“And you thanked him for taking one for the team?”
“Yes. I told him he was bound to get cake, and maybe that’d make his sacrifice worth it.”
She laughed. “I can’t wait to meet Rebekah Manvers. You said her husband won’t be there? He’s up to his ears in meetings, even on Sunday?” She gave him a sideways grin. “Imagine, having to work on a Sunday.”
Savich steered around an SUV filled with a family, obviously tourists, the driver moving slowly enough to see the sights with his family. “We need to speak to her husband, find out what he knows, what he’s gotten out of Rebekah. You’ll find this interesting: Rebekah claims her husband never trashed Zoltan, never questioned her about seeing a medium. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t have strong feelings one way or the other. And after her attempted kidnapping, I imagine he got in her face about telling him what happened, about what Zoltan said, what her grandfather supposedly told her.”
“He might not believe her attempted kidnapping had anything to do with Zoltan and this Big Take.”
“And he could be right.”
“But you doubt it.”
“Yes, I do. I’m about ready to bring Zoltan in for questioning, see what shakes out. Regardless, Congressman Manvers will have a lot of questions. I know I would in his position.”
“Do you think she told her husband everything?”
“If I were her, I would have. We’ll see what happens. But you know, I’m surprised Zoltan’s played her cards this way. Even if Rebekah’s kidnappers had succeeded, it would have painted a big X on her chest.”
Twenty minutes later, Savich pulled into a wide driveway behind Rebekah’s Beemer on Belmont Road NW in beautiful Kalorama Heights. Savich had long thought the Heights was the prettiest place in Washington. He and Sherlock occasionally walked here with Sean, and, of course, visited the ice cream shop in Kalorama Circle. The lots were big and filled with trees, denuded now on November 1. “The silver Beemer, that’s Rebekah’s car,” Savich said. “Behind it is Griffin’s new Range Rover, isn’t it?”
“Yes, an identical twin with his last one, but with that lovely new car smell. I wonder if the story about his now-deceased Range Rover going over a cliff was a new one for the insurance company.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Nah, I bet they’ve heard it all.”
Sherlock got out of the Porsche and looked around. “This is quite a place.” The house was two stories, with ivy climbing up the age-mellowed redbrick walls. The grounds were beautifully maintained, like the rest of the yards in the neighborhood. The house itself looked well settled, probably more than a hundred and fifty years old. Sherlock said, “I bet before the War of 1812, this site was probably a lovely wooden Colonial. But after the Brits burned Washington, wood was out, only brick.”
“At least in this old neighborhood.”
Griffin answered the door, greeted them, and turned to Rebekah Manvers, standing behind him. Savich introduced her to Sherlock.
Griffin said, “Rebekah, like I told you, I have to go to a birthday party.”
“You didn’t say who’s celebrating. A friend, relative?”
“Nope, I only know the person giving the party. Please, don’t ask. I’ll be back about three o’clock, hopefully, and I’ll stay until your husband gets home. About six, you said?”
Rebekah nodded. Griffin gave Savich a salute and left, whistling.
Rebekah looked after him. “What’s that all about?”
Savich merely smiled and said, “Ask him when he gets back. You’ll find it amusing.” He studied Rebekah’s face and saw no obvious signs of stress, though he knew she still had to feel afraid. But looking at her now, it wasn’t obvious. “Is your arm all right today?”
“Yes, only a little sore.” She rotated her shoulder to show him. She was wearing a white camp shirt over black skinny jeans and black socks on her feet, no shoes. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Rebekah looked back and forth between Savich and Sherlock, cocked her head. “You’re not only partners, are you? You’re together, right?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, and gave her a sunny smile. “You’re very perceptive.”
Rebekah smiled, shook her head. “The two of you—it’s obvious to me you guys have a connection.”
Sherlock decided on the spot she liked Rebekah Manvers.
They followed her into a high-ceilinged, old-style living room filled with early American antiques.
Sherlock said, “How lovely. The antiques fit the room beautifully. Everything is from about the same time period, right?”
