D.C. Dead sb-22

by Stuart Woods

  “Good evening,” she said, as Stone held the door for her. She shook both their hands and her hand seemed to linger in Dino’s for a moment.

  “Please have a seat,” Stone said. “May I get you a drink?”

  Bach glanced at her Cartier wristwatch. “Thank you, yes. A vodka martini on the rocks, please.”

  Stone turned to make the drink, and when he turned back Bach and Dino were sharing the small sofa. He delivered her drink on a small silver tray, then made Di V

  “Long day?” he asked, by way of small talk.

  “It’s always a long day at the Bureau,” she replied. “Especially since I was promoted.”

  “How long have you been an assistant director?” Stone asked.

  “About three months. When Kerry was promoted from assistant to deputy director, he brought me up with him. We’ve worked quite closely together for a couple of years.”

  “What sort of cases do you work?” Dino asked.

  Bach turned her body toward him as she answered. “Kerry’s purview is domestic criminal investigations, so just about everything under that umbrella. I must say, though, that the Kendrick affair was the first homicide I investigated in more than four years.”

  “Was it?” Stone said, noncommittally.

  She rolled her eyes. “I must apologize for my inattention to the bricks. That was inexcusable, and I’m very embarrassed.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dino said, patting her knee.

  Stone observed this action with concealed amusement. Was Dino making a move?

  “You’re very kind,” she said. “We should have the lab report first thing in the morning, and I’ll be sure to get it to you quickly.” She opened the small satin clutch she had brought and extracted a folded sheet of paper, then she unfolded it and read from it: “These are the people who were in the proximity of the crime scene at the time of the murder: the president of the United States; the vice president of the United States; the secretary of state; two undersecretaries of state; the president’s chief of staff, Tim Coleman; one of his two deputies, Charleston Bostwick; and two Secret Service agents.”

  “That’s quite a list of suspects,” Stone said.

  “Those were the people in the Oval Office,” she said, “and ‘suspects’ is your word, not mine. Within a short distance of the Oval Office were the president’s three secretaries, the chief of staff’s two secretaries, the second deputy chief of staff, Herman Wilkes, his secretary, and the secretary of Ms. Bostwick.” She handed the list to Dino. “I’m sorry,” she said to Stone, “I didn’t bring a second copy.”

  “Quite all right,” Stone said. Dino read the list, then handed it to Stone.

  “For your information, we have, through interrogation and questioning of all these people, excluded as suspects those present in the Oval Office at the time, and all the others near the Oval Office, with the exception of Herman Wilkes, who left his office about the time of the murder to attend a meeting in the Map Room, just down the hall from the O.O. We were unable to immediately exclude him, until we had interviewed two people at the meeting who accounted for the time of his presence there.”

  “Did you take a look at a list of visitors to the White House at that time?” Dino asked.

  “Yes, we did, and we were able to exclude all of them, since none had access to the portico.”

  Stone spoke up. “Were you present when Brixton Kendrick was interviewed?”

  “Yes, I conducted the interview.”

  “What were your impressions of him at that time?”

  “Very broken up, understandably. I also inferred a heavy undercurrent of guilt, and in retrospect, I think that was because he caused her death.”

  “When was his body discovered?” Stone asked.

  “The morning after the murder,” Bach replied. “His daughter-in-law stopped by the house to deliver a birthday present to him-she had a key-and she discovered the body hanging in the living room. He had kicked over the ladder he used to tie the rope to the rafter.”

  “Did you consider that it might not have been suicide?” Stone asked.

  “We viewed his death as a homicide from the beginning of the investigation and determined it to be a suicide only after a thorough examination of the premises revealed no evidence of another person present at the time. Then there was the note, of course.”

  “Note?” Stone said, surprised.

  “It’s in the report you were given.”

  Stone picked up the report from the coffee table and leafed through it. “Ah, here it is. I missed it the first time.”

  “Read it to us,” Dino said.

  “It’s handwritten, hurriedly, I would say: ‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death and for everything that’s happened. There is no life for me now, and my affairs are in order.’”

  “That seemed to cover everything,” Bach said. “We closed the investigation two days after his body and the note were found.”

  Stone read from the note again: “‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death and for everything that’s happened.’ He doesn’t say he killed her, and what does ‘everything that’s happened’ mean? What else happened?”

  “My assumption is that he was referring to the events in his marriage that led up to the murder of his wife, and I disagree with your interpretation of ‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death.’”

  “I think your interpretation is a reasonable one,” Dino said.

  Bach nodded. “I think that, coming from as well-educated and as articulate a man as Brixton Kendrick, ‘full responsibility’ means ‘full responsibility.’”

  “I can’t mount a cogent argument against your view,” Stone admitted. “However, nobody we’ve talked to was aware of any events in the marriage that might have led to a murder/suicide. They’ve been pictured as the happiest and most well-adjusted of couples.”

  “People of their social class do not easily share the details of their marriage with others, even their peers,” Bach said. “Perhaps especially not with their peers.”

