"I don't have all day, Detective," Thorson said after him. "I'm trying to catch this guy. Too bad he's still on the loose."
Sweetzer angrily swung around.
"What's that supposed to mean? What the fuck does that mean?"
Thorson held his hands up in a no-harm gesture.
"Means exactly what you think it means. Now go ahead, get your CO. I'll talk to him now."
Sweetzer left and in two minutes returned with a man ten years older, thirty pounds heavier and twice as angry.
"What's the problem here?" he said in a short, clipped voice.
"There's no problem, Captain."
"It's Lieutenant."
"Oh, well, Lieutenant, your man here seems confused. I've explained that the FBI has stepped into the investigation of William Gladden and is working hand in hand with the Los Angeles police and other departments across the country. The bureau also extends that hand to Santa Monica. But Detective Sweetzer seems to think that by holding on to the property seized from Mr. Gladden, he is helping the investigation and eventual capture of Mr. Gladden. In reality, he is impeding our efforts. I'm surprised, frankly, to be treated this way. I've got a member of the national media with me and I didn't expect that he'd see something like this."
Thorson gestured toward me and Sweetzer and his lieutenant studied me. I felt myself getting angry at being used. The lieutenant looked from me back to Thorson.
"What we don't understand is why you need to take this property. I've looked at the inventory. It's a camera, a pair of sunglasses, a duffel bag and a bag of candy, that's it. No film, no pictures. Why does the FBI have to take this from us?"
"Have you submitted candy samples to a chemical analysis lab?"
The lieutenant looked at Sweetzer, who shook his head slightly as if it were some kind of secret signal.
"We will do that, Lieutenant," Thorson said. "To determine if the candy was in any way doctored. And the camera. You are not aware of this but there have been some photos recovered in our investigation. I cannot go into the content of these photos but suffice it to say they are of a highly illegal nature. But the point is, analysis of these photos shows an imperfection in the lens of the camera with which these photos were taken. It's like a fingerprint on every photo. We can match those photos to a camera. But we need the camera to do it. If you allow us to take it and we make a match, we will be able to prove this man took the photos. There will then be additional charges when we catch him. It will also help us determine exactly what this man has been up to. This is why we request that you turn this property over. Really, gentlemen, we want the same thing."
The lieutenant didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he turned and started away from the counter. To Sweetzer, he said, "Make sure you get a chain-of-evidence receipt."
Sweetzer's face fell and he followed the lieutenant away from the counter, not protesting but whispering something about not getting the explanation Thorson had just made before dragging the lieutenant into it. After both of them had turned a corner back into the bureau, I moved up next to Thorson at the counter so I could whisper.
"Next time you're going to use me like that, give me some warning," I said. "I don't appreciate it at all."
Thorson smirked.
"The good investigator uses any and all tools available to him. You were available."
"Is that true about photos being recovered and camera analysis?"
"Sounded good, didn't it?"
The only way Sweetzer could salvage any kind of pride from the transaction was to leave us waiting at the counter for another ten minutes. Finally, he came out with a cardboard box and slid it across the counter. He then told Thorson to sign a property receipt. Thorson started to open the box first. Sweetzer put his hand on the lid to stop him.
"It's all there," Sweetzer said. "Just sign the receipt so I can get back to work. I'm busy."
Thorson, having won the war, gave him the last battle and signed the receipt. "I trust you. It's all in here."
"You know, I used to want to be an FBI agent."
"Well, don't feel bad about it. Lot of people fail the test."
Sweetzer's face flushed pink.
"It wasn't that," he said. "I just decided that I liked being a human too much."
Thorson raised his hand and pointed a finger like a gun.
"Good one," he said. "Have a nice day, Detective Sweetzer."
"Hey," Sweetzer said, "if you fellows over there at the bureau need anything else, and I mean anything at all, be sure to hesitate to call."
On the way back to the car I couldn't resist.
"I guess you never heard that you supposedly can catch more flies with sugar than with lemon."
"Why waste the sugar on flies?" he replied.
He didn't open the property box until we were in the car. After he removed the lid I saw there were the items already discussed wrapped in plastic bags and a sealed envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL: FBI EYES ONLY. Thorson ripped open the envelope and from it took out a photograph. It was a Polaroid, probably taken with a jail booking camera. It was a close-up shot of a man's buttocks, hands grasping and spreading them to afford a clear, deep view of the anus. Thorson studied it a moment and then tossed it over the seat into the back.
"That's strange," he said. "I wonder why Sweetzer included a picture of his mother?"
I gave a short laugh and said, "There's the most telling example of interagency cooperation I've ever seen."
But Thorson ignored the comment or didn't hear it. His face turned somber and from the box he pulled a plastic bag containing the camera. I watched him stare at it intently. He turned it in his hands, studying it. I saw his face grow dark.
"Those fucking assholes," he said slowly. "They've been sitting on this all this time."
I looked at the camera. There was something odd about its bulky shape. It looked like a Polaroid but had a standard-looking 35mm lens on it.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Know what this is?"
"No, what?"
Thorson didn't answer. He pressed a button to turn the camera on. Then he studied the computerized display on the back.
"No pictures," he said.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer. He put the camera back in the box, closed it and started the car.
Thorson drove the car down the street from the police station like a fire engine heading to a four-alarm. He pulled into a gas station on Pico Boulevard and jumped out while the car was still jerking in response to his skidding stop. He ran to the phone and punched in a long distance number without putting in any coins. While he waited for a response he took out a pen and a small notebook. I saw him write something down after saying a few words into the phone. When he keyed in another long distance number without putting in coins, I guessed he had gotten directory assistance for a toll-free 800 number.
I was tempted to get out of the car and go up to him so that I could hear his conversation but decided to wait. In a minute or so I saw him writing information into his notebook. While he did that I looked at the evidence box Sweetzer had given him. I wanted to open it and look at the camera again but thought this might anger Thorson.
"You mind telling me what's going on?" I asked as soon as he was behind the wheel again.
"Sure I mind, but you're going to find out anyway." He opened the box and lifted out the camera again. "Know what this is?"
"You asked that. A camera."
"Right, but what kind of camera is what's important."
As he turned it in his hands I saw the manufacturer's symbol imprinted on the front. A large lowercase d in pale blue. I knew it was the symbol of the computer manufacturer called digiTime. Printed beneath the corporate symbol was DIGISHOT 200.
"This is a digital camera, Jack. That hillbilly Sweetzer didn't know what the fuck he had. We just have to hope we're not too late."