“Yes, 1838, to be exact. Needless to say, the house has been transformed many times during its lifetime. As you can see, though, all the beautiful molding and fireplaces have been kept and dutifully restored. As to the furniture, my husband seems to think a congressman needs to surround himself with American period pieces, to give him gravitas and a solid sense of embracing history. Me? I prefer Danish modern, which my husband finds appalling. At least this stuff is fairly comfortable. Let me introduce you to Kit Jarrett, my partner, my friend, and my one and only investigator in our art consulting business.”
A petite young woman stepped forward, smiling. She was loaded with curves she displayed in black leggings and a long black turtleneck sweater to her hips. Kit shook their hands and cocked her head to one side, sending her glorious straight hair swinging against her cheek. Her words nearly jumped out of her mouth. “Believe me, it’s a great pleasure. Goodness, Agent Savich, if you hadn’t been in Celeste Manvers’s neighborhood when Rebekah needed you, she would have been taken. Do you know yet who did it? The bastards. It makes my heart stutter to even think about it.” She grinned really big, showing a crooked eyetooth. “Well, you can see I don’t do ‘measured and mature’ very well.” She looked at Sherlock and drew a deep breath. “Does your husband have a habit of swooping in just in the nick of time?”
Sherlock said, “I’ve always found his timing to be excellent.” She realized how what she’d said could be interpreted and blinked up at Dillon, who smiled at her.
Rebekah’s cell buzzed. She looked down. “Excuse me a moment.” She walked a couple of steps away from them. A moment later, she turned back. “That was my husband. Turns out his meeting was cut short. He’ll be home in about twenty minutes.”
It was perfect timing, just what Savich wanted. He said, “He plans on being home the rest of the day and evening?”
At her nod, he said, “Then you won’t need our protection.” Savich quickly texted Griffin, told him to go straight to the birthday party and have a great time with all the teenagers and the cake.
A text came back immediately: Understood. Fingers crossed for chocolate, tons of frosting, little chocolate flowers on top.
Savich said, “Twenty minutes should be fine.”
Rebekah said, “Please, sit down. May I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Savich said. “We need to get started. Rebekah, I want you to tell me everything about your meeting with Zoltan on Wednesday night.” He looked at Kit Jarrett and cocked his head.
Kit said, “I know it all already, Agent Savich. I won’t interrupt, and you can trust me not to blab, despite my being a motormouth when you walked in. Believe me, I would never do anything to harm Rebekah. She pays me very well.” She lightly poked Rebekah’s arm.
Rebekah studied his face, stilled. “You went to see Zoltan, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Thursday night.”
She sighed. “I suppose she told you everything, then? About pretending Grandfather was there and what he said about the Big Take?”
“Despite the psychotropic herbs she put in her special tea, yes, I managed to get her account of what happened.”
“What? You’re saying she drugged the tea?”
Savich nodded. “When I called her on it, she claimed there was nothing harmful in the tea, that she meant only to relax her clients, make them more at ease.”
Rebekah stared at him. “You mean her blasted tea was
meant to drug me into not questioning her version of reality?”
“I’d say that about nails it, yes. When I left her, I took the thermos with me and had the tea checked. There was a mix of poorly understood Chinese herbs in the tea but nothing illegal.”
Rebekah smacked her fist against the arm of the sofa. “I never questioned it, never. I knew I was mellowing out—I was less stressed, and I really liked the taste of that tea. That bitch. But you realized what she’d done.”
“I’m suspicious by nature. Rebekah, it’s time for you to tell me exactly what happened that night. From your perspective. You can trust our discretion.”
She sighed again. “I guess there’s no point trying to keep it private any longer. I finally broke down and told Rich all about the séance. I thought I’d have to coldcock him to keep him from driving over to Zoltan’s house and attacking her. I wouldn’t be surprised if he passed the story along to his sons, even his best bud, Chief of Staff Arlan Burger.”
“Why didn’t you add me to your list?”
