Julio had never encountered Defense Security Agency men before. They were far different from the FBI agents that he had sometimes worked with, less like policemen than FBI men were. They wore elitism as if it were a pungent cologne.
To Julio and Reese, Sharp said, “I know who you are, and I know a little bit about your reputations — two hound dogs. You bite into a case and you just never let go. Usually that's admirable. This time, however, you've got to unclench your teeth and let go. I can't make it clear enough. Understand me?”
“It's basically our case,” Julio said tightly. “It started in our jurisdiction, and we caught the first call.”
Sharp frowned. “I'm telling you it's over and you're out. As far as your department's concerned, there is no case for you to work on here. The files on Hernandez, Klienstad, and Leben have all been pulled from your records, as if they never existed, and from now on we handle everything. I've got my own forensics team driving in from L.A. right now. We don't need or want anything you can provide. Comprende, amigo? Listen, Lieutenant Verdad, you're gone. Check with your superiors if you don't believe me.”
“I don't like it,” Julio said.
“You don't have to like it,” Sharp said.
Julio drove only two blocks from Rachael Leben's house before he had to pull over to the curb and stop. He threw the car into park with a violent swipe at the gearshift and said, “Damn! Sharp's so sold on himself he probably thinks someone ought to bottle his piss and sell it as perfume.”
During the ten years Reese had worked with Julio, he. had never seen his partner this angry. Furious. His eyes looked hard and hot. A tic in his right cheek made half his face twitch. The muscles in his jaws clenched and unclenched, and the cords in his neck were taut. He looked like he wanted to break something in half. Reese was struck by the weird thought that if Julio had been a cartoon character, steam would have been pouring from his ears.
Reese said, “He's an asshole, sure, but he's an asshole with a lot of authority and connections.”
“Acts like a damn storm trooper.”
“I suppose he's got his job to do.”
“Yeah, but it's our job he's doing.”
“Let it go,” Reese said.
“I can't.”
“Let it go.”
Julio shook his head. “No. This is a special case. I feel a special obligation to that Hernandez girl. Don't ask me to explain it. You'd think I was getting sentimental in my old age. Anyway, if it was just an ordinary case, just the usual homicide, I'd let it go in a minute, I would, I really would, but this one is special.”
Reese sighed.
To Julio, nearly every case was special. He was a small man, especially for a detective, but he was committed, damned if he wasn't, and one way or another he found an excuse for persevering in a case when any other cop would have given up, when common sense said there was no point in continuing, and when the law of diminishing returns made it perfectly clear that the time had come to move on to something else. Sometimes he said, “Reese, I feel a special commitment to this victim 'cause he was so young, never had a chance to know life, and it isn't fair, it eats at me.” And sometimes he said, “Reese, this case is personal and special to me because the victim was so old, so old and defenseless, and if we don't go an extra mile to protect our elderly citizens, then we're a very sick society; this eats at me, Reese.” Sometimes the case was special to Julio because the victim was pretty, and it seemed such a tragedy for any beauty to be lost to the world that it just ate at him. But he could be equally eaten because the victim was ugly, therefore already disadvantaged in life, which made the additional curse of death too unfair to be borne. This time, Reese suspected that Julio had formed a special attachment to Ernestina because her name was similar to that of his long-dead little brother. It didn't take much to elicit a fierce commitment from Julio Verdad. Almost any little thing would do. The problem was that Julio had such a deep reservoir of compassion and empathy that he was always in danger of drowning in it.
Sitting rigidly behind the steering wheel, lightly but repeatedly thumping one fist against his thigh, Julio said, “Obviously, the snatching of Eric Leben's corpse and the murders of these two women are connected. But how? Did the people who stole his body kill Ernestina and Becky? And why? And why nail her to the wall in Mrs. Leben's bedroom? That's so grotesque!”
Reese said, “Let it go.”
“And where's Mrs. Leben? What's she know about this? Something. When I questioned her, I sensed she was holding something back.”
“Let it go.”
“And why would this be a national security matter requiring Anson Sharp and his damn Defense Security Agency?”
“Let it go,” Reese said, sounding like a broken record, aware that it was useless to attempt to divert Julio, but making the effort anyway. It was their usual litany; he would have felt incomplete if he had not upheld his end of it.
Less angry now than thoughtful, Julio said, “It must have something to do with work Leben's company is doing for the government. A defense contract of some kind.”
“You're going to keep poking around, aren't you?”
“I told you, Reese, I feel a special connection with that poor Hernandez girl.”
“Don't worry; they'll find her killer.”
“Sharp? We're supposed to rely on him? He's a jackass. You see the way he dresses?” Julio, of course, was always impeccably dressed. “The sleeves on his suit jacket were about an inch too short, and it needed to be let out along the back seam. And he doesn't polish his shoes often enough; they looked like he'd just been hiking in them. How can he find Ernestina's killer if he can't even keep his shoes properly polished?”
“I have a feeling of my own about this one, Julio. I think they'll have our scalps if we don't just let it go.”
“I can't walk away,” Julio said adamantly. “I'm still in. I'm in for the duration. You can opt out if you want.”
“I'll stay.”
“I'm putting no pressure on you.”
“I'm in,” Reese said.
“You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”
“I said I was in, and I'm in.”
Five years ago, in an act of unparalleled bravery, Julio Verdad had saved the life of Esther Susanne Hagerstrom, Reese's daughter and only child, who had then been just four years old and achingly small and very helpless. In the world according to Reese Hagerstrom, the seasons changed and the sun rose and the sun set and the sea rose and the sea fell all for one reason: to please Esther Susanne. She was the center, the middle, the ends, and the circumference of his life, and he had almost lost her, but Julio had saved her, had killed one man and nearly killed two others in order to rescue her, so now Reese would have walked away from a million-dollar inheritance sooner than he would have walked away from his partner.
“I can handle everything on my own,” Julio said. “Really.”
“Didn't you hear me say I was in?”
“We're liable to screw ourselves into disciplinary suspensions.”
“I'm in.”
“Could be kissing good-bye to any more promotions.”
“I'm in.”
“You're in, then?”
“I'm in.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
Julio put the car in gear, pulled away from the curb, and headed out of Placentia. “All right, we're both a little whacked out, need some rest. I'll drop you off at your place, let you get a few hours in the sack, and pick you up at ten in the morning.”