D.C. Dead sb-22

by Stuart Woods

  There was a loud clink as the president dropped his fork onto his plate. “Where? How?” he asked.

  “She was bludgeoned to death in her apartment, apparently late this afternoon,” Shelley replied. “Her body was discovered by her building superintendent less than half an hour ago, and, knowing that she was a federal employee, he called the FBI. My people are on their way to the scene, and, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go over there now.”

  “Of course,” the president said. He and his wife stood and shook her hand. “Stone, Dino? I expect you’ll want to go there, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stone said, standing. He and Dino said their good-byes.

  “Holly,” Kate Lee said, “you’d better go, too. I want a full report as soon as possible.”

  The four left the quarters and got into the elevator.

  “I don’t think we’re going to be able to pin this one on Charlotte Kirby,” Stonirby,”e said as they rode down.

  45

  They arrived at Fair Sutherlin’s apartment building and took the elevator upstairs. The door to her apartment stood open, and men in suits were inside.

  “Wait here a moment,” Shelley said. She took latex gloves, a hairnet, and booties from her handbag and donned them, then disappeared inside. A moment later, an agent appeared and issued the same equipment to Stone, Dino, and Holly.

  “Careful, aren’t they?” Dino said. “Most cops would just blunder into the place.”

  Fair Sutherlin’s body lay under a sheet in the living room.

  Shelley called a man over. “This is Special Agent Dave King,” she said, “the supervisor on this investigation.”

  “I thought that was you,” Holly said.

  Shelley shook her head. “Dave and his people are homicide specialists. I’m just a bureaucrat, as far as they’re concerned.”

  “That’s not true,” Dave King said to them. “Assistant Director Bach always sees something we don’t. We’re happy to have her at a scene.”

  Shelley made a motion with her hand, and Dave King stooped and pulled back the bloodstained sheet. Fair’s face bore an expression of surprise. The eyes were open, the right side of her head was crushed, and her hair was matted with blood.

  Stone turned away, feeling horribly sad.

  “Maybe this homicide isn’t connected to the others,” Holly said.

  “That’s nice of you, Holly,” Stone replied, “but it’s clear that Dino and I backed away from this too soon.”

  “Thanks, Holly,” Dino said, “but Stone’s right.”

  Shelley spoke up. “If this is connected, and I’m inclined to think it is, then Fair must have been having an affair with Brix Kendrick, too. All the other victims were.”

  “We never turned up any evidence to connect her to Brix,” Stone said.

  “Just one more thing we missed,” Dino added.

  Dave King brought over a large clear plastic bag containing what appeared to be a marble statuette, covered with blood. “The murder weapon,” he said.

  “That’s a weapon of opportunity,” Dino said. “Indicates her murderer didn’t necessarily come here to kill her. Indicates anger, too. But it wasn’t a burglary gone wrong. I’ll bet nothing’s missing.”

  Fair’s large handbag, tagged, sat on the floor near her body.

  “Anything missing from that?” he asked Dave King. “Money? Credit cards?”

  “The bag seems to be intact,” King replied.

  “May we look in the bedroom?” Stone asked.

  “Sure, just don’t move anything.”

  Stone walked into the bedroom and looked around. It seemed the same as it had been on his earlier visit. Her tube of Pagan Spring lipstick was still on the dresser. So much for clues, he thought.

  Dino walked to the dressing table and raised the lid on a jewelry box. “Some nice pearls,” he said, “and a few rings and bracelets.”

  “You’re right,” Stone said, “it wasn’t a burglary.”

  There was a scream from the other room, and they both ran back there. The young woman who had shown them into Fair Sutherlin’s office earlier stood in the doorway, being consoled by Shelley Bach, who finally got her quieted down.

  “Who are you?” Shelley asked.

  “My name is Rose Marie Dyvig,” she said, and spelled the last name, as if she were accustomed to doing so. “I’m Ms. Sutherlin’s secretary. One of them.”

