Executive Privilege

by Phillip Margolin

  Evans found himself in a small foyer standing on a blond hardwood floor that was partially covered by a Persian throw rug. Beyond the vestibule was a large cluttered living room outfitted with ill-used but expensive furnishings. The agent noticed a state-of-the-art stereo system, a large plasma TV that hung from the wall like the abstract art in the lobby, a black leather couch, and a coffee table. Sweatpants were draped over an arm of the couch, and a bowl stained by melted ice cream stood on a coffee table next to an opened Coke can. The floor and two leather recliners were littered with other items of clothing, fashion and fan magazines, and CD holders with the names of pop groups Evans didn’t recognize. A bookshelf held a mix of textbooks and trashy novels.

  “This is Special Agent Keith Evans, Miss Kitces. He’s working on Miss Walsh’s case with me.”

  “What case? What’s happened to Lotte?”

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Sparks suggested, walking past the wary young woman and heading toward the couch. Evans held back until Walsh’s roommate was seated. The young woman looked nervous.

  “We’re sorry to wake you up,” Sparks said. “I understand you just got in a few hours ago.”

  Kitces nodded.

  “Were you out all evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you leave the apartment, last night?”

  “A little after seven.”

  “Was Miss Walsh still here?”

  “No, she left around four.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “No. She just said that she had some stuff to do.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “What’s this about? Has something happened to Lotte?” Kitces asked again.

  “I’ll answer your questions in a moment,” Sparks said, “but I need your answers first.”

  Sparks noticed that Kitces’s shoulders were hunched and she’d clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  “I was with my boyfriend. We stayed at his apartment. I just got back around five.”

  “Why didn’t you stay all night?” Sparks asked.

  Kitces blushed. “We had a fight. I got angry and left.”

  “Can you tell us your boyfriend’s name?”

  “Barry Sachs. Now, can you please tell me what happened to Charlotte?”

  “I’m afraid I have bad news, Bethany,” Sparks said softly. “Your friend is dead. She was murdered last night.”

  Kitces looked stunned. “She’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Kitces stared for a second then she leaned forward and began to wail. Sparks moved next to her quickly and placed a comforting arm over her shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” she said soothingly as the young woman wept. Evans went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Bethany was sobbing quietly when he returned.

  Sparks took the glass from Evans and helped Bethany drink it down.

  “I have some things I’d like to ask you,” Sparks said when Kitces was calm enough to question.

  “Okay,” she answered, her voice so low Evans had to strain to hear her.

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Miss Walsh?”

  “No, everyone liked her.”

  “She didn’t have any enemies, anyone she mentioned that she was afraid of?”

  “We’ve been rooming together since the term started and we were in the dorm last year. I never heard her say anything like that and I never heard anyone say anything bad about Lotte.”

  “Have you noticed anyone suspicious lurking around here or on campus, or did Lotte mention anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that’s happened recently?”

  “I really can’t. She just had fun, you know. We’re in a sorority. Lotte was involved in campus politics. She dated.”

  “Any boyfriend problems?”

  “No. She was going with this Alpha Sig, but they both decided it wasn’t working. They’re still…were still friends.”

  Kitces paused. “Gee, I can’t get used to…” She choked up and managed a tearful, “You know.”

  The agents waited for Bethany to regain her composure. When she signaled that she was ready Sparks asked her next question.

  “Can you tell us something about your friend? It will help us find the person who hurt her.”

  Kitces wiped her eyes and took another sip of water.

  “She’s from Kansas,” Bethany said when she could speak without crying. “Her dad’s an orthodontist and her mom is a lawyer in a big firm in Kansas City. Lotte is…was very smart. She had almost all A’s her freshman year. She’s poli-sci. She wanted to go to law school, then maybe politics. She worked on a congressman’s campaign in high school and she was working for Senator Gaylord.”

  Bethany paused and frowned.

  “Yes,” Sparks prodded.

  “You asked about anything odd. There was something. Lotte was working on President Farrington’s election committee. Then she quit and started working for Senator Gaylord.”

  Evans’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying she switched her allegiance?”

  “Yeah. What made it strange was she really liked the president, she was a huge fan, and she used to bad-mouth Gaylord all the time. When she started working for Gaylord she still didn’t seem all that excited about her campaign or her positions. And, now that I think of it, what makes everything weirder is the way she acted when she came back from Chicago.”

  “What happened in Chicago?”

  Kitces hesitated. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “I can understand that you want to be loyal to your friend, but she’s been murdered, Bethany. You wouldn’t want to hold back information that might help catch her killer.”

  Bethany looked away. The agents let her think.

  “Okay,” she said when she turned back. “It was something to do with President Farrington. That’s all she would tell me. One afternoon, I came home from class and found her packing an overnight case. This was when she was still volunteering at Farrington’s campaign headquarters. I asked her what was up. Like I thought maybe she was meeting some boy and staying over, not that she did that a lot. She was pretty old-fashioned. She’d only stay with a guy she really liked and not right away, you know. Like not on the first date or even a second.”

