Carson stared but said nothing. He was the cigarette smoker who had watched while I pretended to deliver flowers in the Pembertons' neighborhood. He photographed Mrs. Pemberton leaving my building while catching his own reflection in the frame. If he recognized me, he didn't acknowledge it, but his presence felt heavy, nonetheless.
"Pleased to meet you," I said. I felt uneasy about shaking hands with these two. I had assumed that they were the ones who had broken into my apartment. That seemed unlikely now, but I had no way to be sure that they were clean.
"Thanks for coming in," Inspector Wentworth began.
"And by the way, it's Daniel. No 's' at the end."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said politely.
"It's okay."
"Mr. Daniel, are you acquainted with Ross and Emily Pemberton of Brownewood?" Wentworth was calm and professional. I tried to match his detached tone.
"I've met Mrs. Pemberton," I said. It was a vague response, but I worried that it wasn't vague enough.
"What is your relationship with Mrs. Pemberton?"
"It's a business relationship," I offered.
"What sort of business?"
"I'm a photographer."
"She wants you to take pictures at a wedding, does she?"
This is a typical law enforcement tactic. They ask a ludicrous question. If you answer "Yes," you indicate a lack of credibility which encourages them to dig more deeply. If you deflect the question with an attitude, they realize that they're making you feel uneasy, and it gives them an excuse to be less than polite in return. The best response is calm and vaguely truthful.
"She didn't mention a wedding," I replied.
"She didn't mention a wedding," I replied.
"What IS the nature of your business with Mrs. Pemberton?"
"That's a private matter, and it doesn't have anything to do with gaming," I replied. "Are you investigating the Pembertons?"
"We can't comment on whether someone may or may not be under investigation, Mr. Daniels."
"Daniel."
"Daniel, sorry," Wentworth continued. "But there are factors at play that could raise concern. Any information that you could provide would be appreciated."
"I don't have any information."
"You're not investigating the Pembertons?"
That was an interesting comment. Why would they come to that conclusion?
I started to suspect that Gordon was behind this inquiry. It would be like him to point another agency in my direction. Gordon's too cowardly to stab you in the back himself; he encourages other people to do it for him.
"I'm not an investigator," I replied.
"You're a photographer," Wentworth clarified.
"Photojournalist," I confirmed.
"Which one is it?" he asked incredulously. Carson shifted forward in his chair. The sharks smelled blood, but I wasn't about to cave in.
"It's both," I said. "I've worked in the fashion industry and I spent twenty-two years with the paper photographing everything under the sun."
"Okay, Mr. Daniel," Inspector Wentworth continued. "What was it that Mrs. Wentworth asked you to photograph?"
"Her husband," I said dryly.
Inspector Carson jumped in for the first time. "Does Mr. Pemberton have a woman on the side?"
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't been able to locate him."
"But that's basically what you do, right?" Carson continued. "In cases like this."
Carson's tone was becoming annoying. It sounded like something that Gordon would say. Maybe they were army buddies, not that I could imagine Gordon's fat ass in a uniform. But there had to be some connection. That would explain how the cops ended up with the photos of Emily Pemberton taken by the Gaming inspectors. Gordon knew all along who had taken the photos. That's why he didn't say anything when I pointed out the cameraman's identity.
"It's not a case," I insisted. "I don't work on cases."
"Okay, well, what exactly differentiates you from a private investigator, Mr. Daniel?"
"I don't follow people around or open their mail. I don't tap phones or break into apartments." I had hoped for a reaction to that last statement, but the inspectors didn't flinch. Maybe these guys were straight shooters. Or maybe the Gaming Commission recruits men with a good poker face.
"I photograph what's in front of me, that's all," I continued. "Sometimes my clients are able to use what I find, and sometimes they aren't."
Wentworth glanced for a moment at the contents of a folder. "Were you at the Twin Bear Casino last evening, Mr. Daniel?"
"I was."
"Did you see Mr. Pemberton there?"
"I did not."
"Were you looking for him?" Carson asked.
"I'm not sure why my reasons for visiting the Twin Bear would be important to the Gaming Commission," I said. "But yes, I was hoping to run into him there."
"Did you speak to anyone else about Mr. Pemberton when you were at the casino?" Wentworth asked.
"Yes," I admitted. "Some Russian guy invited me to have a drink with him when he heard me mention Pemberton's name. Ivan Mednikov."
"What's his connection to Pemberton?" I asked.
"We're trying to determine that," Wentworth explained. "What exactly did he say?"
"Not much," I replied. "But he seemed to lose interest when he found out that I meant Ross Pemberton. Maybe he was looking for someone else."
Wentworth wrote silently in his folder.
"Did Ivan mention someone named Kolzak?" Carson asked.
"No."
"Or Leonidovich?"
"No, but that's a middle name, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" Carson asked. Wentworth looked up from his paper.
"It's a middle name. It means son of Leonid. They probably wouldn't go by that name. Not by itself."
Carson and Wentworth didn't seem to have anything to add, so I took the initiative.
"May I ask a question?"
"Go ahead," Wentworth answered.
"Were the two of you following Mrs. Pemberton, two days ago, in the morning?"
The inspectors sat silently. They hadn't expected this.
"And did you happen to take some photos?" I continued. "I wouldn't ask, except I saw a copy of those photos yesterday at the police station. I'm pretty sure that I saw your reflection in a window across the street. I'm also fairly certain that you drive a blue Chevy."
Carson deferred to the party line. "We can't comment on whether someone is being investigated. But we do appreciate your cooperation."
"Okay, well let me ask one more thing."
There was no comment from the inspectors.
"If there were such an investigation," I continued, "would it possibly include forced entry into a private residence?"
"It's possible if there were evidence of illegal gaming on the premises," Carson explained. "But we don't serve warrants ourselves. We would cooperate with the State Police or the Sheriff's office. Our department doesn't have the manpower to stage a raid."
"So, for the record, the State Gaming Commission did not break into my apartment the other day?"
"Not to our knowledge, sir," Wentworth responded.
I had one final question. "Would you have any idea who did?"
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