Without Due Process by J. A. Jance

Author:J. A. Jance
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

IN MY OPINION, THE INTERNAL INVESTIGATIONS Section is a whole lot like a plumber’s friend—one of life’s necessary evils. A bathroom plunger isn’t something you’re particularly proud of owning. You don’t wave it around and brag about it, but when you need one, there’s nothing in the world quite like it. As circling water rises ominously and inevitably toward the rim of a backed-up toilet bowl, you’re usually damned grateful to have one in your hand.

I wasn’t ready to brag about IIS, but knowing that in the aftermath of Ben’s murder someone inside the Seattle Police Department had gained unauthorized access to his computer files made me more than ready to go see them. Sue Danielson, still too new at the Detective Division to have rotated in and out of IIS, was edgy about the entire process. I, on the other hand, had done a couple of stints in IIS over the years. Once again, I was able to offer some moral support from that dubiously gratifying vantage point—the long view.

“It’s not really an us-and-them situation, you know,” I counseled, once we met in the elevator lobby on the eleventh floor. “As a detective, you’ll find yourself assigned to work up here from time to time. These folks are mostly just a bunch of regular guys, especially Tony Freeman.”

Sue shot me a skeptical glance. “They may all be regular,” she countered, “but I still can’t see myself ever wanting to join them.”

Because IIS is a secured area, we had to stop at the reception desk and log in. “I’m Detective Beaumont,” I said to the young woman sitting there. “And this is Detective Danielson from Homicide. We’re here to talk to whoever’s handling Ben Weston’s case.”

There must be something about the set of my eyes and nose, or maybe it’s the way I comb my hair that brings out the worst in receptionists everywhere. This one was no exception. Busy filing a broken nail, she seemed only vaguely interested in what I had to say.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

I smiled back at her, one of those long-view smiles. “We work in Homicide,” I told her. “It’s hard to schedule those a week or so in advance. Can you tell me if someone in IIS has been assigned to work on the Weston case?”

“I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information.”

“Who is?”

“Captain Freeman.”

“Can we see him?”

She glanced pointedly behind her at the door with its number-coded lock. A red light glowed above it, announcing to those outside that the room was occupied and no one was to enter without Captain Freeman’s express permission. “He’s with someone right now,” the receptionist replied curtly, “and it’s already after four. Maybe you could come back tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe we’ll wait,” I said. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

I motioned Sue into a chair and took one myself. It’s the kind of passive/aggressive resistance that universally drives receptionists crazy. This one flushed angrily and slammed the nail file into the top drawer of her desk.

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