D.C. Dead sb-22

by Stuart Woods

  “Good. My son is opening his first play at Yale this weekend, and I want to be there.”

  “I want to be there, too,” Dino said, “since my boy is the producer. I’m counting on him to make a big success so he can take care of me in my old age.”

  “I want Kerry to issue a press release,” Holly said, “saying that the investigation is now closed. We need that.”

  “That’s problematical,” Shelley said. “Kerry is a cautious man. He’s not going to want to nail himself to that kind of statement. I think it’s better if the White House issues the announcement.”

  “I don’t think the president is the person to issue a statement about a criminal investigation,” Holly said, “and I don’t think the first lady will think so, either.”

  “The attorney general, then,” Shelley said.

  “He’s not involved in this,” Holly pointed out. “This should be done at Kerry’s level. I’m not suggesting that the director of the FBI put his imprimatur on it.”

  “You can try, but I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’m going to be the one to carry the water on this.”

  “Maybe an assistant director is good enough,” Holly said, “but Kerry is worth a shot.”

  The following morning, Stone and Dino drove over to the Hoover Building, parked in the basement garage, and took the elevator up to the executive floor, where Kerry Smith received them. Holly and Shelley were already there.

  After offering them coffee, Kerry tossed a copy of the Washington Times onto the coffee table, open to an inside page. “You all look as if you’re enjoying yourselves,” he said.

  Stone picked up the paper and saw the photograph taken of them the previous evening. They were all named, except Holly, who had a menu in the way, and she was called “an unidentified woman.”

  Stone passed the paper around.

  “Why couldn’t I be the ‘unidentified woman’?” Shelley asked.

  “We were just having dinner, Kerry,” Stone said. “We can’t worry about some gossip guy with a camera.”

  “Of course not,” Kerry replied. “Okay, tell me where you are and where you’re going with your investigation.”

  “Where we are is at the end,” Stone said. “Where we’re going is back to New York.”

  “Have you told the president this?”

  “We thought we’d let the first lady do that.”

  “She told him last night,” Holly said. “He apparently took it well.”

  “And who’s going to explain all this to the media?” Kerry asked.

  “That would be you,” Holly said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “It shouldn’t come from the director, nor from someone any lower than you.”

  “Just what would you like me to say?”

  “Send a fax to the AP and Reuters, and to the big papers, if you want to, saying that an investigation has determined that the probable murderer was Charlotte Kirby, who then took her own life.”

  “The ‘probable’ murderer?”

  “All right, the likely murderer. Or just the murderer. You shouldn’t sound uncertain.” She explained about the absence of fingerprints on the gun’s magazine and the ammunition.

  “I guess that’s a decent theory,” Kerry said. “Where is the Arlington PD in all this?”

  “I took it away from them as soon as I heard about it, I heardt i” Kerry Shelley said, “on the grounds that Kirby was a federal employee. Dave King and his people own the case.”

  “Have Dave King write a memo to you, recommending that the case be concluded, and copy me.”

  “I’ll get it done this morning,” Shelley replied.

  “I’m going to have to run this by the director.”

  “Of course, Kerry, by all means,” Holly said. “Nobody’s trying to hang you out to dry. We’ve all bought into this.”

  “Is that true?” Kerry asked, looking at the group.

  Everybody nodded.

  “Okay. You all have a second cup of coffee while I take this down the hall to the director.” He put on his coat and left the office.

  “I thought that went well,” Holly said.

  “It went well only if the director buys it,” Shelley said.

  They chatted desultorily for the minutes before Kerry returned.

  “All right,” he said, “the director is on board. As soon as I get Dave King’s memo and Shelley’s written recommendation, we’ll get it on the wire services, probably around five. Everybody, and that includes all of you, will be unavailable for comment. Clear?”

  There was a murmur of assent, then everybody went their separate ways.

  Back in the car, Dino drove out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. “I feel relieved,” he said.

