start out in the right places, but foreign assistance on a large scale can become one more group of issue people. They’ve found a cushy job and don’t want to give it up.”
Jack gave the dog a treat, which it smacked happily and noisily. “Diane—”
“Getting to it. The earthquake in Haiti, 2010. I ran into Diane working with an NGO to install a water filtration system to replace the earthquake-damaged delivery system. The company’s name was Vepo. Sounds like a brand of gum, right? They were headquartered in Utah, and she wanted them to get the contract for Port-au-Prince. Did you know we’ve sent over two billion dollars to Haiti since the quake? Do you know how much of that went to Haitian firms and organizations? Less than two percent. Sixty-five percent went to firms within the DC area. Engineering materials, specs totaling a few hundred million. Not a million dollars, a few hundred million. And the kicker? They still haven’t finished. Years later this charitable effort is still milking the taxpayers and dehydrating the Haitians.”
Jack sealed the treat bag and set it on the end table. The dog’s gaze turned reproachful at this grievous disappointment.
“Then Diane comes to Ohio and brings in Vepo to work on the water intake renovation. The facility out in the water has to be inspected and cleaned and installed with newer state-of-the-art equipment for detecting dead zones—”
“We know,” Jack said. “So that’s why you wrote the letter?”
Boudelet leaned forward, and the dog looked toward him with renewed hope. So did the cops. “The same concepts that I used to convince third world countries that letting Shell build a refinery on their coast would solve all their economic problems can be used to sell Cleveland a water system renovation that it probably doesn’t even need. Lots of money comes in, one company gets rich, maybe two or three Clevelanders get jobs they wouldn’t otherwise have, and most of the funds get eaten up by consultancy costs or feasibility studies. Diane goes back to DC, and the city has a huge debt to pay off. It’s a sad situation that’s been repeated over and over again until no one even argues against it anymore. I see a tidal wave coming, but why bother to get off the beach?”
“So Cleveland gets overcharged. Then—”
“It’s not just money! While the work is being done in the lake, the water intake is going to be switched to the river. They’ve built the temporary crib, you’ve probably seen it, what looks like a little house suspended over the river—”
“Yeah.”
“Problem is, the EPA reports say the pipes they’re going to use won’t work and that there may be toxins in the river—but do you think Diane’s going to say, Hey, let’s wait before we start sending drinking water to a million and a half people and first make sure it’s safe to drink? And Vepo sure as hell isn’t going to speak up.”
“Because they want to keep their jobs,” Jack said.
Boudelet gave a pleased look as if an exceptionally slow student had answered a question correctly. “Exactly.”
“So why do you think Ms. Cragin was killed? For the sins she committed elsewhere, or the sins she’s committed here?”
Boudelet’s mouth fell slightly open. The dog’s tail stopped wagging.
“What?” he asked. “She’s dead?”
Chapter 8
With her lab back to its more normal quiet hum, Maggie powered up the stereo microscope and held a mental debate about lunch. Wrap or pita? She had not had a tough-enough day to indulge in a burger. What about a portabella burger? Decadent or no? She examined the plug and wires without finding anything of interest. The kegerator had been the victim’s own, so there would be no point in tracing its manufacture. Maggie found no interesting hairs or fibers or adhesives or paint sticking to it. She packaged it carefully; wrapping the ends in their own piece of brown paper on the off chance that they found, somehow, the killer’s wire cutters; and then found an analyst who still did toolmark comparisons. Without all that, the wires could not help them.
Carol emerged from the DNA lab, stripped off her gloves, and rubbed the back of her neck.
“You still here?”
“Might as well milk the OT. Mama needs a junket to Atlantic City. Where’d all the money go?”
“Locked up tight.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I’m not really going to filch it. Not much of it, anyway.”
Maggie pulled the metal grate from its brown paper evidence bag and placed it on a clean piece of examination paper. “I know. I have complete faith in you.”
“Well, that’s fifty percent more than I do. That much cash would turn stronger heads than mine. Is the coffee fresh?”
“Just made it.”
“Are you really going to iodine every single bill?”
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