The Girls He Adored

40

It didn't take long for Pender to realize that he was being frozen out of the investigation. For one thing, no one had told him about the murder of the highway patrolman, or that the manhunt was being shifted to the north. He heard about it accidentally when he showed up at the resident agency on the outskirts of Monterey bright and early Saturday morning to have Dr. Cogan's tapes transcribed for distribution, copied, and messengered back to Behavioral Science's psycholinguistics consultant in Maryland for further analysis.

His next hint came when he inquired about a seat on the Buplane that would be leaving within the hour for Mendocino and was told it was full up by case agent Pastor.

“Okay, fine, how about a Bu-car?”

“Sorry, Pender, can't spare one,” said Pastor brusquely.

“What the hell's going on?” Pender demanded.

“My question exactly. You come waltzing out here from Washington. You don't bother to check in with the RA. You piss off the locals, start a prison break, and get a sheriff's deputy killed. You stumble on a crime scene you had no business investigating and take your own sweet time for a walk-through before you call in the BOLO, which gives our fugitive another hour's lead. Possibly contributing to the subsequent murder of a California Highway Patrol officer.”

Pastor paused for breath; it sounded to Pender as if he were reading a list of charges that had already been filed.

“But when the SAC calls McDougal yesterday to have your ass jerked back to Washington, instead of turning you over to OPR, McDougal tells him to find you something to do. So you tell me what the hell's going on. You got pictures of McDougal and the director burying a dead whore or something?

“On second thought, don't tell me. All I want from you is a full report, ASAP, pronto, immediamente, stat, on everything Casey said and did while you were together, and I particularly want a detailed account of any and all events leading up to his escape, and I want it by this evening. And that's all I want from you. I don't care what McDougal says, you stay the fuck away from my investigation.”

Pender had taken off his hat upon entering the office; he looked down and saw himself twisting it in his hands like a nervous supplicant.

I'm KMA, he thought. I don't have to take this shit. KMA was Bu-slang for an agent who'd already qualified for his pension; the initials stood for Kiss My Ass. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over the younger man, who stepped back involuntarily.

“Fuck you,” said Pender, with what he hoped was at least a degree of dignity. “And while I'm at it, fuck the RA, fuck the SAC, and fuck the locals.”

Then he handed Dr. Cogan's two Dictaphone minicassettes to Pastor, who up until that moment hadn't even known they existed, put his crumpled hat back on, straightened the brim and crease as best he could without a mirror, and turned his back on Pastor and the bureau.