  “I’ll feel relieved when we’ve got wheels up,” Stone said. “It’ll have to be in the morning. There’s a line of thunderstorms between here and New York that I’m not going to fly through, because I don’t want to die.”

  “Once again, we agree,” Dino replied. “I don’t want to die, either.”

  51

  Stone and Dino got back to the Hay-adams, and Holly followed close behind. Holly called her office from the bedroom and then made several other calls.

  Stone went into the bedroom. “We’re ordering lunch. You want something?”

  “A club sandwich on rye with mayo and a Diet Coke,” Holly said, covering the phone. “Let me know when it comes.” She went back to talking on the phone.

  As Stone came out of the bedroom, Dino was hanging up the other line. “Shelley’s going to join us for a second farewell dinner. She insisted.”

  “Okay with me,” Stone said, “but I know this is because you just want to get laid one more time before we fly out of here.”

  “There’s that, too,” Dino said.

  Lunch arrived, and Stone went to get Holly, who was still on the phone.

  “Just keep a lid on the sandwich,” she said, covering the receiver again. “I’ll be there when I can.”

  Stone went back to the room service table and watched as the waiter served his pasta. He was ravenously hungry, he discovered.

  Dino took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger, then switched on the TV to find the Yankees game.

  While Dino watched in silence, Stone ran over the whole of their s burger,tay there, looking for some glitch, some loophole they hadn’t covered. Apart from the missing cell phone, he could think of nothing.

  Holly finally came out of the bedroom, sat down, and uncovered her sandwich. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I’ve been on a conference call with Tim Coleman at the White House and Kerry Smith. They finally hammered out a press release that we all agreed on. I represented the first lady in the argument.”

  “Was it all that tough?” Stone asked.

  “To get the White House, the CIA, and the FBI to agree on language? It doesn’t get any tougher than that.”

  “Are you happy with what they came up with?”

  “It’ll work, I think. The trick was to issue a statement that wouldn’t set off a wildfire of press questions. Everybody just wants this thing to die, now.”

  “How about the D.C. and Arlington PDs?” Dino asked. “Were they consulted?”

  “Are you kidding? I wasn’t about to open up that can of worms, and Kerry wasn’t either. He’ll call them and make sure they either decline comment or give bland answers, not disagreeing with the statement, if the media persist in going to them.”

  “God,” Dino said, “this whole business has made me appreciate how simple being an NYPD lieutenant is. Detect crime, solve crime, hand over to DA. That’s so nice, compared to what you have to go through in this town.”

  “I agree entirely,” Holly said. “I hate getting involved with police departments. We’re not supposed to dabble in domestic affairs, and it always makes me nervous when I have to talk to them, and especially ask them for favors.”

  They finished lunch and watched the game for the remainder of the afternoon.

/>   Shortly after five o‘clock Stone’s phone buzzed once on his belt, and a little chime sounded. “E-mail,” he said, pulling out the phone. He looked at the message. “It’s the statement from the FBI.” He read aloud: “‘Shelley Bach, assistant director of criminal investigation of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, announced today that the investigation into the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Brixton Kendrick and the subsequent deaths of four women-Milly Hart, Muffy Brandon, White House Deputy Chief of Staff Fair Sutherlin, and staffer Charlotte Kirby-has been concluded. Mr. Kendrick’s death has been confirmed as a suicide, as has the death of Ms. Kirby. It has also been concluded that the murders of the other four women were committed by Charlotte Kirby, before she took her own life.

  “‘White House Chief of Staff Tim Coleman said that the White House concurs with the results of the investigation and will have nothing further to say on the subject. Assistant Director Bach said,”Our investigation is closed, and the FBI will have no further comment.”’”

  “So they hung it on Charlotte, after all,” Holly said.

