V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

“Of what?”

“Just let it go, okay? I know you mean well . . .”

“I don’t understand what’s at stake. I don’t want to make trouble. You know me better than that, so what’s the deal?”

“You’re putting a CI in jeopardy.”

“How so? I don’t know anything about a confidential informant. This is all news to me.”

He studied me briefly. “I’ll tell you this if you swear you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“I swear.”

“The retail-theft ring is only one part of the equation. Priddy’s under investigation as well. The informant’s working both sides of the street. Len thinks he’s milking the guy for information, but the CI is reporting back to us and feeding him lines while we build our case. His testimony will be critical. Priddy’s a slippery customer. In all these years, no one’s been able to nail him.”

“Oh, I hear you,” I said. “I’d love nothing better than to see him brought down.”

“Leave that to us. Len’s got cop friends who’d do anything for him. We know some of them, but not all, so walk a wide path around him. You can trust me but don’t talk to anyone else.” He took out his wallet and extracted a twenty and a ten and put it under his plate.

“Lunch didn’t cost that much,” I said.

“I like to leave a good tip so here’s one: bury the topic until I tell you it’s okay. I’ll send someone around to pick up any other copies of this you have on hand.” He folded the report and slid it into the inside pocket of his sport coat.

Driving back to the office, I deconstructed the conversation, separating the elements for review. It was obvious the police department was running an investigation that paralleled mine, the two intersecting at more than one point. I wasn’t sure where they were in the process, but they had to be focused on the same operation I’d been looking at, though doubtless at a more sophisticated and comprehensive level. There was probably a task force in place, several agencies pooling their resources as they gathered intelligence. Cheney’s revelation both thrilled and troubled me. I didn’t expect him to bare all. These days, the legal system is so finely calibrated that a breach in security or a violation of procedure can spell disaster. As a rule, I keep my nose out of police business, though it’s not always easy. I do tend to fixate on a problem and worry it to death. Here, what I loved more than snooping was the idea of Len Priddy being exposed for what he was. Cheney’s warning had come too late to steer me off the subject of retail theft, but I intended to heed his caution about Len. What disturbed me was knowing just enough to feel I might be vulnerable.

As I turned onto my block, I noticed a dark green Chevrolet parked in my usual place at the curb. I didn’t think much about it since parking is at such a premium. It’s first-come, first-served, and I’m often forced to hunt for the next available spot. I found a length of curb where my front bumper encroached on a private driveway, but only by three feet. At the end of the day, if I was lucky, I’d escape without a ticket.

Coming up the walk, I stopped short of the front steps, alerted by the fact that the door was open when I knew I’d locked up when I left. I took four paces to the side and peered in the window, where I could see Len Priddy doing a finger-walk through my files. I tried to think how I’d behave with him if Cheney hadn’t warned me. Len already knew there was no love lost between us, but beyond our mutual dislike, I’d never had reason to be afraid of him. Now I was. I went into the outer office and when I appeared in the doorway, he didn’t even seem embarrassed at being caught in the act.

I said, “You mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

He turned. “Sorry. You weren’t here when I arrived so I let myself in. Is that a problem?” He had tossed any number of file folders on the floor, not because it was necessary, but to illustrate his contempt.

“That depends on what you want.”

I moved toward my desk, keeping as much distance between the two of us as I could muster. Glancing down, I could see he’d made a point of leaving my desk drawers ajar so I’d know he’d been through them as well. I made no comment.

He said, “Relax. This is nothing official. I thought it was time for us to chat.” He removed a file folder and slid the drawer shut. He tossed the folder on the desk and then settled in my swivel chair, tilted back, propping his feet against the edge. He reached for the folder and pulled out the single sheet of paper, the photocopy of Marvin’s check. Cleverly, I’d filed the written report on Audrey elsewhere, so he had no way to determine what I knew.