Private L.A. (Private 6)

She smiled. “That’s so good.”

“I know, right?” Sci said. “There they are.”

Ahead on the winding road, Justine could see several satellite broadcast trucks set up across from the gate to the Harlows’ ranch. With klieg lights and cameras trained on the Suburban, Sci pulled into the drive behind two vans emblazoned with the symbol of the FBI. A short, slight man, forties, buzz cut, FBI blue Windbreaker, already

stood by the front gate.

“Good,” Sci said. “That’s Todd McCormick. We work peachy together.”

“You being sarcastic?”

“No, I mean it. He’s first-rate. Little uptight. FBI, what do you want? But the man’s completely on it when it comes to forensics.”

They got out. Sci introduced Justine to McCormick, who seemed Kloppenberg’s exact opposite in almost every way. And yet Justine noticed immediately that the men appeared to have some kind of quiet bond, a shared expertise and curiosity that was remarkably free of ego or competition.

“I saw the tapes of the children,” McCormick said. “Of course, I’ve heard of you, though I’ve never seen you in action. Impressive, Ms. Smith.”

“Thank you,” Justine said.

“You trained in forensics as well as child psychology?” McCormick asked.

Justine shook her head.

“Gotta admit, it’s a little off from my perspective,” the crime tech said.

“What’s that?” Sci asked.

“Townsend letting you both back on the crime scene,” McCormick said.

Sci grinned coldly. “Private’s forensics teams and labs are fully accredited with every major law enforcement agency in the country, even yours, Todd. If you remember, I have lectured at the FBI Academy.”

“I remember, Sci,” McCormick said before gesturing toward Justine with his chin. “No offense, but I was talking about her.”

Justine said, “Look, I’m here because Jack Morgan thinks I have a good eye for things. Special Agent Townsend concurs. I certainly won’t touch anything you consider evidence, Mr. McCormick. I’ll notify you the moment I find anything that seems germane to the investigation.”

You could tell the FBI tech didn’t like it, but he nodded. “You have a key?”

“No,” said Sci. “I thought you got it from Sanders.”

Justine sighed, stepped by them to a keypad. “Don’t worry, gentlemen, I have the entry code. I wrote it down the last time I was here.”

Chapter 62

“HOW THE HELL did you get access to these kinds of files?” FBI SAC Christine Townsend asked me. We were inside the lab at Private. Mo-bot was at her workbench, uploading the data onto our system.

“I copied them from Graves’s computer at Harlow-Quinn,” I said.

“Stole them, you mean?” Townsend cried. “Are you out of your mind? I won’t be part of this. Whatever you might find in there is tainted now. None of it can be used in any court in—”

“Does it really matter?” I demanded. “Look, with all due respect, I thought we were in the business of finding the Harlows. Shouldn’t we keep that the number one priority?”

“I have a sworn duty to uphold the Constitution,” she shot back.

“As Chief Fescoe and others have pointed out to me recently, I don’t operate under the same restraints,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t like being lied to or being manipulated, and Sanders and Graves are guilty of both.”

“What’s their motive?” Townsend said skeptically. “Why does this situation benefit them beyond what you said about publicity? You said the Harlows were almost bankrupt, that the film was on the verge of ruining them financially. You’d think they’d be more focused on that.”

“I never said the Harlows were almost bankrupt,” I corrected. “That’s what Sanders told me. As of last night, I doubt nearly everything he has said in this case, and Graves and Bronson too. Taking the files is my way of double-checking things.”