She blinked away tears. “I didn’t think on Thursday to tell you more about it. I couldn’t admit to myself the story might be true. My grandfather was a good man, at least I believe so from everything I know to be true about him. I preferred to think that story really was made up, and who knows, maybe it was, that’s what I told Rich. He laughed and said if the Big Take was made up, then why would someone try to kidnap me?”
“He’s right,” Savich said. “Someone found out about the Big Take story and believes it’s true. Rebekah, do you really know where the Big Take is hidden?”
“No, really, although I think I left Zoltan with the impression I did. Of course, I didn’t recite Grandfather’s poem to Zoltan, but I did hint I knew where it’s hidden. She wanted me to say the poem, but I didn’t. I told her it didn’t matter what the poem said, I intended to let whatever it was, even if it’s real, stay hidden forever.”
“Someone attacked you to hear that poem, Rebekah,” Savich said. “You need to let it go now. I’m not sure we can help you if you don’t trust us with it.”
Kit sat forward, took Rebekah’s hands in hers. “Do you still remember it?”
Rebekah sat back against the sofa cushions, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. “I promised Grandfather I’d never say it out loud, except to him, and I haven’t, not to anyone. I know it’s silly keeping a child’s promise, but it’s hard for me to break it, even now. In many ways, my relationship with my grandfather was the most important one I had growing up, other than with my mother, of course. It was his story and his poem, and now it’s mine. I couldn’t stand it if I let whatever it leads to tarnish his memory.”
“After what’s happened to you, Rebekah,” Savich said, “a grandfather who loved you would understand. He’d want you to tell us.”
“Then you have to promise not to repeat it, to use it only to find out who attacked me. Can I trust you, Agent Savich, Agent Sherlock, and you, Kit, not to repeat it to anyone?”
After their nods, she closed her eyes, and recited quietly:
Don’t let them know it’s hidden inside
The key to what I wish to hide
It’s in my head, already there
And no one else will guess or care
Remember these words when at last I sleep
And the Big Take will be yours to keep.
She opened her eyes. “A silly little poem, one of several he wrote for me. I asked him what the words ‘it’s in my head’ meant, and all he said was I would know someday. Of course, he never had a chance to tell me. He had the strokes and fell into the coma. I remember I thought he was only adding some charm to his story, never anything more than that—until now.” She studied Savich’s face and sighed. “I know you’re on my side, Agent Savich. I should have told you before.”
“Then you can tell me all the rest of it now.”
Rebekah laid out exactly what had happened in the séance, and Savich noted that her story was very similar to Zoltan’s.
Sherlock said, “Seems to me Zoltan knew about the Big Take and put on a big production to convince you her shtick was real, hoping you’d tell her where your grandfather had hidden it or work with her to find it. Only you didn’t do that. You shut her down. And when that didn’t work, she tried to get you kidnapped. And then that blew up in her face.”
Rebekah said, “Only thanks to Agent Savich.”
Savich said, “That would mean Zoltan is very organized and has some bad people on speed dial. She acted fast.”
Rebekah said slowly, “Is it possible she thinks she’s for real? That she really brought Grandfather to me?”
“No,” Savich said.
Kit sat forward. “All right, but it’s still possible someone we don’t know about wanted to kidnap Rebekah for ransom, that it has no connection to this Zoltan. It’s not a secret Rich is—excuse me—rich. And Rebekah is, too, for that matter, a legacy from her grandfather. Even if Rich didn’t adore Rebekah as much as he does, he’d still pay the ransom. He’d have to.”
“Yes, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?” Rebekah looked down at her hands pleating the brown afghan folded next to her on the early American sofa.
Savich didn’t want to ask her, but he knew he had to. It was a part of this mad mix. “Rebekah, have you ever thought your grandfather might have been involved in the death of his friend Nate Elderby?”