  IT WAS NEARLY eight o’clock when Shelley bustled into the suite. “God in Heaven,” she said, dropping her large handbag on the desk, “my cell phone hasn’t stopped since the release hit.” As if to confirm this, a sound like an old-fashioned telephone was emitted from the bag. Shelley, rummaging inside, came up with the phone and switched it off. “Now,” she said, “the media can go straight to voice mail!”

  Dino poured a scotch and handed it to her. “I think you need this.ith she

  “Thank you, I certainly do,” she said, downing half of the brown whiskey in one gulp.

  “Let me give you the other half of that,” Dino said, taking her glass from her. He replenished it, then returned it to her fist.

  She downed half of that, too.

  “Easy,” Stone said. “We don’t want to have to send you home in an ambulance.”

  “It’s the only thing that will simultaneously stop the adrenaline and restore the soul,” she said. “I’ve been fielding phone calls for three hours, always saying ‘no comment’ in one way or another. These people are relentless.”

  “Let’s get some food into you,” Stone said, handing out menus.

  “First, I have to spend ten minutes in the ladies’,” Shelley said, “if you will excuse me.” She got up and left the room, taking the remainder of her scotch with her.

  “That is one frazzled girl,” Holly said. “But by morning, it will be over, and her life will return to normal.” Holly’s cell phone began to ring.

  “And when will your life return to normal?” Stone asked.

  Holly checked the calling number. “It’s my office,” she said. “I have to take this.” She pressed a button. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “Where is it?” She listened again. “Hang on.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s our Tech Services,” she said. “They’ve got another hit on Fair Sutherlin’s cell phone.”

  “Oh, no,” Dino said, putting his face in his hands.

  “Where is it?” Stone asked wearily.

  Holly turned back to her phone. “Where? At Sixteenth and H Streets?”

  “That sounds familiar,” Stone said.

  “It’s the Hay-Adams Hotel.”

  Stone stared at her. “Here?”

  Holly went back to her phone. “Call the number,” she said, then waited.

  Stone and Dino waited, too.

  Then, faintly, from across the room, came the tinny, electronic sound of a band playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” by John Philip Sousa.

  The three of them turned and stared at Shelley Bach’s handbag.

  52

  Todd Bacon sat at his desk, working. he continued until eight P.M., when most of the staff in his department had left the building. Todd tidied his desk, locked his case files in his safe, then took a walk around Technical Services. The only people working were on computers, seemingly tracking a cell phone location.

  Todd walked to the weapons room, responsibility for the securing of which was his, as the senior officer present. He went into the vault and picked up an ordinary-looking briefcase. He set it on the steel table in the middle of the room and opened it, checked the contents carefully, then he took two loaded magazines from a shelf, put them into the briefcase, closed the door behind him, and turned the combination lock.

  He switched off the overhead lights, put on his jacket, and left the department, then the building. He drove out of the Agency grounds and headed for the southeastern side of the Distri lict of Columbia, setting Clinton Field into the navigator, since he had never driven there. It would take him the better part of an hour to arrive and get set.

  Teddy Fay and Lauren Cade began working in their kitchen in the hangar apartment at Clinton Field. Teddy put some oil and butter into a large pan with a little salt, then added twelve ounces of Arborio rice. He stirred the rice until it was golden, then began adding chicken stock, while Lauren browned a pound of Italian sweet sausages.

  Teddy stirred continuously for twenty-five minutes while adding stock to the rice, as Lauren sliced the sausages into bite-sized chunks. After the rice had absorbed the carton of stock and was thick, Teddy added half a carton of creme fraiche and half a cup of grated Parmigiano Italiano, while continuing to stir, then he added some green peas that he had cooked earlier and folded them into the dish.

  Lauren had set the table and opened a bottle of Amarone, a full-bodied Italian wine. She brought the plates to Teddy, and he heaped the risotto onto them.

