Eyes of the Innocent

by Christopher Wright

  Chapter 17

  Washington Union Station seemed much busier than New York Penn, a sign that what was happening in New York was New York's problem, although there were more police around than Matt expected. A row of cabs waited outside, but Matt pointed to one of the car rental agencies.

  Zoé gave a gasp and pointed in the opposite direction. "There, look. It is Wendell Harris."

  Matt turned quickly. He could see several black men about the age and size of Wendell Harris, and a couple of them looked a bit like him.

  "I know you do not believe me, Matt. I am not the one who was hit on the back of the head. My brain, it is working perfectly. And so are my eyes. It was definitely Wendell."

  A sudden thought occurred to Matt. Zoé was not one to imagine things. Supposing it was Wendell? Supposing he'd followed them from New York. So why was he claimed to be phoning from Boston. Why would he have come all the way from Boston to Washington.

  "Why is he here, Matt?"

  "If it really was him... Yes, okay, it was him. That means he's a cop, and he's been sent to trail us. The Deputy Inspector said they'd be keeping an eye on us. Perhaps the police think we're going to lead them to Jack."

  "Then that is the best thing that could happen. Wendell follows us to Senator Harding's house, sees us snatching the baby and comes to our help. Mrs. Harding she gets arrested, and so does the Senator if he is there, and everything ends with the happiness ever after."

  "Yes, happily ever after."

  "Except for Mr. and Mrs. Harding. They will be serving a long time in jail for what they have done to us. A very long time if baby Jack is dead."

  "We'd better get in the queue and see if we can hire a car for the day."

  "It is called a line in America, Matt. Not a queue. And as I have already said, you rent a car over here, you do not hire it."

  "I know that, Zoé. And you don't go up in a lift, you go up in an elevator. And now we're going to join the queue and hire a car."

  Renting the car presented few difficulties, although Matt had to sign away the possible loss of a small fortune if the car got stolen or wrecked.

  The rental agency had a range of local maps, with one showing the area with the Senator's street a few miles beyond Alexandria. Driving out of Washington in the busy traffic gave Matt a few concerns. Although he was used to driving on the right hand side of the road, it was mostly on narrower roads in France with no more than two lanes each way. He let the traffic zip past him left and right as he got used to driving an automatic. Turnoffs to the left and right made it important to be in the correct lane. He hedged his bets and kept in one of the central lanes until he felt more confident.

  They got a momentary sight of Capitol Hill, making Matt wonder if Senator Cyrus Harding was in his office. Hopefully he was, because it was going to be hard enough dealing with Mrs. Harding -- assuming they got as far as talking to her. And the chances of her coming to the door with a baby in her arms were, frankly, just too much to hope for. But he wasn't going to share his thoughts with Zoé.

  They crossed the Potomac and were soon going through Alexandria.

  "Me, I am feeling hungry," Zoé said.

  "What are we going to do?" Matt asked. "It's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm certainly hungry, but if we stop we'll waste too much time. First priority is to find the Senator Harding's house."

  "Look," Zoé said, "there is a pizza place that is fast over there. We will grab something to eat and drink, and go and find Senator Harding's house. If no one is in the house, we can sit in the car and keep watch."

  While Zoé hurried into the take out pizza bar, Matt studied the map again. Judging by the high house number in the address, the Senator's street was long. Although house numbers weren't shown on the map, the house was going to be near the far end.

  Zoé sounded exhausted as she crashed back into the passenger seat and handed Matt a flat cardboard box and a six-pack of Coke. "You eat it," she said. "I am not feeling hungry any longer. But I will drink the Coke. It might help me keep alert."

  "Eat some of the pizza, Zoé. We need to keep our strength up and keep our wits about us. I can't see how, but this might turn out to be dangerous."

  "Did you try phoning Wendell again while I was getting the pizza?"

  "I'll do it now." He let it ring for over two minutes, without success. There wasn't even a voicemail option. "Of course," Matt said, "if Wendell is an undercover cop, he's not going to answer it, because there might be some background noise that would give away where he is. If we see him, it's best if we pretend we haven't."

  "I know he is not in Boston. I saw him in New York, and again when we got off the train at Washington Union. You were with the police, so you ought to understand how they work. If they are suspicious of someone they follow with the shadow."

  Matt let that one pass. Zoé had a valid point anyway. Unless they were planning to break and enter at the Senator's house, they weren't doing anything illegal -- apart from leaving New York without permission. "Do you think we should phone Steve?"

  Zoé decided to sample the large pizza. "Oh, so he is Steve now, not Archbishop Valdieri."

  Matt laughed. "Stephen, I suppose is a good compromise. Okay, if we don't hear from him soon, I phoning him. We need to keep in touch."

  "I think he would have contacted us if he has heard anything from Boston. Boston I think is what you English call the chase of the wild goose. Wendell Harris is an undercover cop, planted to stay with us to see what we are doing. That is why he has followed us here."

