Six Seconds

37

Washington, D.C.

Daniel Graham worked at his hotel-room desk mining Tarver’s files for a lead.

Anything.

He’d been up since dawn.

His hair was tousled. He wore a faded T-shirt, sweat pants, and downed stale coffee as he scoured the articles and reports Tarver had collected on immigration pol icies, terrorist sleeper cells and technology for building dirty bombs.

The file also had government records on civilian contract truckers in Iraq that Tarver had obtained through the Freedom of Information Act. Consequently, under national security and privacy legislation, most portions had been blacked out.

Whatever Tarver had been looking for, he’d been looking hard.

But Graham couldn’t find a link to Tarver’s last story and the tragedy in the Rockies.

The facts Graham knew firsthand gnawed at him:

The stranger. The missing laptop, Emily Tarver’s last words. Again, he reviewed the notebook he’d found at the Tarver campsite and Ray’s final handwritten entry on Blue Rose Creek.

Possibly in California.

What is Blue Rose Creek? He scratched his whiskers. What does it mean?

Is there a connection?

He hadn’t heard back from Walker. He asked Reg Novak and Carson, the FBI agent, to run the term through their systems. They’d found nothing. Graham had searched for it on the Internet but found nothing he could use, some obscure blogs, some poetry. Some results showed a suburb near Riverside County, Califor nia.

Maybe Ray’s father had found something. Graham glanced at the time, thinking that he needed to get cleaned up before their meeting, when the hotel phone rang.

“Nice work on keeping things low-key,” Inspector Mike Stotter said from Calgary. “Tell me why I shouldn’t haul your ass back here on the next plane?”

“I’ll explain what happened.”

“No, I’ll explain. The Secret Service called RCMP Headquarters in Ottawa. Ottawa called Edmonton, who called my boss, who had me spend much of yesterday defending you.”

“I can explain.”

“Tell me something, Dan. Why in the hell did you tell a senior Secret Service agent on the papal security detail that he’s a suspect in the Tarver case?”

“How is it that this agent is informed that the case, my case, has been officially cleared and closed?”

“That’s not the issue here.”

“It damn well is, sir. It’s not only a breach. I was betrayed by somebody feeding him BS.”

“Likely came from Ottawa bureaucrats, making an assumption and making nice.”

“Making nice? What’re you talking about?”

“Look, right now, every U.S. security agency is strained by the pope’s visit because they have to check every single burp by every nut job who makes a poten tial threat. Add to that the fact the president is scheduled to visit Canada in one month. Throw in the fact U.S. Canada relations are chilly right now, means every body’s tightly wound.”

“So? What’s that got to do with me looking into Ray Tarver’s background?”

“Ottawa does not want any tension with U.S. security people right now. Especially with the president coming to Canada and especially over this sort of thing.”

“I’m dealing with multiple deaths and you’re talking politics.”

“What happened to this family was terrible. But they died tragically while camping. You’ve followed your hunch. There’s nothing criminal or sinister here. Noth ing concrete. It’s got the hallmark of a tragic accident.”

“What?”

The long-distance line hissed before Stotter resumed.

“Dan, you know I’m right. And I’m sorry but I’m going to cut your trip short. We’ve got other cases and I need you back here.”

“Don’t do this, Mike. Let me have the time you gave me.”

“Dan, listen, I let you go down there because I

Six Seconds 239 thought it might help you. You’re one of our best inves tigators. You’ve been through a lot. I need you at full strength and I thought you needed to do this.”

“What’re you saying, Mike? That this was a pity assignment?”

“Dan.”

“I don’t believe this. Tell me, Mike, have we found Tarver’s body yet?”

“No.”

“Did we find his laptop yet?”

“No.”

“So why is everybody but me convinced this was an accident?”

In the awkward silence Graham sensed an uneasy answer being formed.

“You’re the one who heard voices, Dan.”

“That little girl spoke to me, Mike. Before she died, she spoke to me.”

“Dan, are you sure it was the little girl you heard?”

Graham’s stomach quaked and he squeezed the phone.

“Sir, I request permission to complete my assign ment in the time you’d allotted.”

Graham knew he couldn’t justify staying in the U.S. but in some small corner of his heart, someone, or something, was screaming for him to keep investigat ing.

“You’re there at my discretion.”

“I know, sir.”

“You’ve got a few more days. That’s it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”