category-one proposal was worth the expense and risk.
Ordinarily, Victoria would no more try to see him without an appointment than she would just drop by the Oval Office. The bottom line, however, was that she liked the Tribune ’s proposal, and she couldn’t in good conscience let her supervisors kill it simply because it lacked the one thing the FBI valued more than anything else: precedent.
Dougherty was a distinguished fifty-five years old, two years away from the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age, with thick gray hair and a cleft in his chin. He dressed conservatively in a dark blue suit, white shirt and berry red tie. He was rushing out the door to a congressional hearing on Capitol Hill when she caught him outside his office. With his implied permission—he didn’t tell her to get lost—she followed him down the hall, down the elevator, and out the door. His limousine driver was waiting at the curb, a handsome young man who was downright obsequious, showing Dougherty even more deference than she was. She followed him all the way to the open car door, trying to get his ear Finally, he agreed to let her ride along.
59
THE INFORMANT
She was nearly out of breath from nonstop speaking as the limo pulled into traffic. “I want you to know, sir, that I’m not one to go over the heads of my supervisors lightly.”
“I appreciate that,” he said dryly. “Because I’m extremely busy.”
He seemed impatient as she continued to plead her case, checking his watch several times, signaling that time was short. She gave him as much information as she could compress into the short ride, but he seemed unmoved.
“I can’t emphasize it enough,” she said. “It’s not every day we get this kind of cooperation from the media. It could provide the breakthrough we need. And compared to the amount of money this investigation has cost so far, the proposed payments to this informant are a bargain.”
He looked up from the open file in his lap; the mention of money seemed to have grabbed his attention. “Obviously, the amount of the payments isn’t the whole issue.
The Justice Department pays about a hundred million dollars a year to informants, most of whom, frankly, are scumbags who never produce squat. The real problem is that we can’t pay him a dime if he’s the killer. We’ll have political hell to pay if it turns out he’s the killer and he gets away with the taxpayers’ money—possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars when all is said and done.”
“I totally agree. That’s the key issue: Is the informant the killer.”
He looked annoyed, but it was his normal expression.
“Well, what do our analysts think?”
60
James Grippando
“They’re leaning toward the view that he is the killer.”
Her voice grew tighter, and she looked Dougherty in the eye. “But I think they’re wrong.”
“Is that so?” he said with a condescending smile. His smirk slowly faded. “How long have you been with the CASK Unit?”
“Eighteen months. But I spent five years in hostage and crisis negotiation, where I learned a few things about the way the criminal mind works. The truth is, no one has thought more about this case over the last four months than I have. And I just don’t believe this guy’s the killer.”
“Why not?”
“A lot of little things that I don’t have near enough time to explain. But the best reason is Ernest Gill.”
“Who?”
“Gill—it’s a phony name the informant is using. I checked with a historian at the Smithsonian last night.
Turns out there was an Irish sailor by that name on the SS Californian , back in 1912. His salary was five English pounds a month. A Boston newspaper paid him five hundred dollars for his story that Lord Stanley, the captain of his ship, saw distress flares fired from the Titanic , but he just kept on going.”
“Seems strange that someone demanding money for his story would tie himself to a historical precedent.”
“That’s the point.
Ordinarily, Victoria would no more try to see him without an appointment than she would just drop by the Oval Office. The bottom line, however, was that she liked the Tribune ’s proposal, and she couldn’t in good conscience let her supervisors kill it simply because it lacked the one thing the FBI valued more than anything else: precedent.
Dougherty was a distinguished fifty-five years old, two years away from the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age, with thick gray hair and a cleft in his chin. He dressed conservatively in a dark blue suit, white shirt and berry red tie. He was rushing out the door to a congressional hearing on Capitol Hill when she caught him outside his office. With his implied permission—he didn’t tell her to get lost—she followed him down the hall, down the elevator, and out the door. His limousine driver was waiting at the curb, a handsome young man who was downright obsequious, showing Dougherty even more deference than she was. She followed him all the way to the open car door, trying to get his ear Finally, he agreed to let her ride along.
59
THE INFORMANT
She was nearly out of breath from nonstop speaking as the limo pulled into traffic. “I want you to know, sir, that I’m not one to go over the heads of my supervisors lightly.”
“I appreciate that,” he said dryly. “Because I’m extremely busy.”
He seemed impatient as she continued to plead her case, checking his watch several times, signaling that time was short. She gave him as much information as she could compress into the short ride, but he seemed unmoved.
“I can’t emphasize it enough,” she said. “It’s not every day we get this kind of cooperation from the media. It could provide the breakthrough we need. And compared to the amount of money this investigation has cost so far, the proposed payments to this informant are a bargain.”
He looked up from the open file in his lap; the mention of money seemed to have grabbed his attention. “Obviously, the amount of the payments isn’t the whole issue.
The Justice Department pays about a hundred million dollars a year to informants, most of whom, frankly, are scumbags who never produce squat. The real problem is that we can’t pay him a dime if he’s the killer. We’ll have political hell to pay if it turns out he’s the killer and he gets away with the taxpayers’ money—possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars when all is said and done.”
“I totally agree. That’s the key issue: Is the informant the killer.”
He looked annoyed, but it was his normal expression.
“Well, what do our analysts think?”
60
James Grippando
“They’re leaning toward the view that he is the killer.”
Her voice grew tighter, and she looked Dougherty in the eye. “But I think they’re wrong.”
“Is that so?” he said with a condescending smile. His smirk slowly faded. “How long have you been with the CASK Unit?”
“Eighteen months. But I spent five years in hostage and crisis negotiation, where I learned a few things about the way the criminal mind works. The truth is, no one has thought more about this case over the last four months than I have. And I just don’t believe this guy’s the killer.”
“Why not?”
“A lot of little things that I don’t have near enough time to explain. But the best reason is Ernest Gill.”
“Who?”
“Gill—it’s a phony name the informant is using. I checked with a historian at the Smithsonian last night.
Turns out there was an Irish sailor by that name on the SS Californian , back in 1912. His salary was five English pounds a month. A Boston newspaper paid him five hundred dollars for his story that Lord Stanley, the captain of his ship, saw distress flares fired from the Titanic , but he just kept on going.”
“Seems strange that someone demanding money for his story would tie himself to a historical precedent.”
“That’s the point.
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