Executive Treason by Gary H. Grossman Page A

those images instantly compared with criminals? Do you have any idea of the false arrests that would be made?”
    “Sounds like a boon for attorneys, counselor.”
    Silence. Roarke wished he could have recalled the comment as soon as he said it.
    “Look, maybe I just shouldn’t get into my day,” he said, trying to drop the subject. “I’m sorry.”
    “Hey, I’m only raising some of the legal questions. You might as well use a coin toss, it’s about as accurate.”
    Roarke thought about the percentages Touch had told him. He was faced with far less than a fifty-fifty coin toss when it came to Depp.
    He closed his eyes and softly said, “We’re living in a different world, Katie. The bad guys look just like us.”
    The reference to Congressman Lodge wasn’t lost on her. She knew that Roarke wanted to get the man who had helped conspire to subvert the American political process. FRT was a tool, and despite the debate, if it looked like it would help, she had no doubt he’d use it.
    Maybe she could do something herself.
    Cheviot Hills Recreation Park
Los Angeles, California
the same time
    LAPD homicide investigator Roger Ellsworth walked around the body of the attractive, now-dead Jane Doe. Under high-beam police lights, he had made his first pass over the crime scene. Now he was prepared to note his observations into a mini-recorder.
    “Age—approximately mid-twenties. Height—approximately 5’7”. Caucasian. Light-blue tank top, khaki running shorts.” He stooped over the wound. “Cause of death, apparent knife-thrust, horizontal, left-side, heart puncture wound.” The details would come from the autopsy. “Subject possible victim of attempted rape.” The young girl’s jogging pants were pulled down to her knees, but not all the way off. Ellsworth looked at the path that cut above, about twenty yards away. Another jogger spotted the woman when he took a cigarette break, which always made him laugh. Jogging for your health, and then you smoke.
    Ellsworth looked back to the victim. Her eyes stared up at him as if asking a question.
    The veteran officer had seen the look dozens of times before. Too many times.
    His forensics team would analyze her clothing for any residual evidence—hair, saliva, fabric particles, semen. On the surface, nothing was visible, except for some footprints a few feet away in the dirt near the closest tree.
    The detective had long ago hardened himself against emotion. He was a 33-year veteran, only eighteen months from retirement. Still, he found himself slightly perplexed. Although he didn’t record his next thoughts, he did question why the woman’s pants were not all the way down. He’d have a hell of a time fucking her. Scared off? Although he didn’t think there was any penetration, he stated the obvious, “Internal examination required. Check for possible DNA match on record.”
    Ellsworth walked around the body. He surmised she was on a regular run. Probably no ID. He checked her back hip pocket, using a pen to open the fold. Something here. It rolled out. “Right rear pocket contains a lipstick container, and…” He fished out more. “A small sheet of wafer-thin blank paper with some words typed on it, a pen, and more crumpled paper.” The first sheet had an odd quality to it. He’d seen it before, but he couldn’t quite place it.
    The detective removed an envelope from his jacket and carefully guided the items in with his own pen. He wrote on the outside, recording his words at the same time. “Marking contents of plastic bag taken from Jane Doe. Items A, B, C.: lipstick container—Estée Lauder Sumptuous—small folder paper inside, crumpled dollar bills.” He added the date, time, and location, and made certain that another officer confirmed the procedure with his signature and a verbal description for his recording.
    Ellsworth continued to survey the scene. Someone would know her, he said to himself. He figured it would just take a few hours or less to