  Stone shrugged. “If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that nobody can ever understand what goes on in somebody else’s marriage.”

  “Well said,” Bach replied. She glanced at her watch. “I’m due at a cocktail party at the British Embassy,” she said. “Would you gentlemen like to come along?”

  “Love to,” said Dino, without hesitation.

  “Thanks,” Stone said, “but I think I have a date with room service. You two have fun.”

  Dino and Bach left, and Stone thought that neither of them seemed at all broken up about his staying home.

  He c [siz andalled Holly.

  10

  Stone slowly brought Holly to a climax, and continued his ministrations until she stopped twitching, then he moved up a few inches and rested his cheek on her belly.

  Holly’s breathing became normal. “I had forgotten how good you are at that,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  “And I had forgotten how good a pillow you are,” Stone replied.

  She pulled him up by his ears until his head rested between her breasts. “Have two,” she said.

  “Gladly.”

  “So what do you make of Dino’s running off with Shelley Bach?” Holly asked. “The word is that she and her boss, Kerry Smith, have been an item since before the last presidential election. Do you know their story?”

  “Nope,” Stone sighed.

  “They were assigned to find out if Martin Stanton, whom Will Lee had picked as his vice presidential candidate, was actually born in the United States.”

  “I remember something about that, but I’m not sure what.”

  “They determined that his mother, who was Mexican, gave birth to him in an ambulance shortly after they crossed the border, on the way to a maternity hospital in San Diego.”

  “But he had an American father, didn’t he? Would it have mattered on which side of the border he was born?”


  “I have no idea,” Holly said, “but you can be sure the Republican right wing would have had a field day with it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Where did you say Dino went with Bach?”

  “To a cocktail party at the British Embassy. Why, do you miss them?”

  She slapped him lightly on the cheek that was not pressed to her breast. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  “Listen,” Stone said.

  “Listen to what?”

  “I think I heard the front door open.”

  “And I think I heard Dino’s door close,” Holly said, giggling. “Who knew Dino was such a swordsman?”

  “Dino does all right with the ladies,” Stone said.

  “Is this going to make for an embarrassing breakfast meeting?” she asked.

  “It won’t embarrass me.”

  “It might embarrass Shelley, to see me here.”

  “So, let’s embarrass her.”

  “Where do you stand on your investigation?” Holly asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, you want to talk dirty now, do you?”

  She slapped his cheek again. “Just give me your opinion.”

  “Well,” Stone said, “we haven’t been able to prove that Brixton Kendrick didn’t murder his wife, and, I must say, it was very unhelpful of him to leave a note taking responsibility for her death. Somehow, you didn’t mention that.”

  “It was in the report I gave you.”

  “Yes, I finally found it, afte ^siz a="1em"r I had been told it was there.”

  “Don’t blame me.”

  “Why not? I’m certainly not going to blame myself.”

  “I didn’t expect you to,” she laughed.

  “Somehow, I don’t necessarily equate his taking full responsibility with a confession of murder.”

  “The FBI does,” Holly said.

  “Shelley mentioned that,” Stone said. “Of course, the FBI wants desperately for it to be true, because that way they don’t have to find a murderer.”

  “Have you got a candidate for that title?”

  “Well, I don’t believe it was the president, the vice president, or the secretary of state-or either of the secretary’s associates,” Stone said.

  “That’s very patriotic of you.”

  “Each of them has the others for an alibi, and that’s tough to shake.”

  “You have a point,” Holly said.

  Stone crawled up the bed and rested his head on the pillow next to Holly’s. “Dino found the murder weapon, though.” He told her about the brick. “We’ll get the lab report in the morning, so I guess we can hope the murderer spat or bled or sweated on it.”

  “That would certainly simplify things, wouldn’t it?” Holly said.

  “Yes, but life is rarely that simple, and murder, even more rarely.”

  “Can I quote you on that? Or are you stealing from Sherlock Holmes?”

  “That was entirely original,” Stone said, “or at least, I can’t remember anybody else ever saying that, and I haven’t read Sherlock Holmes since about the eighth grade.”

  Holly didn’t reply, and her breathing had become slow.

  Stone’s breathing followed hers, and shortly, he was asleep, too.

  Stone and Holly appeared for breakfast in robes and found Dino and Shelley, in robes, already attacking their meal.

  “We ordered for you, too,” Dino said.

  “Good morning, Holly,” Shelley said, without apparent embarrassment.

  “Good morning, Shelley, Dino,” Holly replied, shaking out her napkin and pouring herself and Stone some orange juice. “I hear your conclusions in the investigation are holding up.”

  Shelley nodded. “I expected them to, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Holly said. “This wasn’t my idea. Actually, Stone and Dino were my idea, but only after I had my orders.”

  “I like your choice of investigators,” Shelley said, pulling Dino’s earlobe.

  “So do I,” Stone said, helping himself from a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon.

  “Then nobody has any complaints?” Holly asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” Stone replied. “First, I want to see the lab report on the brick.”

  Shelley got up and went to a telephone, held a brief conversation, then hung up and came back to the table. “The lab report is on my desk,” she said.

