Guilty Minds

30

I checked SlanderSheet.com in the Suburban on my way back to the Shays Abbott offices, and sure enough, the Claflin piece was gone, replaced by a notice, bordered in black:

Ordinarily I should have been feeling some satisfaction, the glow of victory — I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, what I’d been hired to do — but that wasn’t how I felt at all. I felt uneasy. I knew that something was very wrong.

The call girl, Kayla Pitts, had obviously been coerced into making a false accusation. She was scared. She had some ex-cop following her, protecting her or watching her. What was her story? How had she gotten involved in a scam targeting Justice Claflin? Who else had been involved? Who was behind it, and what was the objective?

This case was over, but it didn’t feel that way to me.

I called my office in Boston. Jillian answered and filled me in on what was happening there, which wasn’t a lot. “I’ve decided to stay in Washington another day,” I told her. “To tie up loose ends. Keep me in the loop by e-mail, and call if there’s anything urgent.”

I returned to the hotel and told Dorothy the plan. “That’s fine with me,” she said. “I was planning on staying a few days longer anyway, take some personal time. Also, I think we should have a celebratory dinner somewhere nice.”

“Absolutely.”

“Restaurant Nora okay with you?”

“If you can get us in, sure.”

“Oh, Nick, you asked me to look into why Mandy Seeger left The Washington Post?”

“Oh, right.” I laughed. “I forgot about that. Why did she leave the Post, anyway?”

“She got fired.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Apparently she violated the Post’s policy against lying to sources — she pretended to be a defense contractor or something when she was working on some big story about corruption in the Pentagon. The Post doesn’t allow its reporters to misrepresent themselves, to lie about who they are to get a story. She went too far.”

“Huh.”

“Sound familiar?”

I smiled innocently. “How so?”

“You know damned well how so. You’ll stop at nothing, too, when you’re on a case.”

“Yeah, well, no one says I can’t lie if and when I have to. I’m not a reporter.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Thanks.” I remembered about the message that my retired police detective friend had left. Without listening to it, I called Detective Garvin back.

“Nick,” he said. “That guy you asked me about, Curtis Schmidt?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s bad news.”

“Tell me about it.”

I meant it sarcastically, but Garvin answered anyway. “He’s a bad apple. He got out when the going was good.”

“Why?”

“I had a buddy check the PPMS, the MPD’s Personnel Performance Management System. He and some other cops scammed the department out of almost a million bucks in fraudulent overtime pay requests, for court appearances they never made.”

“But he has a red-stripe card. He’s retired. Not fired.”

“The department had to handle this on the DL for fear of jeopardizing any criminal prosecutions these a-holes were involved in. So about four, five years ago, they were all forced to take retirement.”

So Curtis Schmidt was a bad cop. That was obvious to me from the moment I found the red-stripe card in his wallet. Obviously he’d found a new source of employment. But was it connected to Slander Sheet? If so, how?

Garvin said, “You want me to dig around some more?”

I thought for a moment. It no longer made a difference, did it?

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got what I need. Thanks.”

And I ended the call.