by Lisa Shearin
Two FBI agents met the three of us at the door.
Julian’s granddaughter was standing motionless in the hall a few feet behind them.
Elaine Pierce was slender, poised, and confident. Only the slightest hint of red around her eyes betrayed the emotion she had allowed herself to release. As one of the youngest congresswomen ever elected, and the granddaughter of the country’s most beloved senator, she had attracted more attention than she’d probably ever wanted, especially from those who still refused to believe she had been elected on her own merits and platform, instead seeing her as having used her grandfather’s name and influence to get elected. Now that her grandfather was dead, that attention would be magnified tenfold.
The hotshot freshman congresswoman, a lawyer, top of her class at Harvard. The pundits were saying that the only reason she ran for Congress was that her grandfather was already the senator from their state. Once he retired, look out.
But Julian hadn’t retired. He’d been murdered.
My heart went out to her, but Elaine didn’t want my pity or even sympathy. Her alert eyes met mine, her gaze strong and direct, her jaw set. This was a woman who wanted answers. Now.
Grandad broke the ice. He stepped forward, his arms open. “Elaine.”
She pressed her lips together against the tears that threatened to come. In three strides, she was in Grandad’s arms. I knew from experience that when you needed some serious comforting, that was the best place to be in the whole wide world.
After a few moments, she pulled back a little, and Grandad slipped one arm around her shoulders as he steered her toward the back of the house. He’d been here before and knew where he was going.
I followed. Berta stayed with the two FBI agents.
Grandad had guided Elaine to a small sitting room. Adjacent, with the door mostly open, was a classic English gentleman’s study.
Julian’s office.
Leave it to Grandad to be comforting and calculating at the same time. I was in the presence of a master.
“Elaine, do you remember my granddaughter and agency partner, Aurora?”
Elaine turned and dabbed the underside of each eye with a Kleenex. She might have been wearing a little makeup, but not anything on her eyes. Smart move, and practical. She knew she’d be crying, that mascara would run, and screw anyone who’d see her without TV-camera-ready makeup.
Good for her.
I extended my hand. “Please call me Rory.”
She took it in a firm clasp. “Elaine.”
I instantly got strong impressions, albeit contradictory. Elaine Pierce was having some strong emotions, but on the surface, she’d quickly regained her composure. As a politician, she’d mastered the art of maintaining a calm and cool exterior when she was angry, frustrated, impatient, exhausted, any and all of the emotions she’d experienced during the race for her New York congressional seat. It’d been a brutal one. The incumbent had gone after her with everything he could find. Then he started digging for dirt on her grandad to see if he could find anything that could rub off on her. Elaine had hung tough, refusing to stoop to her opponent’s level—at least not publicly. The media got wind of two particularly juicy scandals involving her opponent from a mysterious source. I’d wondered if that source had been one of Elaine’s staffers acting on her instructions. At that point, Elaine had simply stepped back, taken the high road, and let the media do their worst. She’d had made her first cuts count, putting blood in the water. The media smelled it, and soon it was a piranha feeding frenzy. If he hadn’t deserved every last bit of it, I’d have almost felt sorry for him. He’d lost in a landslide.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Elaine told us. “Could I get you some tea or coffee?”
“Thank you, dear,” Grandad said, “but no. We’re here to extend our condolences, but we’ve also come to—”
Elaine held up a hand, stopping him. “I was so glad to get your call last night. If you hadn’t called, I was going to call you. My grandfather had told me of your unique talent, and I believe you can help find his killer. Is that why you’re here?”
So much for Grandad having to put on a dog and pony show.
His smile lit up his blue eyes. “Yes. You just saved us a lot of effort.”
Elaine quickly glanced at me. “Us?”
I gave her a little shrug. “It runs in the family.”
“I was in Zurich until late yesterday,” Grandad said. “I came home as soon as I heard.” He gave me a fond smile. “But Aurora had already been called in within an hour of Julian and Alan’s deaths. We have several contacts in the FBI who are aware of and appreciate our ‘unique talent,’ as you expressed it.”
Now I had Elaine’s full, undivided attention. “You saw my grandfather’s body in his office?”
“Yes.”
“They tell me the autopsy results indicate a cardiac arrest. Is that true?”
“That’s what the report says.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“It was a cardiac arrest,” I told her, “but considering his exceptional health, the FBI is looking into what may have induced it—and who was responsible for it.”
Elaine nodded, as if I’d confirmed her own suspicions.
“He just had a physical,” she said. “There was absolutely nothing wrong with his heart. I asked that he allow me to speak with his doctor. He would’ve said everything was fine even if it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. But after Grandmother’s death, if there was anything wrong with him that could be fixed or treated, or if a change in diet would—” Her voice broke. “I wanted to know about it so I could help him.”
“And he gave permission.”
