to take it. He set it on top of her tablet’s screen.
“Gavin Cain. Call in about an hour,” he said. “We’ll set it up.”
“Set what up?”
“Let’s not pretend you weren’t listening,” Cain said. “Just get a time and call me.”
He stepped around her and went out.
Lieutenant Nagata was leaning against the brass and iron railing at the top of the grand staircase. She pushed off it as he came toward her, and then they stood in the shadows of the marble columns. She looked at the manila folder in his hand.
“How’d it go?”
“It was an honor, Lieutenant,” he said. “A pleasure and a privilege. It reinforced everything I already thought about him.”
“Cain.”
“He’s an alcoholic, and a liar.”
“Are you finished?”
“He’s an empty suit, and he’s soft. You see his hands?”
“Can you do it?”
“You want me to find the girl.”
“The FBI’s got the rest,” Nagata said. “We just have to find her, see where that leads. Can you do it?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“You don’t have to vote for him next year.”
“He might not be in a position to run.”
She took his elbow.
“Come on—she’s waiting.”
When they reached the staircase, instead of leading him down the steps to the rotunda, she guided him to the left. Another patrolman was guarding the entrance to the Board of Supervisors’ chambers. He pulled back the door as they approached.
“This is our headquarters,” Nagata said. They stepped into the antechamber. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow we’re getting a conference room.”