A Wild and Lonely Place Read Free

the front line of every lunatic-fringe protest. And he still turns
     up at every open meeting at City Hall to tell them who and what he doesn’t like in local government—which is everybody and
     everything. I love them and I wouldn’t change them, but they’re not exactly assets.”
    I doubted the situation was as grim as she painted it, but it wasn’t good, either. “So that’s why you asked me for help on
     this investigation,” I said. “You want to crack the case and show them all up.”
    “I want to hand them the bomber, say ‘fuck you,’ turn around, and walk away. You help me do that and, like I promised, I’ll
     recommend you for the reward.”
    Again I was silent. For two weeks now Joslyn had been acting in direct violation of policy. She’d given me copies of reports
     and files, briefed me on the progress of the investigation. Together we’d brainstormed till both our heads ached. I wanted
     to crack the case, too—and not only because of the reward or for Adah’s sake—but now I wondered if I hadn’t been abetting
     her in a risky and potentially ruinous course of action. Maybe I should back off.
    She must have sensed what I was thinking. “McCone, dont’t listen to me,” she said quickly. “I’m having a bad day, that’s all.”
    “You know that’s not all. We need to talk.”
    “Talk? We’ve been talking.” She hitched her chair up to the desk and glared at me. “I’m out of time for you. Get the hell
     out of here and let me work. I’ll call you when I’ve got something interesting.”
    I nodded dubiously and left her along.
    Maybe, I thought, it was only the stress of the assignment that was getting to Joslyn. After all, a message was being sent
     to the task force from local and state government; from SFPD, ATF, FBI, and Postal Service headquarters; from Congress; from
     the White House itself: the Diplo-bomber is making international relations very iffy; get your asses in gear and find him.
    * * *
    After circling the surrounding blocks for some fifteen minutes, I finally found a parking space near the looming cliff face
     of Tel Hill and walked past decorator showrooms and antique shops and small cafés to RKI’s renovated brick warehouse. On the
     sidewalk I paused, however, reluctant to go inside. Even being on the premises made me uneasy.
    My feelings weren’t due to the type of business they conducted; counter-terrorism contingency planning and hostage-recovery
     services were necessary for corporations Operating in today’s high-risk environment, and if RKI’s methods were somewhat unorthodox,
     they usually worked. Nor were the feelings due to the fact that most of RKI’s principals and operatives had murky pasts; my
     lover, Hy Ripinsky, owned a past that crisscrossed those of Gage Renshaw and Dan Kessell, and now that he’d told me about
     it, I understood both the forces and the mistakes that had driven him. The potential for violence that I sensed in RKI’s people
     didn’t concern me; I’d long ago been forced to recognize the same potential within myself. And as for ethical considerations—well,
     I paid them a lot of lip service, but as recently as last fall I’d availed myself of the firm’s help on a difficult case.
    No, what really bothered me was that I might be becoming too much like those people.
    There was a time when I’d viewed everyone—both victim and perpetrator—through idealistic, compassionate eyes. No longer. There
     was a time when I’d gone strictly by the book, but then I’d found that the book was something that a lot of people in my business
     talked about but few had read. Toward the beginning of my career, remorse over having killed a man in order to save a friend’s
     life had dogged me for years. But last spring I’d cold-bloodedly shot another man and called it justice. I wasn’t sure that
     I liked the woman I was becoming, but she was formed of life experiences I couldn’t eradicate. You work with what you are,