Political Science 101

Chapter Fifty-Three

OFTEN, THERE is a razor-thin line between betrayal and justice. It is difficult to find a sense of personal-resolve or inner-peace with the knowledge that doing the right thing — making the right choice — also means betraying someone. But that was exactly what Ana faced as she made the long (but not-so-long) walk from her car to the entrance of the police department precinct.

Entering the door and approaching the front desk again, just as she'd done the first time she was there, she asked the same woman at the front desk (who still looked far too old and overweight to be an active police officer) if she could please page Detective Knight.

The frumpy uniformed woman looked up from her Mahjong game and, without indicating yes or no, picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons. "Hey," she said into the phone receiver, "tell Lenny someone wants him up front." She hung up, apparently not waiting for any sort of reply from the person on the other end of the line.

Ana sat down on the bench and waited.

When Knight immerged from around a corner, he gave her a look of simultaneous disdain, annoyance, and welcome. "Well," he said with an attempt at comical sarcasm, "the prodigal informant returns."

"Yeah," she said, "sorry."

"It's been a few months. I tried to track you down but didn't have any luck."

"Sorry about that," she lamented, "but I'm ready to talk now. I'm ready to tell you what I know.

"Excellent," Knight said, extending an arm down the hallway, heading back to the same room they'd been in during her first visit.

As the two sat down, Knight attempted to make small talk. "So, how have you been?"

"Fine," Ana replied. She sat back in her chair and felt a nice whoosh of Vicodin and caffeine pass over her like a cool breeze on a summer day.

"So," Lenny began, "may I record this interview?"

"No," Ana said. "Like I said last time, you can write down as much as you want, but no recording."

"I figured," he said with annoyance in his voice, "just thought I'd ask. "So you left me a pretty interesting note before you left. Let's talk about that."

"I have a lot to talk about," Ana said.

"Fine," Lenny said as he slid the tape recorder behind the front of his suit jacket, stealthily pressing RECORD before dropping it into his breast pocket. "So where are we going with this?" he asked.

He listened intently.

The Devil is always in the details.

"Well," Ana said, contemplating her next words, "the story will end in November, on Election Day. After that, you'll know more about the murder of Arnold Jenkins."

"The Congressman?" Knight said reflexively.

"Yes," Ana said in a somber but informative voice. She wasn't somber, per se, but the caffeinated euphoria of the Red Bull and Vicodin made her voice sound that way.

Lenny Knight sat back in his chair with a mild thud. Should he call the Feds? The FBI? The Secret Service? Or, better yet, should he keep this information to himself — and break the case himself? This, indeed, could be a name-maker, even if it came in the twilight of Detective Lenny Knight's career. This was certainly an opportunity Detective Knight could not pass-up.

"I'm all ears," he said, clicking his blue G2 ink pen and prepping himself to take endless notes. He looked up at her with anticipation, interest, and initiative.

"One thing first," she said with solidity in her voice.

"Yes?" he said, rendering himself motionless.

"I was never here." She spoke with firm eye contact, again in her nonnegotiable tone, like James Earl Jones in The Hunt for Red October after he detonated the phantom torpedo.

"I understand," Knight said. "Now, what do you know?"

"More than I wish I knew."

"Take your time," Knight said, hoping to keep her comfortable, hoping she wouldn't take off and leave again.

This would be the focal point of his day.

Everything else would have to wait.