  “And?” Dino queried.

  “The blood on the brick is that of Emily Kendrick, so we have the murder weapon.”

  “Okay,” Stone said. “What else?”

  “There was no deposit of DNA by another individual,” Shelley said.

  “Shit!” Dino muttered.

  “However,” Shelley said, making sure she had everybody’s undivided attention before continuing, “there was something else deposited.”

  Everybody stared at her in silence, waiting for the news.

  “Lipstick,” Shelley said. “Don’t you want to know what kind of lipstick?”

  “I’m just dying to know,” Dino replied.

  “Pagan Spring,” Shelley said, “from a house brand made for a national drugstore chain.”

  “What’s a Pagan Spring?” Dino asked.

  “In this case,” Shelley said, “pinkish.”

  “Pinkish?”

  “Not exactly pink, but pinkish.”

  Stone interrupted. “I take it this is a cosmetic used by potentially tens of thousands of women in the D.C. area?”

  “Indeed,” Shelley said.

  “Shit!” Dino said again.

  11

  Holly and Shelley had left the suite, and Stone and Dino were on their second cups of coffee. The phone rang, and Stone got it. “Yes?”

  “I’m calling for Director of Central Intelligence Katharine Rule Lee,” a woman’s voice said. “To whom am I speaking?”

  “This is Stone Barrington.”

  “Director Lee would be pleased if you and Lieutenant Bacchetti could join her for lunch in her dining room today at twelve-thirty.”

  “Please tell her we’d be pleased to join her,” Stone said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrington. There’ll be visitors’ passes for you at the main gate. Would you like directions?”

  “Yes, please.” Stone wrote everything down, thanked her, and hung up. “I hope you and Assistant Director Bach haven’t planned a matinee for today,” he said to Dino.

  “Funny you should mention it,” Dino said. “I was just thinking about that.”

  “Director Lee has invited us to lunch at the Agency.”

  “No kidding? I’ve never been there.”

  “Neither have I, but I have directions,” Stone replied, waving a piece of paper.

  Entry to the Central Intelligence Agency’s grounds was very much like entry to the White House grounds. They gave their names at the gate, were checked off a list, then given visitors’ passes and directed to a parking spot. They were met on the ground floor by a fiftyish woman who introduced herself as Director Lee’s assistant and led them through the security gate and to an elevator, along the way passing a wall where nameless stars represented agents who had lost their lives in the line of duty.

  The director’s dining room was pleasant, paneled in a light wood, and featured fo qblf duty.a large window with a view of the woods surrounding the building. Holly was already there, sipping fizzy water.

  “Why, Mr. Barrington, Lieutenant Bacchetti, what a surprise to bump into you,” she said gaily.

  Before they could respond, the director breezed into the room, followed by her assistant, who was jotting notes on a steno pad. “And tell them to be quick about it,” Kate Lee said, then took a seat at the table, waving the others to chairs. “I’m very much afraid that this is not going to be a very good lunch,” she said, “because I’m on a diet, and you have to suffer along with me.”

  A small salad of some sort of leaves, splashed with lemon juice, was served.

  “All right,” the director said, a
fter they had begun to eat.

  Stone recited what they had learned so far, which he knew would not please her, but she perked up when he came to the brick with the lipstick on it.

  “Tell me,” she said, “how do you think lipstick got to be on the brick? Did the murderer kiss it?”

  Her question was met with silence.

  “Maybe Mrs. Kendrick was wearing it,” Dino said hopefully.

  “No,” Holly replied. “She had just come from a tennis date.”

  “Well,” the director replied, “I have played tennis with women who were wearing lipstick, but Mimi Kendrick never wore makeup at all. She had this glowing skin that cosmetics had never touched, and she looked great.”

  “The lipstick does suggest that the murderer was a woman, though,” Stone said.

  “Or a transvestite,” the director murmured.

  Holly couldn’t resist laughing. “At the White House? That would be something!”

  “Yes,” the director said, “it would be something, but you’re right, Stone, it’s hard to come to any other conclusion but that the murderer was a woman.”

  “Or,” Dino said, “a man with a tube of lipstick who left some on the brick, just to drive us crazy.”

  “That would indicate premeditation,” Stone said, “but a brick is not a weapon of premeditation, just the first thing the murderer could lay his or her hands on.”

  “Stone’s right,” Dino said. “A premeditator would bring a knife or a gun.”

  “Not at the White House,” Holly pointed out. “He-or she-would never be able to get a weapon past security.”

  Everybody was quiet again.

  Stone finally spoke up. “Of the people on the FBI’s list of those in the area, six were women: Charleston Bostwick, one undersecretary of state, one Secret Service agent, and the president’s three secretaries. And they all have unimpeachable alibis.”

  They waited while a waiter took away their salad plates and replaced them with dinner plates, each containing a spoonful of a green substance and a single lamb chop.

  “Well, there is one helpful thing about this information,” the director said, finally. “I never knew Brix Kendrick to wear lipstick.”