  Bethany looked at Sparks to make sure she understood that her roommate wasn’t a slut. Sparks nodded.

  “So I teased her about her seeing some guy, and she said it wasn’t like that. She said that the president was giving a speech in Chicago and she’d been invited to hear him and help out at the fund-raiser, but it was all hush-hush and she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. And that’s when she swore me to secrecy.”

  “She didn’t say why her trip was hush-hush?”

  “No. I tried to get it out of her but she wouldn’t give.” Kitces looked down. “I feel bad about telling you. She didn’t want me to say anything, and I promised.”

  “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Was Lotte excited about this trip?”

  “Yeah, but that changed when she came back. She stopped volunteering for Farrington and she was quiet and seemed nervous. Then, a week or so later, she started volunteering for Gaylord.”

  “Did she ever tell you why she switched?”

  “No.”

  “You said that her mood changed after Chicago. What was the difference?” Sparks asked.

  “Lotte was always upbeat. After Chicago she seemed to go up and down, quiet for a few days then excited and secretive then nervous and quiet again.”

  “And you don’t know what was causing her to be like that?”

  “No. I asked a few times if everything was okay. I thought it was a boy.”

  “And you’re sure that wasn’t it?”

  “If she was seeing someone she’d have told me.”

  “Do you have a number for Lotte’s parents?
” Sparks asked.

  The color drained from Bethany ’s face. “Oh my gosh, her parents. I’m not going to have to tell them, am I?”

  “No, we’ll take care of that.”

  “I guess I’ll have to talk to them about the funeral and all. I want to be there.”

  “It seems like you were a good friend to her,” Sparks said.

  “It was easy,” Bethany said. Then she sobbed, “She was the best.”

  “Could you show us Lotte’s room?” she asked when Kitces had cried herself out.

  Bethany wiped at the tears that streaked her cheeks as she led the agents down a short hall. Walsh’s room was luxurious by the standards of most college students and much neater than a typical dorm room. The bed was made, there were no clothes on the floor, and the top of Walsh’s dresser and desk were orderly. Evans guessed that Bethany was responsible for the mess in the living room. He wandered over to the desk while Sparks looked in the dresser and the closet. Several books about the United States Congress were stacked in a neat pile.

  “She was working on a paper about the Senate majority leader for an honors program,” Bethany explained.

  “Thanks,” Evans told her. He found a physics text and a few books about international politics on the other side of the desk. Evans frowned. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him. He opened the desk drawer and rummaged through it. He riffled through a checkbook but found nothing of interest. There were pens, Post-its, some paper clips, and a stapler. Another drawer contained letters from Walsh’s parents. Something dawned on Evans. Walsh’s parents might be old enough to communicate through snail mail but anyone closer to her age would be using e-mail. Evans searched the room but he didn’t find what he was looking for.

  “Where is Miss Walsh’s computer?”

  Bethany looked around the room too before answering. “If it’s not here she must have had it with her. She had a laptop. She took it everywhere. She carried it in her backpack.”

  Evans took out his cell phone and dialed the agent who’d taken custody of the evidence from the Bethesda police at the crime scene. He asked if a backpack or a computer had been found in the alley. Then he asked if a laptop or a backpack had been found in Walsh’s car. After a few minutes, Evans hung up.

  “ Bethany, if Miss Walsh didn’t have the laptop with her where would it be?”

  Bethany shook her head. “It wouldn’t be anywhere. She never let it out of her sight. It had all her stuff on it: her papers, private stuff. It was either on the desk or in the backpack.”

  “She must have backed up her hard drive,” Sparks said.

  “Sure,” Bethany said. “Everyone does. She kept her backup disks in a plastic box in her desk.”

  Evans started opening the drawers in Walsh’s desk again but he couldn’t find the box.

  “ Bethany,” Evans asked, “I don’t want to alarm you-and there may be a simple explanation for the missing laptop and backups-but can you check this room and the rest of the apartment to see if anything else is missing?”

  Kitces looked scared. “Do you think someone broke in?”

  “I don’t know what your place usually looks like so I have no opinion. Did you notice anything unusual when you got home, this morning?”

  “No, but I was pretty tired. I just went right to bed. I didn’t look around.”

  Sparks and Evans helped Bethany search the apartment, but they didn’t find the laptop or anything else that would help them in the investigation and Bethany couldn’t point to anything else that was missing or out of place. When they were certain that there was nothing more to be done Sparks asked Bethany if she wanted them to call a friend to come over. Bethany said she’d call her boyfriend. Evans called police headquarters and asked to have a policeman come over to take Bethany ’s statement regarding the missing laptop and backup disks. As soon as the police officer arrived the agents thanked Bethany again, gave her their cards, and left.

  “Do you think someone broke in, last night?” Sparks asked as they rode down in the elevator.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you think happened to the laptop?”

