“I like the idea of delivering the flowers to all the residents on the street,” Isabelle said. “We’ve been up and down the Woodleys’ street a hundred times and there is no outside security that we could detect. My guess is the guy has a driver who picks him up and drops him off. Once he’s inside, he puts on his alarm system. He’s safe till the next day. The surveillance we conducted proved to us that once he’s home for the night, he stays put. We have the floor plans of his house. Nikki now has a key to the house. We can get in and out during the day if we have to, as long as someone covers the neighborhood. We can do it at night, too, if Charles shows us how to disarm his alarm system. I read this spy novel not too long ago where the main character was worried about getting kidnapped. The CIA gave him this gadget he wore twenty-four-seven. All he had to do was press a button and everyone came on the run to save him. Is there such a gadget? I don’t know. The book was, after all, fiction.”
Nikki leaned forward. “If we went in at night, we could get to him while he’s sleeping. If there is such a personal alarm, he’d probably wear it around his neck or on his wrist. Maybe it’s something built into his watch. If that’s the case, we sneak up and grab his arms. The guy’s a little squirt. I think we can take him with one hand tied behind our backs. Lights out is between twelve and one o’clock. The guy leaves at six thirty in the morning. That would give us five hours. Or, we can have him call his driver to say he’s sick if we need more time. I think we can do it.”
“I think so, too,” Myra said. “Charles, is it possible the NSA has a gadget like Isabelle described?”
“Absolutely, and probably more high-tech than you can imagine. If we knew for certain, I could jam the frequency, but I’d need to know exactly what it is.”
Nikki grimaced. “We need to get real here. There’s no way we can possibly find out what kind of security the NSA wears, much less the specific type. We’ll have to wing it. We could, of course, call him up and ask for the model number.” This last was said tongue in cheek.
“There are no animals that we know of to alert Mr. Woodley if we decide to go in at night. If we take Mr. Woodley away from the premises, that is kidnapping a federal employee,” Yoko said.
Kathryn made an ugly sound. “What do you think we did to Senator Webster, who was also going to run for the second highest office in the land? That little caper was about as federal as you can get.”
Alexis toyed with the pencil she was holding. “Then I vote we go in at night, do what we have to do and then leave. Before it gets light outside. Five hours is a pretty long time. If we synchronize our movements we shouldn’t have any problem. That’s my vote.”
“Girls, do you agree or disagree?” Myra asked.
Five hands, including Myra’s, shot in the air.
“All right, we’re in agreement. Now let’s plot out the night. Until we pick a specific evening, I think it would be wise if we continue our surveillance of Mr. Woodley and his residence,” Myra said quietly. “Charles, do you have anything you’d like to add?”
“Only that you all study the floor plans of the house so that you can find your way around in the dark. In addition, you’re going to need a secure parameter outside as well as at the entrance road to Kalorama. I’d like to make a suggestion. When you do your surveillance, pay close attention to the other houses on Benton and see what time the lights go out. Make a note of which houses leave their outside lights on. See if any of the houses have sensor lights. That might prove a little hard to do, as motion lights click on only if someone or something passes across the beam. If you all think it wise, I can place a call to Mrs. Woodley and ask her some of these questions, but by doing that I will be alerting her that something might be going on. She’s mending nicely and might be having second thoughts. It’s indicative of battered women once they start to heal.”
Nikki’s head bobbed up and down. “Charles is right; battered women, once they start to feel better, often backpedal. I vote no on calling Mrs. Woodley.” The others agreed. “That’s a no, Charles.”
Kathryn stood up. She looked down at her wrist. “It’s nine thirty. We might as well get ready and head for the District. I’ll have to take your car, Myra, if that’s all right with you. I’m going to take Murphy with me. After we do our drive-by I can park on a side street and walk him. A loose dog will give me a reason to go up over the lawn and around the back, especially if I toss a piece of meat in that direction.”
“That’s a great idea,” Isabelle said.
“I can do the same thing with Grady. Pick a time, Kathryn, so we don’t overlap our walk. We can meet back here at, let’s say one thirty, to be on the safe side.”