  “Dino and I can confirm that,” Stone said.

  “I came to check on her,” the young woman said. “She got a call on her cell phone late this afternoon and left the White House, saying she’d be back in an hour. I waited for her, because I had some papers to deliver that needed her signature. Finally, I called her a couple of times, and when I didn’t get a reply and when she didn’t come back, I came over here.”

  Shelley sat her down and turned to Dave King. “Did you find her cell phone?” she asked.

  “No, there wasn’t one anywhere in the room-not in her handbag, either.”

  “The murderer took it,” Dino said, “so we couldn’t check it to see who called her this afternoon.”

  “That was very thorough,” Stone said. “I wonder what else she took.”

  “Why do you think it was a woman?” Holly asked.

  “It’s the March Hare,” Stone replied.

  “Who else?” Dino asked.

  “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do here,” Shelley said. “Let’s get out and let my people do their work.”

  Shelley walked Rose Marie Dyvig to her car, parked at the curb, then Stone and Dino went to the Agency SUV that they had been loaned, and Shelley and Holly to their respective cars.

  “You ladies may as well join us for dinner at the Hay-Adams,” Stone called out. They both nodded and got into their cars.

  “Have you told the hotel we’re checking out tomorrow?” Dino asked.

  “No.”

  “Just as well. Looks like we’re not going anywhere.”

  Room service did its usual fine work, and they dined without much chat. After dinner, the two couples adjourned to the bedrooms and closed the doors.

  Stone and Holly lay naked in bed, holding hands, but they had not otherwise touched each other.

  “You seemed familiar with Fair Sutherlin’s apartment,” she said. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Yes,” Stone said. “Once. Dino and I went to a dinner party there, too.”

  “Don’t get the idea that I mind,” Holly said.

  “Thanks for not minding.”

  “We don’t have that kind of relationship,” Holly said. “What was your impression of her?”

  “I liked her. I admired the way she did her work.”

  “Do you think she had an affair with Brix Kendrick?”

  “On no evidence but evidencethe manner of her death, yes.”

  “I wish I had met the guy,” Holly said. “I’d like to see what sort of man could string together that many affairs and get away with it in a town where everybody talks about everybody.”

  “You could argue that he didn’t get away with it,” Stone said. “He’s dead, after all.”

  “Do you think the March Hare killed Charlotte Kirby?”

  “We never saw a gun, did we? I certainly want to see the police report. Can you get it for me?”

  “Better if Shelley does that,” Holly said. “She has an official reason to ask for it, and I don’t.”

  Stone chuckled. “That doesn’t seem to stop you from getting what you want from the cops.”

  “Better not to ask too often,” Holly said. She raised herself onto one elbow. “Stone, do you have any idea, any thoughts at all, about who the March Hare is?”

  “No,” Stone said. “Not an idea, not a thought.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  46

  Stone and Holly emerged from the bedroom to find Dino breakfasting alone. “Shelley had an early meeting,” he said. “Your breakfast is
on the sideboard.”

  Stone and Holly helped themselves from the hot dishes and sat down. “I wanted to ask her to get us the police report on Charlotte Kirby’s murder,” Stone said.

  “I already thought of that. She’ll fax it over to us.”

  “Good man,” Holly said, looking at him funny. “You seem depressed, Dino. Not your usual cheerful self.”

  “Dino, cheerful?” Stone said, laughing.

  “I thought we were out of here this morning,” Dino said. “We’re not.”

  “That is depressing, isn’t it?” said Stone.

  “I don’t mind having you two around,” Holly said. “You put a little fun into my humdrum life.”

  “Humdrum my ass,” Dino snorted. “The stuff you get into at the Agency, you’re probably having too much fun!”

  “I wish we had some sort of lead-anything,” Stone said. “I don’t know what to do next.”

  “How about Fair Sutherlin’s cell phone?” Dino suggested. “It’s disappeared, and the murderer must have taken it.”