“What?” Rebekah sat back, her eyes wide on Savich’s face. “My grandfather? No, no. He wasn’t, he couldn’t have been. He wasn’t that kind of man.” She calmed and drew a deep breath. “I wish I had some of Zoltan’s tea about now. Listen, Agent Savich, I was a little kid when Nate Elderby drowned in 1995, but I remember Grandfather was very upset, pacing around his study, tears in his eyes, cursing Nate. Thinking back, he really was distraught.
“You’re checking into his death since he may have been Grandfather’s accomplice in this Big Take. With one thief murdered, the other thief gets everything? No, even as young as I was I remember his grief vividly. There was something snarky about Nate that Grandfather said in the séance. But that’s stupid. It was Zoltan who made that snark up, not Grandfather.”
Kit said, “If Rebekah’s grandfather did murder his best friend, for gain or for some other reason, what does it matter now? I mean, there’s no one left to prosecute. It happened years ago. Who would care now?”
Savich said, “I’ve learned that violence in the past has a way of forcing itself into the present.” He suddenly thought of the puzzle pieces, of St. Lumis. Could Cinelli be in danger?
Rebekah said, “Nate Elderby’s wife would care, wouldn’t she?”
Everyone in the living room turned when they heard the front door open. Savich’s cell beeped an incoming message. He stared down at a photo sent by Agent Pippa Cinelli.
15
Savich sent her a quick text and slid his cell back into his jacket pocket. He slowly rose when Congressman Rich Manvers came into the room. Rebekah quickly walked over to him and took his hand. Manvers studied her face a moment, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. Manvers said over Rebekah’s shoulder, “Good to see you, Agent Savich. Let me say again I owe you a great deal for saving my wife. Have you made any progress in finding the men who attacked her? Do you know yet if there was any connection to this charlatan, Zoltan?”
“That’s what we’re looking into and why we’re talking with Rebekah now, Congressman,” Savich said.
“Rebekah already told me a lot of what happened, the faked séance, that Zoltan was after some kind of information? I wanted to go to Zoltan’s house and shake her by the neck until she coughed up the truth.” He hugged his wife to his side. “But Rebekah was quite right. Involving myself probably wouldn’t have ended well. We will need to trust you to get to the bottom of this.” He grinned. “You might have saved me from an assault charge.” He glanced at Sherlock, did a double take. “You’re Agent Sherlock—the heroine of JFK.” He pumped her hand. “A great pleasur
e to have you in my living room.”
“Thank you. It all happened months and months ago.”
Manvers smiled. “And bringing down that terrorist at the Lincoln Monument? I’m a politician, Agent Sherlock. That makes it my job never to forget anything that important to our country. I don’t believe acts of heroism like yours should ever be forgotten.”
Sherlock found herself smiling back at him. So he knew how to be self-deprecating and charming, not to mention he was freely stroking her ego. Still, she wondered why Rebekah had married a man old enough to be her father. She was young and smart, and her art authentication business was taking off. Maybe she’d been badly burned by a younger man? Sherlock planned to find out. “Sir, what did you think about Zoltan’s revelation? Of the Big Take? After you’d calmed down, of course.”
He sat down in a big armchair that fit him nicely, facing them. “I knew Rebekah’s grandfather, John Clarkson, actually I interned with him in the nineties. What he—Zoltan—was saying sounds preposterous. I mean, the Big Take? The John Clarkson I knew would never do anything illegal.
“I think the woman’s a criminal, and she may be responsible for all that’s happened. I think you should arrest her, Agent Savich, or at least haul her in to the Hoover Building for questioning.” He sat forward, clasped his hands between his knees. “Rebekah is frightened, and so am I. If you hadn’t been in Celeste’s neighborhood at just that time, what would have happened to her? I know you’re concerned as well, enough to assign an agent to guard my wife.”
Savich said, “I’d already decided to bring Zoltan in for an interview. Sir, who have you told about the Big Take?”
“Only Arlan Burger, to help me think it all through. He’ll keep it to himself.”
Savich said, “So you didn’t tell Beck or Tucker?”
Deadlock Page 8
