Free Senator Love by Warren Adler

minefields where only he knew the path of safety.
    "Does that imply that you want us to continue?"
she asked cautiously.
    Despite the victory, she was annoyed at being bested. Her
plan was to unleash a nasty racial weapon to force his hand. The woman was
black, asshole. That's why they swept it under the rug. Twelve years ago, who
gave a shit about a missing black woman? Even black detectives were singing
whitey's tune.
    "It implies," he said slowly, crushing the stub
of his panatela in his overflowing ashtray, "that we are also stuck with
the baggage of the past. There's lots out there who want to think we're
incompetent, a label far more politically damaging than merely showing lesser
homicide numbers." He lit another panatela. "We mustn't stand in the way
of identifying the lady. That certainly counts as official interest. If you get
my drift." Then he turned away, his attention now concentrated on some
paperwork on his desk.
    As she and Cates left, she felt his gaze on her back.
Perhaps he was smiling as well. But she dared not turn back to find out.

8
    THE LAB confirmed the identity of Betty Taylor through her
dental work. She was sure it would. Indeed, she was certain that the eggplant
knew it would as well. Considering the quid pro quo of the transaction, she
assumed that, if she postponed telling him, her permission to pursue the case
further was automatically extended.
    "Madness," Cates said, as she attempted to
explain it.
    "Not when you understand the code," she told him.
    It was enough to motivate him into a frenzy of
investigatory activity. Once committed, he was a tiger at footwork and a whiz
at details. He went off to the Hill to speak to the staff director of the
committee that had employed Betty Taylor, while she called the District Building to track down the owners of the building in which the young woman had
lived.
    She was shifted through a tangle of bureaucratic
ineptitude, from one bored clerk to another, none of whom were intimidated by
her official position.
    "All I want to know is who owned the building in the
late seventies."
    "I got to check the tax records."
    "Isn't there a simple list of property owners?"
    "There's a problem with the computer stuff for that
period. We gotta find it by hand."
    "How long will that take?"
    "It's nearly four."
    "So?"
    "So I'm off at four."
    "You sound like you're off now," Fiona snapped.
    "You want me to get your answer or not?"
    "Do you realize you're obstructing justice?"
Fiona said. It was the kind of question that telescoped its response.
    "Kiss my ass."
    "The way you move it that ought to take a week."
    Round and round. She hung up in disgust, but with a greater
understanding of the eggplant's fear of being labeled incompetent.
    Then she got a call from Monte Pappas.
    "What are you doing?" he asked. Although it had
the air of flippancy, she could sense the tightness under the forced levity.
    "If you were giving the bureaucracy an enema where
would you put the nozzle?"
    "Can I substitute a person and keep the water going
until he explodes?"
    "My answer was the District Government. What's
yours?"
    Suddenly, all happy-talk pretense evaporated.
    "Fi, I've got to see you."
    "Nice to be needed."
    She retained a lightness, hoping that it had another
connotation. But she knew better.
    "More than you think," he said.
"Urgently."
    "When?"
    "As fast as you can, Fi. Can I pick you up in fifteen
minutes?"
    "That bad?"
    She looked at the notes on her yellow pad, contemplated the
frustrations ahead of her, regretting now that she had put the wheels in
motion.
    "You know where headquarters is. I'll be in
front."
    * * *
    SHE WAS prompt, but he was already there, his Caddy
glistening from the rain. She had barely opened her umbrella before she had to
close it again. He had swung the door open and she had hopped in.
    The rain had turned nasty again, vast sheets angling
against the windshield, winning the battle against the wipers. The grey skies
were darkening into night.
    "Hope