Elaine nodded, crushing the tissue in her hand. “Dr. Hare said my grandfather was in amazing condition for his age, and that his heart and everything else was perfectly healthy. And to hear that Alan died of cardiac arrest at the same time…That’s impossible. He and his wife ran marathons.”
I didn’t know what Rees or anyone else from the FBI had told her, so I kept the search for undetectable poisons to myself.
“I would ask who would want to kill my grandfather,” Elaine continued, “but being in politics myself now, I realize that question would be rather naïve. I know that my grandfather had been threatened before, many times over the years. That was one of the reasons for having a house here with a wall and gate. He wanted to make sure his family was safe. Any threatening communication he ever received was immediately sent to the FBI. He didn’t take any chances.”
“Are you still living here?” I asked.
“Yes and no. I have an apartment in Albany, but during the election madness, I moved back here when I wasn’t on the road to have some semblance of privacy. I’m living here temporarily until I can find an apartment in DC. Grandfather thought it was ridiculous for me to even look for another place, but I knew he understood.” She hesitated. “Why kill him in his office? I’d always thought the least safe place he ever went was the golf course. All that open area surrounded by woods.” She gave Grandad a smile. “I know you don’t play golf, Mr. Donati. My grandfather used to tease him about it,” she said to me as an aside.
Grandad thought golf was an absurd and pointless game. First, he would have to wear clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead in. He would have to hit a little white ball until it landed in a hole. Then he would be forced to stroll around a ridiculously manicured lawn and repeat the first step another seventeen times. He said it was no wonder men drank while playing golf. How else could they deal with the mind-numbing tedium?
Grandad preferred fencing and chess. Fencing was known as physical chess, so they went together well. Grandad had insisted to my parents that I take fencing. I’d been taking ballet, and while I liked it okay, I dropped it in a hot minute to take fencing. Grandad had been thrilled. He’d had a fencing strip installed in the town house’s basement gym. I had yet to win a match against him—e
ither fencing or chess.
“Did you notice whether Julian seemed worried or preoccupied during the past few days?” Grandad asked.
Elaine tried to smile. “How would that be different from his normal? There was no limit to the number of irons he had in various fires.”
“Had he received any warnings or threats in the past few days?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. But my grandfather was extremely high-profile and never turned from a fight. He made a lot of enemies over the years: on the Senate floor, in Washington, in corporate boardrooms.”
All were the kind of people who had the power, influence, and money to kill Julian Pierce in one of the most public ways possible to stop his interference.
I glanced at Grandad, who gave me the barest nod.
“I’d like to tell you what I sensed while in your grandfather’s office,” I said to Elaine.
“I want to hear it.”
I told her what I’d felt from touching Alan, what I sensed from the area of carpet in Julian’s office, and lastly, the impressions I received from holding his watch.
Then Grandad told her what he had learned.
Tears were running down Elaine’s face when we finished.
“We’re so sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t think how much that would—”
Elaine waved my apology away, her voice breaking. “No, no. I’m grateful to know his last moments. He died in pain, but at least it…It was quick.” She then broke down sobbing.
Since I hardly knew her, I let Grandad do what he did best. I just kept handing her Kleenex.
One of the FBI agents opened the door and stuck his head in. I told him it was okay. He probably should have stayed to have heard it from Elaine herself, but he was obviously uncomfortable with a crying woman and grateful to be able to close the door.
It didn’t take long for Elaine to regain control of herself. I really didn’t want to do what I had planned to do next, but it was time to return Julian’s watch. Grandad and I had gotten everything we could from it.
I took the watch out of my messenger bag, steeling myself against the contact—and held it out to Elaine.
She took one look at my face and knew. “It’s still speaking to you, isn’t it?”
I stopped trying to hide the wince. “Yes. But it’s the same each time.”
“Each time?”
“I’ve connected with it three times,” I smiled tightly. “And now is number four.”
Elaine quickly took it from me. “Thank you. Especially for this. I had no idea what an ordeal it must be for you, for both of you.”
I resisted rubbing my hands on my legs to negate the sensations they’d picked up. “It’s what we do. I wanted to be sure I’d gotten everything I could from your grandfather’s watch before returning it to you. I didn’t want to miss any clues. Repetition is important, to confirm and to hopefully sense something new.”
Grandad got to the real reason we were here. “Elaine, may we search Julian’s office?”
CHAPTER 16
Julian Pierce obviously spent a lot of time in his study.
There were hundreds of books, a desk that was used for work and not just for show with every inch of surface covered with papers, and an impressive collection of art and trophy fish. In between various stuffed fish on the walls were antique fly-fishing rods.
The sensations coming off each object and every surface came close to being overpowering. We had our work cut out for us to find any relevant clues when the room was saturated with the man’s presence.
One presence I didn’t feel was the man who had broken into our house and searched our office. Odd that he hadn’t at least attempted to do the same here.
Grandad shrugged out of his suit jacket, popped off his cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves.
