An Absence of Light

“Don’t worry about us,” she said. “I won’t even bother about the clothes if she doesn’t mention them. I just wanted to know what to do. We’ll be okay.”

Graver took one last sip of his coffee, and they looked at each other. A smile slowly softened Lara’s face acknowledging what the night had meant to her and to a mutual intimacy long held in abeyance. At that moment Graver realized what Lara had known all along, that in some things, she understood him a hell of a lot better than he understood himself.

Chapter 62

At the office, Graver kept one eye on the clock as he set about trying to put some order into a day that had begun with an assurance of disorder. It was a bad time for Lara to be out of pocket. The first thing he did was to pull one of the women from the data input clerks to take Lara’s place. She was lost, of course, but at least she could take messages and keep track of the flood of calls.

Next he started checking with his squad supervisors to make sure they were already moving. Organized Crime investigators and analysts were double-checking with informants who might have any remote knowledge of explosives use, as well as reviewing their most active investigations involving competing crime families and organizations, especially those headed by and comprised of Canadian, Asian, and Greek members, as well as the Black and Latin gang organizations that were increasingly becoming an interstate problem. Research and Analysis was already on the computers pulling up names of individuals and groups known to have used explosives or had contacts with those who had used explosives or who were involved in any kind of marine activity or having marine connections. The Anti-Terrorist Squad was running down their possibles in extremist groups of both wings, those having connections with illegal ordnance and explosives, pro-life and pro-choice activists, racist groups, radical religious groups, and persons in the public disorder files.

Graver had a hard time keeping his mind on what he was doing. He knew the odds of any of this hectic activity actually producing a genuine lead was remote. It felt odd to be overseeing a storm of activity that he knew was absolutely futile, to be authorizing the expenditure of manpower and funds on inquiries that could not possibly produce any yield whatsoever.

After his review with his last supervisor, Graver punched an outside line and called his FBI intelligence counterpart in the Federal Building across the bayou to check with their progress. Luckily, the FBI was fielding most of the telephone calls from other intelligence and law enforcement agencies who knew automatically that the FBI would bear the brunt of the investigation. The Bureau’s agents were scattered all over the Gulf Coast shaking down their informants in dissident and terrorist groups whom they considered the most likely candidates to use explosives. So far nothing had turned up, and his assessment of the situation at the South Shore Marina was very much as Olmstead had described it.

Westrate was next. Graver called him and brought him up to date on the morning’s events and the wheels that had been set in motion. He told Westrate that he would keep him informed and that as of yet they still didn’t even know if it was some kind of accident or a bomb. Westrate, ever mindful of his professional image, was getting nervous at being the man in the background of a headline story. Everyone knew that CID ought to have a bead on the possible perpetrators and that sooner or later-most likely sooner-the media would be coming to him with questions in that direction. The story had been on all three network morning news programs, Westrate informed him, and speculation was running high.

For Graver’s part, he was more concerned about the timing of finding human remains at the scene. If Burtell was identified, it was all over. The information about Ginette Burtell owning the boat would hold for a while. Graver had the leverage of being Olmstead’s superior, and he could use that leverage to stall for some time. So, unless Olmstead for some reason jumped procedural rules, Graver’s ad hoc task force was safe for a while longer.

At nine-thirty Graver went to Burtell’s personal file and found Ginette’s record. She was from Seattle, and she had listed her sister as the person she would like to have called in case of an emergency. He got the sister on the telephone, explained who he was, and told her that Dean had been in an accident and there was a good chance he had been killed. He told her that Ginette did not know this yet, nor did she know he was calling, but he thought she might need someone within the next twenty-four hours. She assured him she would catch the next available flight.

Having just about run out of time, Graver was getting ready to walk out of his office on his way to meet Victor Last when his handset rang. He picked it up from the edge of his desk.