Chapter 5

The manager of the cleaning company kept jiggling the change in his pants pocket as his eyes darted between Kensi and Deeks. When he heard Federal Agents, he got a bad feeling in his gut and remembered he might have half a dozen or more undocumented workers on the payroll.

"Questions? About what?" he stammered.

"We're not ICE," said Kensi. "We just want to know if the cleaners at the museum last night saw or heard anything suspicious regarding the fire."

The man nodded and visibly relaxed. "Right. The fire. Saw that on the news this morning. They're waiting in the break room. Never had any trouble from them. They're good, hardworking people." Thank goodness these people are here legally.

Kensi smiled, hoping to put the man at ease. "I'm sure they are."

"This way," he said and led them down a non-descript hallway.

A wary-looking couple, probably in their late twenties, sat at one of the tables along with a younger man. The stocky, older man pushed to his feet. "Buenos días. I am Edgar." He gestured to the woman. "My wife, Marisol and her brother, Julio."

The woman twisted a wad of Kleenex in her hands while her brother looked down at the table.

"Did anything different or unusual happen during your shift last night?" asked Deeks.

"No, señor. We do our cleaning, mopping. Like every night." He paused and pulled out his wallet. We have green cards, pay taxes. We love America."

Marisol nodded, her dark eyes fearful. "Sí, señor. We no want trouble."

"Julio, anything to add?" asked Kensi.

He finally looked up from the table. "No, señora. Same as every night."

"So, no one approached you either before or after your shift? Anyone hanging around the alley behind the museum?" asked Deeks.

"We talk to no one," said Edgar. "The garbage truck comes each night as we leave. They say nothing, we say nothing. We do our jobs and be good citizens."

Kensi and Deeks shared a brief look. "Okay, I guess we're through here." She took out a card and gave it to Edgar. "If you think of anything, no matter how small."

"Of course, señora."

Back in the car, Kensi turned to Deeks. "Your thoughts?"

"Edgar and Marisol, just honest folks striving for the American dream. Julio could be the weak link. He's younger, no doubt more impressionable."

"But he seemed to defer to his brother-in-law," added Kensi.

"True. Let's see what Eric turned up," said Deeks. He punched in Eric's number.

"Hey, guys. I was about to call you. When all three of them aren't pulling extra shifts, they're taking English and citizenship classes at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church and every month they send money back to Mexico. The only wrinkle is Julio's two tickets for driving without a license. Minor fender-benders both times with no injuries. Otherwise, they're model immigrants."

"Okay, thanks."

Back at the Mission, Sam and Callen had little to report. "Of the six surveillance cameras we found, only three of them were actually working last night and they didn't show anything useful," said Callen.

"Eric, have you found anything at all that could help us?" asked Sam.

Eric spun around in his chair with a smile. "I'm so glad you asked." He got up and punched up an image of a man on the big screen.

"Meet Bradley Charles Webster, III, age 37. Honors graduate of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago and former fiancé of Dr. Elise Korinth. He was a rising star in the field until eight months ago when he got tangled up with some antiquities smugglers. He paid a hefty fine and was ordered to do community service. He was also fired from his position as associate professor at the Institute. After that, Elise broke off the engagement. Bradley did not take it well."

"How so?" asked Deeks.

"Elise was out to dinner one evening with colleagues when Bradly showed up drunk. According to police reports, there was shouting and pushing, a fight broke out and Bradley broke the nose of Dr. Howard Pemberton, dean of the Oriental Institute. The next day Elise filed for a restraining order."

"Nothing worse than a bad break-up," mumbled Deeks.

Kensi slid him a look. "Speaking from personal experience, I assume."

"Where is this guy now?" asked Callen. "This could be his way of getting back at Elise."

"Right. Embarrass her and her mother on an important occasion," agreed Sam.

"Credit card activity shows he purchased a one-way ticket to London two days ago. He has a sister who lives there and recently had a baby."

"Bradley is out of reach, but he could have hired someone do these things," said Kensi.

"I've checked everything I can think of and there doesn't seem to be any connection between Bradley and anyone at the cleaning company," said Eric.

"Are we sure Bradley really took that flight?" asked Deeks. "He could have bought a ticket to throw authorities off."

"Way ahead of you there," said Eric. "His passport was scanned at LAX and again at Heathrow."

"One-way ticket," said Callen. "Bradley Charles Webster, III is in the wind."

"Maybe we're looking at this whole thing wrong. Maybe these were just random, unrelated incidents," said Sam.

"Maybe. But when do we ever accept random and unrelated in this business?" said Callen.

Sam nodded slowly. "Right."

"All we can do is be prepared for tomorrow night," said Callen.

Eric got a call on his Bluetooth. He listened for a moment, then said, "Got it." He looked at Kensi and Deeks. "You guys are needed in wardrobe."

"Wardrobe?" said Deeks with a look of surprise. "There's a wardrobe department here?"

Kensi grabbed his arm. "Come on. You'll see."

Tucked away in a corner downstairs was Hetty's wardrobe department. Hetty was on the phone, probably with Assistant Director Granger by the sound of her raised voice. They stood there waiting for her to finish.

"This is certainly different from LAPD," said Deeks as he eyed the racks of men's and women's clothes. "When I went undercover there my attire came from the Goodwill or Salvation Army stores. And the older and grungier the better."

"Exactly what kind of undercover work did you do?" asked Kensi.

"I'll tell you all about it sometime. Preferably over dinner."

Kensi's eyebrows shot up. "Can't wait."

"Do I detect some sarcasm there?"

"Detect away," said Kensi with a smirk.

"Owen Granger will be the death of me," said Hetty when she walked up.

"Problem?" asked Kensi.

She waved a hand as if pushing the Assistant Director aside. "Oh, nothing this old warrior can't handle, Ms. Blye. Now, why don't you go pick out something suitable for a gala museum affair while I get Mr. Deeks measured for his tuxedo."

Deeks smiled. "I like the sound of that."

"Yes, no smelly thrift store clothing for this assignment. No impersonating homeless drifters behind restaurants."

Deeks stared at Hetty. "How do you know about that?"

Hetty's lips quirked up the tiniest bit. "Ah, Mr. Deeks. I know everything."