“It’s a plan,” Nikki said. “Let’s do it! But, I’m going to go home this evening after the surveillance. I need some clean clothes. We can meet up at that all-night burger stand on Pennington Street. Is that OK with everyone?”
The women agreed.
“Good luck, girls,” Myra said.
They all waved as they filed into a straggly line to exit the war room.
“You don’t look happy, dear. Is something bothering you?” Myra asked Charles.
“I am concerned about Mrs. Woodley. In the aftermath, the authorities will want to talk to her. I’m going to have to make plans to move her somewhere so that she can have an airtight alibi. I need to do that ASAP. She may balk. I’m going to have to come up with some plausible reason for moving her without giving anything away. As Kathryn would say, it’s not going to be an easy gig.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, dear; you always do, and then we all marvel at how brilliant you are. Let’s go upstairs and have a nice glass of wine and watch some television for a little while. I can fix us a sandwich if you like.”
Charles smiled. “Why is it you always say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time? Give me thirty minutes. I want to send off a few e-mails. A ham and cheese sandwich will be nice and a few of those fat sugar cookies. I’ll leave the wine up to you. Now scoot and let me get to work.”
Myra winked at Charles. He burst out laughing. She giggled all the way to the kitchen.
Seventeen
Ted Robinson let his gaze sweep the newsroom not once but twice. He blinked, unable to comprehend that Maggie Spritzer wasn’t at her computer. She was always the first one in, box of Krispy Kremes and a tray of decadent-flavored coffees for all of them. He knew she put it on her expense account, but it wasn’t about the money, it was that she cared enough to go out of her way for her colleagues. “Everyone,” she would say, “needs a sugar high to start the day at this zoo.” And she was right. He, for one, always looked forward to his hazelnut coffee and jelly doughnut. Today there was no coffee, no doughnuts and no Maggie Spritzer.
At thirty-five, she said, her biological clock was ticking but she was healthy as a horse, or so she claimed. Maggie never got sick. At least, he couldn’t ever remember her being sick or absent. Hell, she never even got a cold or the flu. She never took a vacation, either.
Ted shuffled over to Maggie’s desk as though the very act would make the freckle-faced redhead appear. He sniffed like a hound dog, hoping to pick up the scent of flavored coffee and fresh doughnuts. He looked around. “Anyone seen Maggie this morning?” A chorus of “no”s caused him to narrow his eyes. “Did anyone call to see if she’s all right?” For this question he received a block of blank stares. Ted shrugged and walked back to his own desk. His antenna went up as he continued to peruse the newsroom. There was still no sign of Maggie.
Ted flopped down in his ergonomic chair and swiveled it around so that he was facing the door to the newsroom as he struggled to remember what he knew about Maggie Spritzer. None of the staff were what you would call personal friends. Oh, they might meet up at the local watering hole for a beer at the end of the day, but they didn’t socialize beyond the doors of the Post. Maggie was a dynamo; everything they said about reporters fit Maggie to a T. She was relentless, tireless, and she had the no
se of a bloodhound, something the staff also said about Ted himself. The bottom line was that Maggie was damn good at what she did. Almost as good as he was. The space between his shoulder blades started to itch as he rummaged in his bottom desk drawer to find the staff list with all their addresses and home phone numbers. He didn’t stop to think; he simply dialed the number and listened to it ring on the other end. Seven rings later a curt message came on.
“We’re not here right now. Leave your name and number and one of us will return your call as soon as possible.” The “we” referred to Maggie and her Jack Russell, Daisy Mae. If you lived alone, it paid to pretend you shared an apartment with someone else because of all the nut cases walking around out there who had it in for reporters.
Ted left a message. “Maggie, it’s Ted. I’m just calling to see if you’re OK. I missed you this morning. If you’re there, give me a call at the paper.” He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. Maggie lived in a high-rise in Crystal City. He could go there if he wanted to. He looked up at the clock. He’d give her another hour and then he’d call again. If there was still no answer, he’d drive to Crystal City.
