“You’re right. No one saw anything, and you can believe that everyone within a several block radius has been interviewed by experts.” Ben put the photos in his pocket, and finished off his last slice of pizza. He looked from one woman to the next. All of them seemed to blur together, forming one image in his mind. They seemed united, and in that moment, he had no doubt they would pull Margaret Califano through this tragedy by sheer force of will.
He looked at his watch, saw that it was after ten o’clock. He rose, nodded to all the women. “Callie, I believe you and I are going to be having dinner with Savich and Sherlock tomorrow evening.”
She rose to stand beside him. “Yes. I understand Savich is a great cook. Is that okay with you, Mom?” In her question she included all her mother’s friends as well.
“Certainly,” said Janette. “We’ll all be here tomorrow night. We’re going to have a potluck dinner; our families will be here as well. We’re very pleased that you’re working with the FBI and the local police, Callie.” She patted her arm. “It also helps keep your mind occupied, doesn’t it?”
“Actually, it helps me focus on who killed my stepfather and Danny. If it’s Günter, I want him caught as badly as all of you do. Ben, I’ll walk you out.”
He shrugged on his black leather jacket, pulled on his black leather gloves. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned back. “My mom has only one close woman friend. This is new to me. They’re quite a unit, aren’t they?”
“A unit—yes, that’s a good word for them. All of them are incredible women.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Savich wants us to see Fleurette. He said four other agents have already spoken with her, but he wants us to focus on her lunch with Danny on Friday. He says his gut is dancing, and tells him there’s got to be something more there. He wants us to take a crack at it.” Ben paused, grinned. “He wants to know exactly where they sat in the sandwich shop, what they ate, and the color of Fleurette’s toenail polish, everything about that lunch until they got back to the Supreme Court.”
“Sure, we can give it a shot. Do you know, it feels weird to be sleeping here. I never did very much since they bought the house after I went to college. I’d like to go back to my apartment, but I can’t yet.”
“Be patient, Callie. Now, tomorrow evening, dinner will be about six. Savich said he’ll have Sean fed by then. I think his sister and her fiancé will be there too. Savich doesn’t want to talk shop, but I’ll just bet you we will.” He reached out and lightly cupped her cheek in his gloved hand. “You okay?”
Callie didn’t think, leaned into his hand, and stared up at him. “Sonya said you wanted to sleep with me.”
He didn’t move his hand. “That’s what you two were talking about in the kitchen?”
“For just a couple of minutes.”
“Sonya really said that?”
“Yes. She said you never looked below her face. She couldn’t believe it.”
Ben grinned at that. “The woman’s built, but I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“She said I was blind, she said you were interested.”
“Is this a roundabout way to ask me if I am?”
“Truth is, I’ve never been very good at the man-woman thing. Yeah, tell me, I’d like to know.”
“The answer’s yes.” Slowly, he moved his hand from her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It’ll be Friday. A week anniversary.”
“Yes.”
“Does Savich want to hypnotize Fleurette like he did Annie Harper?”
“He hasn’t said. Let’s take a crack at her first.”
She smiled up at him. “Isn’t it odd, Detective Raven? Here you are with this bird name, and you’re not such a bad guy after all. You haven’t bitched about taking me along with you in at least forty-eight hours.”
“That long? Hmm. Well, the thing is,” he said simply, “you’ve got a good brain.”
Callie flushed. “I—thank you. Yes, thank you, Ben.”
GEORGETOWN WASHINGTON, D.C. THURSDAY EVENING
“I’M COMING.”
A few minutes later, Savich walked into their shared office, holding Sean over his shoulder, lightly rubbing his boy’s back in light soothing circles. “He had a nightmare. What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She was grinning even as she patted Sean’s cheek. “He okay now?”
“I think so. What are you up to? What surprise?”
“I know you wanted to get to work on Samantha Barrister, but you’ve been too busy to do much, so I contacted both the Boston and the Pittsburgh field offices on Tuesday. I massaged a few egos, and when that didn’t work, I called in a couple of favors, convinced them this was important and required immediate attention.”
“Why the Boston field office?”
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes. I’ve had MAX working on everything too, but so far he hasn’t found much since all this happened in the early seventies.” Sherlock waved a nice thick folder at him. “But no matter, we’re in business. Sit down, Dillon, just you listen, my man, to what I’ve found out.”
Savich stared down at his wife. “Have I told you lately that my Porsche isn’t in the same ballpark with you? You’re amazing.”
She stood up and hugged him and Sean to her. “I like hearing that. After you chew over what I’ve got, I’ll bet you’ll even agree to give me the Porsche if I ask you.”
“That could be pushing it, sweetheart, but I’m open.” He sat down next to her and settled Sean against his chest.
Sherlock sat next to him and opened the folder. “Let’s begin with Blessed Creek, Pennsylvania, 1973, population of about three thousand seven hundred and eighty-five souls. The Barristers were the big cheeses, no one else remotely close to them in influence and wealth. They owned the only tourist facilities around Lake Klister, the six gas stations in the area, and Mr. Barrister was the mayor, had been for twenty years. He also owned the local bank and the two biggest grocery stores. It was the senior Barrister who built the big house on that knoll outside Blessed Creek.