  "I don't see why he'd want to send us on a wild goose chase to Boston. It doesn't make sense."

  "If he is with the gendarmes, the police, then it will be a test to see if we go or not."

  "Why?"

  "We would not bother to go if we have thrown Jack's little... You know, thrown Jack into a dumpster in Manhattan."

  Matt let the two cars that had been following go past. Both were driven by older white women. "Then we failed the test. We didn't do anything."

  "Yes we did. We came here." Zoé kept silent for a moment while she swallowed a large chunk of the pizza slice she was holding.

  Matt said nothing, just glad that Zoé was keeping her strength up.

  A gulp from her can of Coke, and Zoé was ready to talk again. "No wonder they are following us. They are puzzled. We have made them puzzled by coming to Washington."

  "I've been checking the rearview mirror all the way from the rental agency. See, I got it right that time. Rental agency. Apart from those two women I'm sure no one's been following, especially not Wendell. There's no way they could have put a tracker on this car, because they didn't know which car we'd be hiring until we got into it. Okay, renting, not hiring."

  "Pull in here and stop, Matt. We will see who else goes by us. Just in case it is the police local, and not Wendell."

  "We wouldn't be able to recognize a plain car police tail anyway. It's not going to be a large white cruiser with red and blue flashing lights on the roof. Let's keep going and we can suss out the house. It can only be a couple of miles now."

  The Senator's street had expensive houses set back amongst an assortment of trees. Most houses had large front yards that Matt said he could only think of as gardens. Then on the right he spotted something completely different. On an isolated stretch of the street, between two areas of woodland, a high wall concealed all but the top of a house. It was almost certainly a large house judging by the extent of the roof and the number of chimneys he could see beyond the wall. A large, expensive house with the right house number on a cast metal sign. He stopped opposite the large, ornamental steel gates that were wide open. He noticed an intercom box on one pillar and two security cameras on a post by the gates.

  "It looks like Mrs. Harding won't be coming to the door carrying the baby. We'll have to ring the intercom to say who we are and what we want," Matt observed. "We need to think this one out"

  "The gates they are already open. Are we going to drive
in?" Zoé asked.

  "They're definitely not open for us. Senator Harding may be on his way home. I'll move forward a few feet and we may be able to see inside better. If it looks clear, I suggest we walk straight in and confront Mrs. Harding."

  As the car moved, Zoé touched his arm. "Look, a black van it is parked inside. Move over to my side and you will see it. They are getting a white box out."

  Without thinking, Matt said, "It's a coffin. A very small coffin. I think they call it a casket over here."

  The van had discreet gold lettering on the door for a local funeral parlor.

  Zoé gave a scream. "It is Jack. They have killed him, and now they are taking him away to bury him."

  Matt knew he would have laughed at the ridiculous suggestion if their situation wasn't so tragic. "They're delivering the casket, not taking it away. I'm noting down their phone number. Let's not go in. There's clearly a problem there. I'm going to call Stephen Valdieri to give him an update, and check he's not heard anything."

  "I hope he is not too busy with Lauren," Zoé said.

  "Now who's being cynical?"

  "It is you, Matt. You have made me like it. I was never cynical before I met you."

  Matt could hear no giggling in the background when Valdieri answered. The ex-archbishop said he'd been hoping to hear something positive from Matt. No, Wendell Harris hadn't phoned, but Valdieri said he'd contacted the Boston Police Headquarters and explained what had happened.

  "The problem is, Matt, until Wendell phones we only have the surname Garcia, but we don't even know the district where they live. It seems Boston has far too many Garcias to even start to narrow it down. The senior guy I spoke to said they were taking my report very seriously. Although they've never heard of Wendell Harris, they'll certainly listen to what he has to say if he contacts them."

  "Okay, keep in touch, Stephen." He rang off.

  "So now what do we do, Monsieur Detective? Walk in and ask the driver of the van what he is doing?"

  Matt was already dialing. "I'm phoning the undertaker. Or as they call it here, the funeral parlor. And they spell it without the letter 'u' near the end. See, I'm almost American now. You'd better do the speaking. You're good at making up convincing stories on the phone. Tell them that..." He paused as Zoé took the phone from him.

  "Yes, Matt, me, I am the expert. Be quiet now, it is ringing."

  She moved the phone to her right ear. "Good afternoon. I am phoning on behalf of Senator Harding. I am his secretary. He is still in the office, but he wants confirmation that you have called at his house as agreed. ... Yes, and just to confirm what you have delivered the casket. ... There is to be what, did you say?"

  Matt watched in horror as Zoé screamed and threw the phone into the footwell. He retrieved it and immediately pressed the red off button. Whatever had been said, he didn't want the person on the other end to hear any more.

  "It is Jack," she said.

  "What is Jack?"

  "They said they have just delivered the baby casket Mrs. Harding ordered. There is to be a private burial at the house tomorrow. They said it is for the family dog, but I know it is for our baby. They have killed Jack, and now they are going to bury him."