The newsroom took on a life of its own as reporters straggled in. The chatter was deafening as computers were turned on, the clicking of keys like a symphony. With nothing really pressing on his personal agenda today, Ted flipped his Rolodex till he found Jack Emery’s number at the DA’s office.
“Emery,” Jack said.
“It’s Ted, Jack. Listen, Maggie Spritzer didn’t come to work this morning.”
“And I need to know this…why? I sure as hell hope you aren’t calling me to ask the cops to put out an APB on your friend. Listen, I have to be in court in fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t you remember what I told you last night?” Talking as fast as he could, Ted outlined Maggie Spritzer’s work ethic, her attendance, her stamina and her bulldog tendencies where a story was concerned.
On the other end of the phone, Jack Emery’s own antenna shot upward. He knew exactly where Ted was going with all this. He needed to chop him off at the knees and he needed to do it right this minute. “Stop whining because you didn’t get your doughnut and coffee hand-delivered. Get some exercise and go buy your own. I gotta run, Ted. I’ll call you later in the day. Forget all that shit, OK, and keep remembering what happened last time you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.” Like that was really going to happen.
Ted gave the ergonomic chair a shove to the right. He swiveled around twice, disoriented when he finally stood up. Screw the hour’s wait. His gut told him something was wrong where Maggie Spritzer was concerned. He looked down at the staff roster again to memorize Maggie’s address. Since he was pretty much top dog at the paper, he didn’t have to report his comings and goings. He reached for his backpack and his jacket.
Ted tried calling Maggie twice during the forty-minute ride to Crystal City, but there was no answer. He now knew her greeting to callers by heart.
The high-rise boasted an underground parking lot. For some reason he was surprised at Maggie’s digs. He’d more or less expected her to live in a little cottage-style house with lots of flowers, trees and a backyard for her dog, Daisy Mae. He parked and took the elevator to the seventeenth floor. It was a nice building, he decided. Mirrored elevators and carpeted hallways with green plants in the corner. Everything smelled like it had just been painted.
Ted looked at the numbers on the apartment doors. Maggie’s was 1706, three doors down from the elevator. He rang the bell. When there was no response, he rang it again and kept his finger on it. He could hear nothing from inside the apartment. He took his finger off the bell and yelled that he wasn’t going to go away until she opened the door. When there was no response, he tried again.
“Open the goddamn door, Maggie, or I’m going to tell all your neighbors what you did at the last Christmas party.” To make his point, Ted jabbed the button and held it down again. That’s when he heard steps inside the apartment. The door opened with such force that Ted was thrown off balance.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Robinson? What are you doing here?”
For the first time in his life, Ted felt stupid. Shit, what if she had some guy in her bed? Maybe she was sick. She sure as hell looked sick. Where was the damn dog?
“You didn’t come to work,” he said stupidly. “You always come to work. You bring doughnuts and coffee. I wanted some this morning. I called you three times. I don’t care if you do have some guy in here, I’m coming in. Where’s the dog?”
Maggie burst into tears as Ted brushed past her. He quickly made the rounds of the two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment. Satisfied there was no one else there, he joined Maggie in the living room. To his reporter’s eye it looked to him like she was wearing the same clothes he’d seen her in yesterday.
“Talk.”
“About what?” Maggie said as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her yellow shirt.
“Well, let’s start with your dog. Where is she?”
“Daisy’s at the vet’s.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing here, Ted?”
“I want to know what happened. You’re a real hard-ass and I say that as a compliment. Why didn’t you come in today? I was worried about you. Things happen to people who live alone.”
“I didn’t feel like it, OK? Where is it written that I have to explain myself to you? You live alone and I don’t worry about you. Why should you be worried about me?”
“You’re a woman,” Ted said flatly. “Don’t make me beat it out of you. All this,” Ted said, waving his hand about, “has something to do with the NSA, right? You asked the wrong questions of the wrong people and some guys paid you a visit to warn you off. They probably kicked your dog to make a point. How am I doing so far?”