“They had three sons. Townsend Barrister, the eldest, married a woman named Samantha Cooper, in 1964. It was a really big bash that included nearly all the townspeople. It was in the middle of the summer, a big barbecue at the house. The Barristers brought in all kinds of help. They really did it up right.”
Savich, still rubbing Sean’s back, said, “So they approved of their firstborn son’s marriage?”
“It appears so, but I can’t be sure. I’ll need to go deeper. The couple moved into the big house with the two brothers and the parents.”
“Ouch.”
“Wasn’t so bad. As you know from firsthand experience, that house is huge.”
“You got any feel for how she got along with her brothers-in-law?”
Sherlock turned to see him rocking slightly in his chair, Sean held tightly against him. She smiled. Such a familiar sight, it made her want to grin like a loon. She cleared her throat. “I’m reading between the lines in all this stuff—articles on the family, biographical info on the brother, everything the Pittsburgh office could pull together. The second brother, Derek was his name, was two years older than Samantha. He unexpectedly left home three months after Townsend and Samantha married. He joined the army, went to Vietnam and was killed within three months. The family was devastated.”
“Do you think he had the hots for his brother’s wife?”
“There’s no hint of anything like that, naturally, but it could explain his abrupt and unexpected departure. He was twenty-two, had just graduated from Penn State, was going to start training in his father’s bank, but he up and left and joined the army.”
“How about the youngest brother?”
“Jonathan. He was seventeen at the time, a senior in high school when Samantha and Townsend were married, and he remained living there until he went to Dartmouth that fall. He was a wild one, big into drugs—well, b
ut a lot of people were back then.”
Savich rose. “Give me a moment. Our boy is out. Let me go put him down.”
When Savich came back, he leaned down and kissed the back of her neck. “What happened to Jonathan?”
“He lives in Boston now. He’s very well-off, has three boys of his own, all married with children, and he’s still married to his first wife. He seems fine financially and psychologically, as in no public fits or aberrant behavior.”
“Okay, the parents. What happened to the senior Barristers?”
“Now that’s really strange. Both of them drowned in a boating accident on Lake Klister. That was one year to the day after Townsend married Samantha.”
“Was there any suspicion at all of foul play?”
“None that I’ve been able to see. One day they were there, hale and hearty, then the next day they were gone—there was no sudden storm or squall, nothing to explain why both of them fell out of their boat, other than talk of lots of booze. Evidently the senior Barristers liked their martinis, and they liked to be on the lake fishing while they drank—so it could be that simple. The belief is that one of them went overboard, the other went in to make a save, and both drowned.
“Townsend took over everything. Problem is that Townsend wasn’t the businessman his father was. But Samantha was. She began taking over very quickly. Then she got pregnant in 1966 and gave birth to Austin Douglas Barrister on August 14, 1967. Within a year she was running the whole show. It appears from the records that Townsend Barrister became something of a drunk, was arrested a couple of times on DUIs—out of the local area, so it couldn’t be kept out of the regional press, but still he had enough influence to have the charges quashed.
“It wasn’t in the local paper, naturally. Townsend also took up gambling, went to Las Vegas every two or three weeks.
“On August 14, 1973, on the very same day that they’d been married, the same day the senior Barristers drowned, the same day Austin Douglas Barrister was born, Samantha died as well. There was a huge party for Austin on the grounds of the house, a big barbecue for his sixth birthday. Samantha was running around seeing to everything. Townsend was manning the bar, probably drinking pretty steadily, and everyone seemed to be having a good old time, until they found Samantha. Here’s a quote from the Blessed Creek Weekly Journal: ‘Samantha Barrister’s body was discovered on the floor of her second-floor bathroom at three o’clock in the afternoon by one of the guests, Mrs. Emmy Hodges, who said she’d wanted to use the facilities and thought that Samantha’s bathroom would be free. “She was lying in blood,” said Mrs. Hodges, “it was under her, seeping all around her. It was horrible. I knew she was dead, knew it right away.” ’
“Then there’s the quote from newly elected Sheriff Doozer Harms, the sheriff we met in Blessed Creek just last Friday. He said, ‘Mrs. Barrister was stabbed through the heart by a person unknown.’ ”
“You’ve got a gleam in your eye, Sherlock. What else did you find out?”
“First thing I did was locate the widower, Townsend Barrister, same as you did. He’s in Boston. I managed to actually speak to him. He wasn’t real happy to hear from the FBI, but I kept after him until he opened up. Turns out he’s remarried to a woman who brought in lots of money that he hasn’t managed to go through yet. He has a new family, two daughters.
“Now, here’s why we couldn’t find out anything about his son, Austin Douglas. When I asked him where his son was, he hemmed and hawed until I threatened to have agents on his doorstep. He finally said that Austin Douglas up and disappeared the day he graduated high school. He’s never heard from him again, doesn’t have a clue where he is.”
Savich was surprised. “I didn’t expect this when I set MAX on Samantha’s murder. Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll locate him, no problem. I’ll give MAX the task of finding Austin.”
