Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

Overby put on his consideration face. Then: "We can't look everywhere and I think Steve's's the more, you know, logical assessment."

"All right. North, then. I'll talk to Amy Grabe. She'll get eyes going in Oakland, the docks, the East Bay. And--"

"Whoa, whoa, Kathryn." Overby's face registered surprise, as if she'd just said, I think I'll swim to Santa Cruz.

She looked at him with a critical furrow of brow. There was a lace of condescension in his tone.

She glanced at Foster, who had lost interest in her and was studying a golden-colored golf ball on Overby's desk, some award. He didn't want to be seen gloating when she heard what she knew was coming. Better to look at small-time awards made of plastic masquerading as precious metal.

Overby said, "I've just been on the phone with Sacramento. With Peter."

The director of the CBI. The boss of bosses.

"We talked, I explained..."

"What's the bottom line, Charles?"

"I did everything I could, Kathryn. I went to bat for you."

"I'm suspended."

"Not suspended, no, no, not completely." He beamed, as if she'd won a Caribbean Cruise in a state fair drawing. "You lost your weapon, Kathryn. He's got it now. That's... Well, you know. It is unpaid leave-of-absence territory. They're not going to go there. But they want you in Civil Division for the time being."

Civ-Div would correspond to a traffic division in the city police department. No weapon and with all the power of anybody else to make a citizen's arrest. It was the entry level into the Bureau of Investigation and involved such tasks as compiling information on noncriminal violations by citizens and corporations, like failure to follow building or revenue-collection regulations, improper signage in the workplace and even failure to promptly remit soda bottle deposits. Agents tended to endure the overwhelming paperwork and crushing boredom for only so long. If they weren't promoted out into Crim-Div, they usually quit cold.

"So I am suspended. From Criminal."

"I'm sorry, Kathryn. I didn't have a choice. I tried. I really did."

Going to bat for her...

Foster now regarded Overby with a neutral gaze that Dance, however, read as contempt for her boss's backpedaling.

"I told him body language isn't an exact science. You did the best you could with Serrano. I saw you. We all did. It looked to me like he was telling the truth. Right, Steve? Who could tell?"

Dance could see that Foster was thinking, But it's not our area of expertise to sit across from a perp and pick apart the entrails of his words and poses and gestures to get to the truth.

Overby continued, "But no one was hurt. Not badly. No weapons were discharged."

The redhead in the parking lot had not been run over after all. She'd rolled out of the way, under an SUV, as the Altima had sped out of the parking space. Her Dell computer and her lunch had not survived; their loss was what the horrific-sounding crunch had signaled.

"Charles, Serrano is High Mach. I missed it, I admit. But you see those one in every hundred cases."

"What's that? High what?" Foster asked.

"A category of liars' personalities. The most ruthless and, yeah, slick"--she threw the word back at Foster--"are the 'High Machiavellians.' High Machs love to lie. They lie with impunity. They see nothing wrong with it. They use deceit like a smartphone or search engine, a tool to get what they want. Whether it's in love, business, politics--or crime." She added that there were other types, which included social liars, who lied to entertain, and adapters, who were insecure people lying to make positive impressions. Another common type was the "actor," someone for whom control was an important issue. "They don't lie regularly, only when necessary. But Serrano, he just didn't present like any of them. Sure not a High Mach. All I picked up were what I said, some small evasions. Social lies."

"Social?"

"Everybody lies." The statistics were that every human being lied at least once or twice a day. Dance shot a glance to Foster. "When did you lie last?"

He rolled his eyes. She thought: Maybe when he'd said "Good to see you" this morning.

She continued, "But I was getting to know him. I'm the only one here or in any other agency who's spent time with him. And now we know he could be a key to the whole operation. I don't need to lead it. Just don't take me off the case."

Overby ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Kathryn, you want to make it right. I understand. Sure you do. But I don't know what to tell you; it's been decided. Peter's already signed off on the reassignment."

"Already."