“You’re crazy, Robinson.”
“Yeah, crazy like a fox. Ask yourself why I’m walking around without a spleen these days. I can describe those guys right down to their socks. There’s also the little matter of those presidential gold shields. They scared the crap out of you, didn’t they? To make their point, they did something to your dog. Now, talk to me, Maggie. Between the two of us, we might be able to come up with a plan to get them off our backs. If it’s any consolation to you, those guys still have me in their sights.”
Maggie heaved herself to her feet and walked to the kitchen. She started to make coffee. Ted followed her and watched while she rummaged in one of the drawers for a pack of cigarettes. She fired one up.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t. Not really. Well, I do, usually one in the morning with coffee, sometimes one after dinner. Never in the car or the office. Some days I don’t smoke at all. I don’t consider myself a smoker. Why do you care anyway?”
“I don’t care, they’re your lungs. I was making conversation because you’re nervous and jittery. Maybe if you took a shower and changed your clothes you’d feel better. I’m a reporter so I notice things like that.”
“You need to mind your own business, Robinson. Do you want some coffee?”
“Well, sure. I don’t suppose you have any doughnuts, do you?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “No, I do not have doughnuts.” She poured coffee, the cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. She sat down and blew a perfect smoke ring. “You were right. It happened just like you said. They scared me, Ted. I didn’t think anything could scare me. I’m supposed to be this tough reporter. I am a tough reporter, but when they kicked my dog, that was something else. That’s when I got scared.”
Ted leaned across the table. “What did you do? Who did you talk to?”
Maggie crushed out her cigarette and lit another one. She blew another perfect smoke ring. “After you left the office yesterday, I went to ask some questions at the law firm Mrs. Woodley used. They showed me the door in quick order. I went out to Kalorama to nose around. No one answered t
he Woodleys’ door. The neighbors are a closed-mouth bunch. It might have something to do with Woodley being the NSA. One lady said she hadn’t seen Mrs. Woodley in quite some time but said that wasn’t unusual because Mrs. Woodley keeps to herself. It’s not the kind of neighborhood where the ladies meet to gossip and drink coffee. All in all, it got me zip.”
“There has to be more to warrant a visit from the gold shields. What else did you do?”
“I called the NSA himself. I had to leave three messages but he finally called me back. In a very nice, cold, deadly voice, he told me to mind my own business. He said his personal life was no one’s business. By that time I started to realize there was more to it all than a man and a woman separating and possibly divorcing. None of my sources in the food chain claimed to know anything about the Woodleys’ private life. I came away knowing the Woodleys do not socialize with the powerful elite in Washington. No one ever remembered them entertaining. Do you know something I don’t know?”
Ted decided to play it close to his vest. “Not really. I was working on something else and those guys paid me a visit. I ended up in the hospital. I guess I wanted to warn you to drop whatever it is that involves the NSA.”
“Consider it dropped. Look, I’m no wimp. I just needed to get myself together this morning. If it weren’t for Daisy, I would have spit in that guy’s eye. I love that dog, Ted.”
Ted thought about Mickey and Minnie and how devastated he’d be if anything happened to either one of them. “So you’re dropping the whole thing?”
“It was just a thread. Gossip. Another player getting divorced. Washington is not the place for enduring marriages. I am no longer interested in Karl Woodley’s private life. The son of a bitch can drop dead and I won’t blink an eye. If that’s all, Ted, I’m going to take a shower and go to work…Wait, there was one other thing. I drove out to Kalorama and parked down the street from the Woodleys’ house last night. Don’t ask me why, I just did. There was a hell of a lot of traffic on that street last night. Some woman had a big German shepherd and he ran up and around the Woodleys’ house. She chased after him. I can’t be sure, but I thought she threw something and the dog ran after it. It was dark so I can’t be really sure. Then about forty minutes later, another woman was walking her dog. She had to chase her dog up over the lawn, too. Just for the hell of it, I copied down two license plates. Like I said, there was lots of traffic.”
The Jury Page 15