  “If she had it with her, the Ripper might have kept it as a souvenir or he could have left it with the body and someone took it.”

  They walked side by side for a few moments then Sparks turned to Evans.

  “We should have someone in the Kansas City office break the news to Walsh’s folks.”

  Evans shuddered. He always felt so sorry for the parents. He could not imagine what it felt like to learn that your child was dead and then to learn that she’d died in pain and terror. He felt guilty that some other poor bastard would have the responsibility of visiting Charlotte ’s parents.

  “When is this son of a bitch going to screw up?” he muttered angrily.

  “He will, Keith. They always do.”

  Evans frowned. “This business with the campaigns is strange. I wish I knew what happened in Chicago.”

  “You can ask someone in Farrington’s campaign headquarters. There’s probably a simple explanation.”

  “I don’t think so. You don’t just switch sides like that. Something must have happened.” Evans thought for a moment. “Maybe the Ripper works on Farrington’s campaign. Maybe he hit on her and freaked her out.”

  “That would explain Walsh quitting Farrington’s campaign, but it wouldn’t explain why she went to work for Gaylord.”

  “True. I don’t remember. Have we found any connections between the other victims and either campaign?”

  “Not that I recall, but I’ll have someone check it out. But I’m betting that whatever made Walsh switch her allegiance to Gaylord had nothing to do with our case.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dana drove random routes until she found the type of run-down motel that sits on the outskirts of small towns that have seen better days. The accommodations at the Traveler’s Rest consisted of rustic cabins whose peeling paint had not been touched up since around the time we were fighting World War II. The only hints that the motel existed in the twenty-first century were the signs advertising FREE HBO AND INTERNET ACCESS. A little after five in the morning, Dana paid the clerk cash for a few days’ lodging then drove Jake’s Harley behind the fourth cabin from the office so it couldn’t be seen from the road. About the only advantage she had was that no one knew what she was using for transportation, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  Dana had used cash to pay for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and other basic toiletries plus a few days’ supply of prepackaged sandwiches, taco chips, and bottled water in a gas station minimart hours away from the motel. She’d also made a stop at a Wal-Mart where she’d purchased a few changes of clothes and a duffle bag. After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she caught a few hours of fitful sleep. When she woke up, she sat around in her T-shirt and panties, watching CNN while she ate half of a ham and cheese sandwich and drank a bottle of water.

  The lead news story was about the D.C. Ripper, who had claimed a new victim. The police were withholding the name of the deceased until her parents were notified. There was nothing about the shooting at her apartment, but she wasn’t expecting a story. The people who’d attacked her wouldn’t want any publicity. They had probably sanitized the place and had someone with authority that could not be questioned silence the cops. If she could hide for a few days they might conclude she’d hightailed it for someplace far from Washington, D.C. That would give her a little breathing room. With no place to go and nothing to do, Dana killed the day watching old movies and periodically checking out the news.

  A river flowed behind the motel. Sometime in the distant past, one of the owners had set up a picnic area with three tables in a copse of cottonwoods that grew near the bank. The sun was close to setting when Dana grew claustrophobic and left her room. It had been a warm day, and she went outside in a T-shirt that covered the gun she’d shoved into the waistband at the back of her jeans. Dana b
rought a sandwich and a bag of chips to one of the tables and washed them down with swigs from a water bottle. While she ate she thought over her options. There weren’t many. She couldn’t run forever without money, and the pictures of Walsh and Farrington were the only things of value she possessed. How to cash in, though? She couldn’t drive up to the White House and demand to meet with the president.

  The sun went down and a chill wind pushed away the warmth. Dana decided to go inside and research Christopher Farrington in the hopes that she would spot a way to get her demands to him. It turned out that the motel’s boast of Internet access was a bit overblown. There wasn’t a way to access the Internet from Dana’s room but there was an old computer in a corner of the motel office that a guest could use. To do so, Dana had to pay for the use of the motel’s password. This was fine with her, since her inquiries would show up as the motel’s inquiry if she was on an agency hot list.

  The owner’s teenage daughter was manning the desk in the office. Dana paid for the password. The young girl put the bills in the till before turning her attention back to the television that perched on a corner of the counter. Dana went online and typed in “Christopher Farrington.” A dizzying number of references popped up on the screen, and she started shuffling through them, looking for something she could use.

  Dana had lost her interest in current affairs during her stay in the mental hospital and had not rekindled it when she became an outpatient. She hadn’t voted in any election for some time, so a lot of the information that was common knowledge to the average voter was news to her. Dana read about Farrington’s rags-to-riches story and a biography of the first lady. After learning that Charles Hawkins had been with the president since his early days in Oregon politics she read his biography, too. The article about Hawkins contained a paragraph about his role as a witness in the trial of Clarence Little, who was accused of murdering the Farringtons’ teenage babysitter when the president was the governor of Oregon. She was just starting to read an account of the case when she heard the name of another teenager on the television.