  Holly spoke up. “The Agency has a program for cell phone searches,” she said. “Can I use your laptop, Stone?”

  “Sure, it’s on the desk.”

  Holly sat down at the computer and began typing. “I’m logging on to the Agency mainframe,” she said, “then I can access the program.” She stopped. “There. What’s her number?”

  Stone got his iPhone, looked up the number, and read it out.

  Holly typed in the number, then waited, looking at the computer screen. “It’s searching.”

  “You could use that program at the NYPD, Dino,” Stone said.

  “We’ve had it for years, or something like it. Comes in useful now and then.”

  Holly checked the screen again. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe it’s been removed from D.C.,” Stone suggested.

  “No, this would find it anywhere in the world, unless it’s been smashed, the SIM card removed, or it’s where there’s no cell reception, like in a bomb shelter.”

  “So much for Fair’s cell phone,” Stone said.

  The fax machine on the desk rang and began spouting paper.

  “It’s the Arlington PD’s report on Charlotte Kirby’s killing.” He picked up the small stack of papers.

  “Charlotte was a federal employee. Why isn’t Shelley’s bunch handling that?” Dino asked.

  “Maybe that’s only in D.C., not Virginia,” Holly said.

  “So, Stone, what does it say?”

  “Single gunshot wound to the head, probably self-inflicted. A Walther PPK/S .380 found at the scene.”

  “I didn’t see a gun, did you?” Dino asked.

  “No, and I went to the bedside and opened the table drawer, so I was close enough.”

  “Maybe it fell off the bed or got tangled in the covers,” Holly offered.

  “No evidence of the presence of another person in the room,” Stone said. “Looks like a straight-up suicide to me.”

  “I’ll buy that,” Dino echoed.

  Stone handed Holly the file, and she began to read through it. “Here’s something: they found a box of ammo in her underwear drawer, with six missing. The gun had five in the magazine, and there was a single empty cartridge on the bed.”

  “There you go,” Dino said. “She did herself.”

  “Do you think Charlotte knew more about the March Hare than she told us?” Stone asked.

  “She poured out everything else,” Dino said. “Why would she hold back on that? She must have hated whoever it is.”

  “Holly,” Stone said, “does it say anything about prints on the ammo box?”

  Holly flipped through the reports. “Here it is: no prints on the box or on the ammo in the magazine or on the magazine. Charlotte’s prints were on the gun.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” Stone said. “How did Charlotte load the gun and leave no prints on the magazine or cartridges?”

  “Either she wore gloves, or she wiped them,” Holly said.

  “Why would she do either of those things? After all, she was about to kill herself. Why would she care about her prints?”

  “The March Hare would care,” Dino said, “pardon my rhyme.”

  “All the others suffered blunt trauma,” Holly said. “Why is Charlotte different?”

  “My guess is, the March Hare lay in wait for the others,” Dino said, “but she found Charlotte in bed and it was easier to shoot her.”

  “Did they run the gun, Holly?” Stone asked.

  Holly consulted the file. “Bought used, at a gunshop in Richmond, Virginia, the year before last. Buyer named G. B. Smith, whose address was a phony.”

  “Virginia is notorious for phony gun

  sales,” Dino said. “We see the results on the streets of New York all the time.”

  “We’re knocking ourselves out for nothing,” Stone said. “The March Hare is careful, we already know that.”

  “Tell you the truth, I thought Fair was our woman,” Dino said. “I didn’t like her attitude yesterday.”

  “I never thought so.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Dino said, “she was too nice.”

  “No, just too straightforward. She had a full life-she didn’t have time to go around murdering people.”

  “So,” Dino said, “we’ve got a very careful serial killer.”

  “Looks that way,” Stone said. “And that’s all we’ve got.”

