‘ You still get to read,’ Brooks said, ‘but the situation has changed. You can sit at my desk and read what was sent to me, but I’m not going to print anything for you. And I have to tell you we’ve had a long-standing good relationship with SFPD and people here are angry we were bypassed the night the bomb casings were lost. It wasn’t our ineptitude but it’s going to fall on us. The field office here doesn’t look very good right now.’
‘I was in Hawaii.’
Brooks was close enough for Raveneau to smell his aftershave. He was too close and too urgent.
‘This wouldn’t have happened if we’d been involved or if your CIU team was on them. The FBI lost them. They added agents. They brought in people that don’t even know the area. They’re arrogant. They are endlessly stupidly fucking arrogant, but it’s going to land here when the White House cancels the President’s visit and after everybody and his brother learns what happened. Some blogger has already written about them. I’m angry. I’m very angry.’
Brooks stepped back and looked away. He had a new suit and a different haircut that left him with a smooth hard clean look. He wasn’t suffering in the shadows. He led Raveneau to his computer and brought up a PDF file.
‘OK, there you go. Now you can read and chase ghosts. You were in Hawaii working a cold case when the bomb casings got lost and now you’re home focused on this murder that probably no one will ever solve. But, hey, working it fills the days and someone has to care for those lost souls. And that’s fine. There’s a place for it. But is there a need for it with all the other things going on right now? You have talent at investigating. You’ve got experience. You know this city. You shouldn’t be spending your days on Alan Krueger’s murder. He’s been dead for a long time and these missing bomb casings are an absolute priority.’
‘Slow down, Brooks.’
‘No, I’m going to say what I think. That surveillance got botched because we weren’t there and SFPD’s Criminal Investigation Unit was left sitting in the back seat on a critical, critical surveillance. Of course, ask the FBI and they’ll tell you about how they trained this team. They trained this city, that city, these state police, they’ll give you their whole big brother academy rap. But you and I know ninety-five percent of FBI agents can’t do surveillance. Half of them look alike. Doesn’t even matter what color their skin is, they still look like they came from the same factory and when they go anywhere they go in pairs, so pretty soon you’ve got a car parked down the street with two guys in it who look pretty much the same. What are you going to think when you see that?’
‘I’m reading, Brooks.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you read, you read, Raveneau, but you know what I’m saying. You know I’m right.’
Raveneau read the usual federal forms. He read the notes on Krueger quitting, two paragraphs devoted to making clear the time, date, and moment Alan Krueger made the decision for ‘personal reasons’ to ‘resign’ from the Secret Service. It was recounted in plain language that Krueger did twice while on duty falsely report his whereabouts for which he was reprimanded later after the false representation was exposed. The facts of the reprimand included the name John Pagen, presumably Krueger’s supervisor. He went through each page again slowly, this time copying down some of Krueger’s background information including the years of his military service.
When he finished he sat in the chair for a few minutes thinking about it. What he read was sanitized. There was really nothing there yet he did get a name, John Pagen. If Pagen was a supervisor then, he was retired now. He might be in the area still.
Raveneau read and took notes, then left quietly. He preferred not to see Brooks on the way out. He would find Pagen. He’d stay focused on this case that mattered the same today as it did when the Canadians found Krueger’s body in 1989. From his car he called Secret Service headquarters in Washington, identified himself and said he was working a cold case from 1989 and trying to get in touch with a retired agent named John Pagen. He gave his name and cell number and knew the first call would be to the Homicide Detail to confirm he was who he said he was. If alive, Pagen would have a Fed pension and one way or another Raveneau would find him. He didn’t expect to find him that afternoon, but that’s what happened. Pagen called him later in the day.
‘I retired in 2002,’ Pagen said, ‘and I’ve been working harder ever since.’ He laughed. ‘I inherited my father’s ranch outside of Marysville. We grow pistachios and prunes.’
‘How do you like it?’
‘I love it. Maybe if my career had been something I’d feel differently, but I love growing things and being outside when I want to. I did know Alan. I knew him fairly well and liked him. He was quite talented and bright. He saw the world turning into a global mix long before the rest of us in that office. That’s how he ended up working the Asian end. You’re wondering what he was working on when he was killed?’
‘I am.’
‘I’m assuming you know he was there on his own by that point, three or four years.’
‘I read his resignation letter this morning.’
‘Right, the resignation, that was another thing again. He and another agent had a personal animosity. They couldn’t stand each other.’
‘I’d like to hear about that.’
‘Will talking about it get you closer to who killed him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I’ll meet you or you can come up here if you want.’ Raveneau jotted down directions. ‘If you pass Mariani plant number two, you’ve gone too far. But we can do this over the phone too. You can call me any time.’
‘You said you knew Alan fairly well. Did you know any of his friends?’
‘Are you asking about the boyfriend?’
‘I’m wondering about a Jim Frank and a Tom Casey.’
‘I know the names and I know he had a photo on his desk with the three of them in it. The boyfriend I never met and I don’t think Alan set foot in our office again after he resigned. I got him his first work in Hong Kong though. We had a lead, Alan spoke the language, and his counterfeiting work was very respected at headquarters.’
‘Was that a lead about counterfeit one hundred dollar bills?’
‘No, I think it was about twenties. We had a lot of twenties floating around for awhile.’
‘He had sixty-one hundred dollar bills on him when he was killed.’
‘I remember, and they were brought to our office. They weren’t counterfeit.’
‘A videotape of the murder was sent to us. Literally, the last few minutes of Alan’s life, and I’ll show it to you when we meet if you want to watch it. I wouldn’t watch it if I were you, but I’m telling you because it’s why our Cold Case Unit picked this one up again. I checked the bills out of evidence and the Secret Service took another look and came up with a different conclusion.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I have to take them at their word.’
‘They aren’t going to lie to you.’
‘Of course not.’
‘We made mistakes like everyone else.’
It happened very fast. The hale, good natured sounding man who had answered the phone and seemed more than willing to do what he could to help, now lost spirit and said quietly, ‘I’m afraid of where this is going. There was talk at the time, but Alan was killed before the first supernotes were found. That was in the Philippines. It was a banker who picked up on them. If Alan had been alive we might have asked him to go there and work with the agents we sent.’
‘You do know where this is going.’
‘Alan was carrying supernotes?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have to think about that. Why don’t you give me a few days? Can you do that?’
‘I can.’
‘And I’ll make some calls too. Some of us are still around. Tell you what, I’ll call you. If I call Homicide do I ask for the Cold Case Unit?’
‘Just ask for me.’
‘You’ll hear from me soon.’