“Looks like you’re up for the challenge,” I noted.
“It’s not like we have a choice,” he said grimly. He turned to Elaine. “Have you opened your grandfather’s safe behind the Remington?”
“Yes. It was insurance and legal papers, and a copy of his will.”
“May I examine them, please?”
“Of course.”
I went to the bookshelves. Three walls of the office were lined with them from floor to high ceiling. When Grandad didn’t find anything in Julian’s papers, he started on the top of his friend’s desk, working his way down to the drawer contents.
Unfortunately, we didn’t know what we were looking for, but we knew the sensation we were hoping to get from one of the thousands of objects in the room.
The psychic zap of strong emotions.
Julian had died while wearing his watch. He’d received a warning from a man named David within days of his death. This office had been his inner sanctum. Maybe, just maybe, there was a clue to David’s identity or what he had warned Julian about.
Julian had a little bit of everything in his library. A lot of military and political history, biographies, art, literary classics, and political thrillers. I also found the complete collections of Sherlock Holmes and Nero Wolfe.
I wholeheartedly approved of Julian’s literary taste.
I ran my hand just above the spines of each and every book. I could tell the ones he’d read most recently, but none radiated the strong emotion we were looking for.
I had to stand on tiptoe on the ladder to reach the last, topmost shelf, home to what I could only call esoteric funkiness, much of which could be described as government conspiracies. As he came from a CIA background, I could see where Julian would find some of it entertaining or perhaps hitting close to home. Maybe they’d been gag gifts from his CIA days. Most of the books had a fine coating of dust.
One did not.
It was also out of place. It belonged down with the classics. The rest of Julian’s collection was shelved according to genre, then author. This book had a single fingerprint in the dust on top of the spine, right where you would tip a book to remove it from a high shelf.
Or to put it there.
Julian, or someone, had climbed this ladder and touched this book very recently.
There, among the government-conspiracy books, was Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.
I put my hand just above the spine, having to lean out to do so.
I quickly drew my hand back. FBI techs would have to confirm that it was Julian’s fingerprint, but I didn’t need any tests to know that Julian had held this book within the past few days, and that he’d felt concern bordering on fear when he’d done so.
“I think I’ve got something,” I said. “Grandad, could you get my leather gloves out of my bag?”
He did and passed them up the ladder to me.
I slid on the gloves and gently removed the book, careful not to touch the single fingerprint. Once I had a good grip, I went down the ladder. I didn’t want to touch the book with my bare hands until I had both feet solidly on the floor.
“Did Frankenstein mean anything in particular to your grandfather?” I asked Elaine.
“Not that I know of.”
Odd that he would’ve chosen this book at random. Equally odd was the book’s weight. It felt a little off. I carefully opened it.
Oh boy.
Grandad peered at what was nestled in the small cutout section of pages. “What’s that?”
“My guess is a burner phone.”
Elaine was appalled and didn’t try to hide it. “Why would my grandfather have a burner phone?”
“Movies and TV have given burners a bad rap,” I assured her. “Yes, criminals use them, but so do people who don’t want others to have their primary phone number. Like if you’re selling something online or going on a date with someone you just met. They can contact you, but only on the number assigned to the burner phone. There are even apps now that let you use your regular phone with a temporary number. Your grandfather may have been protecting his contact’s identity. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Or there could be everything wrong with it, but I didn’t tell Elaine that.
I wasn’t about to touch that burner phone. I knew what it was and whose it was. This was not my area of expertise, and this little phone was the first real break we’d had.
That being said, I could put my hand above the cutout section that was just large enough to accommodate the flip phone. I’d be almost touching it, but not quite.
We called Berta in to the room and showed her what we’d found. She immediately called Rees.
“He’ll be here within the hour with a tech who’ll make that phone sing,” she told us after ending the call.
I concentrated on getting my bare hand as close to the phone as I could without making actual contact. “I’m going to have a chat with it right now. And no, I’m not touching it,” I added.
I sensed anger and worry directed at whoever Julian had used the phone to call.
Too close…foolish risk…we’re not ready…go fish.
“We?” I muttered. “Who’s ‘we’ and what’s ‘go fish’?”
“Like the kids’ card game?” Berta asked.
“That’s all I can think of. Elaine, does that mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “My grandfather used to fish with some of his friends—as you can see from the walls. Mainly trout, but occasionally bass.”
“Where did they go?”
“The Adirondacks. There were a couple of rivers and lakes they liked.”
“Could you get us a list? Of the places he went and who he went with?”
“I could try. He liked photography and took a lot of photos of those trips. I’ll see if I can find them. Though when my grandmother got sick, he stopped going, so it’s been at least six years since he last went.”
Elaine went in search of photos or anything related to her grandfather’s fishing trips. Rees and two techs arrived a few minutes later—only thirty minutes after Berta had called him—no doubt breaking many traffic laws on the way.