  47

  Teddy Fay and Lauren Cade lay naked on the beach at Gay Head, on Martha’s Vineyard. It was Sunday afternoon. Most of the other nudists, all locals, with beach parking permits, had gone. Teddy and Lauren had sneaked down the trail from the parking lot and had managed to blend in with the couples and families who had been enjoying the sun on their bodies. They had enjoyed a long weekend in a B and B in Edgartown.

  They packed their dirty dishes into the picnic hamper, folded their blanket, then got back into their clothes. It was a bit of a hike up the cliffs, and they were puffing a bit when they got to the car.

  Teddy got the rental started and they began driving to the airport.

  “You know,” Lauren said, “this island might make a better place to live than D.C. It’s lovely here.”

  “It is,” Teddy agreed, “but remember, it has a New England winter, and what with one airport and a ferry to deal with, it’s a hard place to get out of, should we have to leave in a hurry.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “But let’s find a place that has a good climate year-round, and where escaping our pursuers isn’t such a problem.”

  “We had a place like that in La Jolla,” Teddy said. “The San Diego weather was great year-round, but we were run out of there.”

  “But you did say they aren’t pursuing us anymore,” Lauren pointed out.

  “That’s what they agreed to,” Teddy said. “Now we have to find out whether they really meant it, and to do that without getting caught we have to be ready to move on a moment’s notice.”

  “For how long?”

  “A year, maybe.”

  “Or we could just go now,” Lauren said.

  “If we went now, where would you want to go?”

  “How about Asheville, North Carolina?” she asked. “I was there once, and they seem to have a good year-round climate, not too hot in the summers or too cold in the winters.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Teddy said. “Maybe we could fly down there next weekend, if the weather cooperates, and take a look at it.”

  “That would make me feel as if we’re doing something,” Lauren said, “not just waiting for something terrible to happen.”

  “Nothing terrif we’re ble is going to happen,” Teddy said. “Not if we go on being careful.”

  “I just can’t get over the feeling that we’re living too close to the Agency, that sooner or later we’re going to bump into someone from your past that we’d rather not see.”

  “I know, baby,” Teddy said, patting her on the knee. He pulled
into the little Vineyard airport. They parked the car in a rental slot and left the contract and the keys with the rental car agency. They stowed their luggage in the airplane, and Teddy did his usual careful preflight inspection of the airplane.

  They took off to the south, headed back to Clinton Field, in D.C., and their comfortable hideout hangar. Teddy figured to be on the ground there before dark.

  Todd Bacon landed at Clinton Field in the Agency’s Bonanza, usually kept at Manassas Airport, in Virginia, and taxied to the FBO, where he ordered fuel. There were two airplanes ahead of him, waiting for the fuel truck. The delay would give him time to have a look around.

  Late on a Sunday afternoon, students were still doing touch-and-goes, and pilots based at the field were coming back from weekends away. Todd strolled nonchalantly over to the rows of hangars, where airplanes were being put away.

  His number two had been fuzzy on which hangar he suspected of being Teddy’s, so as he walked, he mentally eliminated the ones where he could see the owners taking care of their airplanes.

  Todd wore a baseball cap and sunglasses; he didn’t want to be noticed among the locals, especially by Teddy himself. He had not been able to keep the couple out of his thoughts, and he knew that coming here was against the clear instructions that Holly Barker had given him to think of Teddy as dead. He wasn’t even sure what he would do if he came face-to-face with the old man. He was armed, sure, but Teddy would be, too, and he couldn’t get into a gunfight in a place like this.

  As he came to the end of a row of hangars he looked up and saw, silhouetted against the setting sun, a Cessna 182 RG on final for the runway. Same airplane as Teddy’s, but of course it was a different color. This one was two tones of blue, with red stripes, not a factory-issue paint scheme.

  He watched it touch down, then brake and turn off the runway, and in the moment of that turn, the setting sun illuminated the pilot. He wasn’t young, and, like Todd, he was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses. Todd couldn’t say he recognized him, since he had never seen Teddy up close, but there was a younger woman seated next to him, and he had seen her before, he thought, in San Diego.