I continued before she could recover. “He didn’t give you evidence. He gave you a task.”
“He gave me a question.”
“To him, they’re the same thing.”
“No.” She shook her head. “To you, they’re the same thing.”
The correction was immediate. “How long was the call?”
“You’re not getting the recording.”
So there was one. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“You were going to.” She snorted.
“Yes.”
“No.” The refusal came without hesitation.
“Mallory, that recording is evidence.”
“It’s journalistic material.”
“It is communication from an active serial offender.”
“Alleged.” Another hard and swift correction. “We don’t even know if the source is the same person. And if I give it to you, it disappears into an active federal investigation.”
The last line had been a concession, the rest a smoke screen. “It gets analyzed.”
“Behind closed doors,” she snapped off the last.
“For operational reasons.” Ones she was quite aware of.
“Convenient.” She wrinkled her nose and made no attempt to disguise her irritation. Whether she was irked with me or herself? Undecided.
Sitting had become strategically useless, so I stood. While she tracked my movement, she didn’t surrender her position.
“He contacted you because he expected you to protect the call.” Point.
“He contacted me because he knew I would understand the question.” Counterpoint and the words left her before she could reconsider them.
She believed the contact reflected her intelligence. Perhaps it did. The most effective manipulation always contained enough truth to survive scrutiny.
“You believe he chose you because you’re capable of keeping up with him.”
Her expression closed. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
For the first time since we entered the office, genuine anger flashed across her face.
Good.
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” she asked. “Not access. Not security. You’re afraid he’s telling me something he won’t tell you.”
I refused to react. “He doesn’t tell anyone anything without a purpose.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”