“I already did. It turns out to be quite a problem, for MAX and for everyone. When Austin Barrister up and left Boston at eighteen, he must have latched on to a new identity, because I can’t find him anywhere in the U.S.
“Boston field office is working on tracking him down, starting with interviewing the family and all his former high school friends.”
“Sounds like he was escaping,” Savich said. “I wonder why.”
CHAPTER
25
SUPREME COURT BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
FRIDAY MORNING
ELAINE LAFLEURETTE WASN’T in Justice Califano’s chambers, only Eliza Vickers, who had a phone tucked under one ear, her finger poised above the button of another ringing line. She looked up, nodded at them, and began speaking more quickly into the phone. Ben and Callie moved to the visitors’ chairs and sat down.
Two minutes later, Eliza laid the phone gently back into its cradle, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. “Sorry for the delay. Detective Raven, Callie, it’s good to see both of you.” She ran her hand through her straight hair. “It hasn’t stopped. We’re having to review all of Justice Califano’s unfinished work, decide which Justices and clerks will take over drafting majority and dissenting opinions on case votes already taken, and so much more—concurrences, join memos, bench memos, certs., but that’s not your concern.
“I’ve been offered help, but somehow, I need to do it myself. I also need to speak to Mrs. Califano about all of Stewart’s things.” Her voice trembled a bit, but almost immediately she had herself in control again. She even smiled at them. “I haven’t been able to reach her. Do you know where she is, Callie?”
“She went to the High Style Boutique at Tyson’s Corner,” Callie said. “Don’t you have her cell phone?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to intrude like that, it’s more personal.” Eliza slowly rose and stretched. “I’ve been here since six o’clock this morning, trying to get all the stuff cleaned up. Now, would you like some coffee? I’ve made some in Stewart’s office.”
“No, thank you. Actually, we were looking for Fleurette. Where is she? Why isn’t she here helping you?”
“What time is it?”
Callie said, “It’s nearly eleven.”
“Her uncle was killed in Vietnam on this date in 1975. She visits the Wall every year at this time. She won’t be back until noon.”
Ben nodded, paused a moment, studying her face. “Are you okay? Is there anything we can do, Eliza?”
For a moment Ben thought she hesitated, but then the phone rang, she shrugged, and said over her shoulder, “No, everything is under control. Well, not really, but it will be. The funeral, it was very nice, Callie. The President was eloquent. Your mother and her friends all did very well.”
“Yes, the President was eloquent, but then my stepfather was such a good man. It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone to say wonderful things about him.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Eliza said, then again, looked as if she might say something more—but then she reached for the phone, gave them a small wave, and turned away. Callie heard her say, “Justice Califano’s chambers. Eliza Vickers.”
Ben said, “We’re only about ten minutes from the Vietnam Memorial. You ever been there?”
“Yes. It’s always a two-handkerchief occasion, no matter how many times I go there. I think the Wall is the most moving memorial in all of Washington.”
“Yes, I agree with you. Nearly everyone lost someone in Vietnam. One of my father’s best friends managed to ship home with two shattered legs that healed in time, but his psychological wounds were more difficult. My father came here right after the Wall was finished. He saw his friend in a wheelchair in front of the Wall, looking for other friends who’d been lost over there. My father told me they spoke for some time, but he never saw him after that.”
It took them eight minutes to get to Constitution Gardens, a beautiful open space that pointed east to the Washington Monument and west to the Lincoln Memorial. Callie looked around the vast empty space as they pulled into a parking place on the street. “Well, it is Janu
ary, cold, and the only tourists likely to be here have to be from North Dakota.”
They walked down the path toward the Wall. They saw Fleurette immediately, standing at the middle of the Wall, completely still except for a single finger she was tracing over a name.
Ben cleared his throat as they came down the walk so as not to startle her. There were only three other people scattered along the Wall, three older men who looked cold and determined. Even from ten feet, Ben could see a sheen of tears in their eyes and hear their low voices. He knew they were talking about young men who hadn’t come home, but who’d left their names on a beautiful granite wall.
“Fleurette? It’s Detective Raven and Callie Markham.”
She seemed completely unaware of him for a moment. Then she slowly turned and straightened. “Is something wrong? What’s happened now?”
“Nothing. We wanted to speak to you.” He nodded to the Wall. Even though he knew, he asked, “Who is here for you?”
“My uncle, Bobby LaFleurette, my dad’s younger brother. He’d be in his fifties now, not young anymore.” She turned back, traced her fingers over his name. “He died in 1975, just months before the troop withdrawal. He was only twenty-one years old. I’m twenty-six. Isn’t that the strangest thing? He was so very young, and in many ways he’ll be young forever.”
Her finger traced again over the name, Robert R. LaFleurette. “His name comes right before Robert Petit and right after Douglas Mahoney. I’ve always wondered how they knew exactly who died in what order—that’s how they’re all listed, you know, in order of their death.”
Callie said, “Why do you come here, Fleurette?”
“Because Bobby was so young, because my father never stopped talking about him, how fun and wild he was, how he would have been such a hotshot in the business world, if only he’d survived the war. My father brought me here when the Wall first opened, back in 1984. I was six years old, and I remember it so very clearly.”
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