  Todd Bacon parked across the street from Clinton Field, took the briefcase, and climbed over a fence around a water tank nearby. He judged the distance to the hangar’s lighted upstairs windows as about forty yards. He climbed the ladder to the top of the tank, about sixty feet high, then he set down the briefcase and opened it, exposing an unassembled Czech-made sniper rifle from the Cold War era.

  He assembled the weapon in the dim light as he had practiced in his office the day before, then he screwed the silencer and telescopic sight into place and shoved a magazine into the lightweight rifle.

  He sighted the weapon on the upstairs window of the hangar, and he could plainly see a man and a woman working at a stove. He swung the rifle to his right, took aim at a spot at the corner of another hangar, then he racked the action of the rifle and squeezed off a round. He could see it strike exactly where he had aimed.

  He swung the rifle back to the kitchen window and watched the woman carry two plates to a table and open a bottle of wine. She sat, facing the window, and Teddy pulled out a chair next to her. Teddy bent over and kissed her on the ear, then he lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips.

  Todd aimed at the back of Teddy’s head and squeezed off the round.

  “I love you,” Teddy whispered into Lauren’s ear, then he put a finger under her chin and tilted her head. He kissed her lovingly, then started to sit down. As he did so, there were the simultaneous sounds of glass breaking and a thud near him, as a chunk of Lauren’s forehead blew away and blood and brain matter spattered the wall behind her. Teddy knew, instantly, that she was dead, and he dove for the floor, as another bullet struck a plate of risotto and scattered it.

  More shots came through the metal side of the hangar, as the shooter tried to find him on the floor, but Teddy had quickly crawled away from the window. He heard someone shout from across the street.

  “Shit!” Todd yelled at the top of his lungs. Todd quickly disassembled the rifle, closed the briefcase, clenched the handle in his teeth, and jumped for the ladder, clamping it between his feet and sliding down it to the ground in seconds. He tossed the briefcase over the fence, then backed off and got a running start at it. He hit the middle of the fence with his left foot, and his momentum carried him up and over itnds. . He grabbed the briefcase and ran for his car.

  From the kitchen floor, huddled under the sink, Teddy heard the vehicle drive away. Teddy had no doubt who the shooter had been. He got an army blanket
from the bedroom and spread it over Lauren’s body, then, brushing away tears and regaining complete control of himself, he went to the computer and logged on to the CIA mainframe. In less than a minute he was into the personnel files, and seconds after that, he had Todd Bacon’s home address. Teddy knew exactly where it was, since it was only a quarter-mile or so from his former home.

  Teddy went to the bedroom, grabbed his ready bag, then took a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around Lauren’s body in the blanket. He lifted her onto his shoulder and took her downstairs to the hangar, where he set her gently down, then removed the passenger door from the airplane and stowed it in the rear seat.

  Feeling no time pressure, Teddy went back upstairs, cleaned up the gore in the kitchen, then tidied up. He sat down and ate some of the risotto, since he didn’t want to run out of steam later, then he put the rest down the garbage disposal and the dishes into the dishwasher and started it.

  He found a bottle of window cleaner and a dishcloth, and he went around the entire apartment, wiping down every surface that either he or Lauren might have touched. He went to his safe and removed his weapons and tools and took them down to the airplane, then he turned off the lights and went down to the hangar.

  He found a pair of aircraft jacks that, he reckoned, weighed forty pounds together, and a length of chain. He lifted Lauren’s body into the passenger seat and wrapped the chain around her waist, then, using shackles from his tool kit, fastened the jacks to the chain, setting them on the floor of the passenger side. Finally, he fastened the passenger seat belt around Lauren. He stowed his tools in the luggage compartment, then he did a walk-around of the airplane, checked the fuel, got into the pilot’s seat, and started the engine.

  A moment later, he used the remote control to open the rear bifold door, and he taxied the airplane out of the hangar, down the taxiway to the airfield’s single runway. He looked for traffic on final approach, saw none, heard none on the radio, and, without slowing or announcing his intentions on the air, taxied onto the runway and shoved the throttle forward.