She kept her cell phone close, just in case the Chair called. She thought about calling May, but what would she say? May couldn’t reach the Chair, either. Everything was too tightly compartmentalized.
It was something of a relief when the phone buzzed. She grabbed it, looked at the readout. It wasn’t May.
“He was here!” she yelped.
“Who was?” the Chair asked, his voice as calm as ever.
“Malone! He questioned me. He knows everything!”
“Take it easy, now. He doesn’t know everything. Tell me exactly what took place.”
“I couldn’t very well refuse to talk to him. That would make him more suspicious.”
“Vice Chair, tell me what happened.”
She did, as best she could remember. Some things seemed out of place now. She wasn’t recalling events sequentially.
“It seems to me that you handled it quite well,” the Chair said.
“Do you think so?”
“How long have we known each other?”
“A long time.”
“I know you very well. Think about what we once had together,” he said.
“I do that a lot. I wish things had been different.”
“So do I, my dear. But we each had other responsibilities. You were more interested in political and social prestige. We were both interested in amassing some big dollars. I helped you do that.”
She didn’t thank him. She had millions of dollars she couldn’t really spend, unless she was out of the country. David would wonder where it came from. What good was it? She might have to divorce David to be able to use it.
And that made her think about once again sharing time with the Chair.
“Should I leave? I could pack up and be gone by midnight. We could meet somewhere. We’ve got enough money to do whatever we want.”
“That would call too much attention to you and David. You don’t want that right now.”
“I should stay.”
“Yes, for now, anyway. Maybe we can get together later, next month, even. Don’t let yourself get carried away worrying about it. We’re going to make it right. Fix yourself a Scotch and relax.”
After he hung up, she did fix herself a Scotch and water over ice.
And she did begin to feel better. Thinking about it now, she knew she had maintained her composure with Malone. She hadn’t said anything that would make Malone think she was guilty of anything.
Her life was looking much brighter by 5:30 when the doorbell rang.
What now?
David sometimes forgot his keys.
She went down the three flights of stairs, headed to the front door, and pulled it open.
Oops. Big guy she’d never seen before.
“Vice Chair,” he said. “I’m November.”
*
Malone and Galway had spent the afternoon comparing notes and identifying leads they should follow up.
Malone had reported to Bobbi that he thought Lani Dixon was implicated in the scam. What’s more, he had the first link between the names. She knew Corridan. She had had some kind of relationship with Jim Mears when he was a senior and she was a freshman at the University of Arizona.
“Big deal,” Bobbi had said. “We haven’t got a single piece of useful hard evidence hooking any of the three to the scheme that would convince any law enforcement body.”
He wished he had conducted the interview with the Senator. Bobbi thought Corridan was rightfully concerned about the Institute’s problems, but only as it might affect his reelection campaign. She had learned nothing that would suggest he was part of some conspiracy to enrich himself.
And Bobbi had had another thought. What if each donation was taxed internally to the Institute by 50% and the proceeds dumped into some bribery fund? Then that fund was tapped as necessary to smooth out the egos of greedy men around the world. It wasn’t exactly 50% on every deal.
“Greedy men?” he had asked.
“Women aren’t regarded very highly in those parts of the world. I can’t picture any woman holding her hand out to the Institute.”
“What you’re saying is that, while the membership is being scammed about the true value of donations, the excess is really used to bribe the necessary people. That no one is actually stealing dollars.”
“It’s a theory, Oak.”
“Yeah, and it’s a good one.” He thought about for a few minutes, and then said, “If that’s the case, I don’t see that keeping it a secret is worth killing people. Misleading the auditors and the Institute members might be worth some penalties. Paxton could lose his job. But murder?”
“Okay. Point taken.”
Bobbi went back to her computer, and Oak concentrated on his own laptop. He had printed out on Bobbi’s printer several of the Institute newsletters. Short articles in the newsletters described successful interventions by Institute consultants that had apparently eased tensions between one faction and another. He was following up on each article by searching for news in printed or video formats that either confirmed or contradicted the article. So far, he hadn’t had much luck. If anything, the Institute was taking credit for successful negotiations actually conducted by others.
If one didn’t report successes, of course, one couldn’t expect renewed memberships. Take successes wherever one could find them and say, “That’s mine!”
Hell, he wouldn’t support this outfit even if they were strictly legit.
They ordered out for pizza for dinner. Bobbi liked mushrooms, Oak didn’t. Split it half and half.
Malone had pretty much figured out what they had to do next, and was about to tell Bobbi, when his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Blocked number.
He glanced at his watch: 7:22
“Hello?”
“Mr. Malone, this is Detective Aaron Ford.”
“Yes, Detective. What’s up?”
“Could you tell me where you are?”
“Alexandria.”
A little silence while Ford thought about Malone being outside his jurisdiction.
“I wonder if we could get together for about half an hour at my office in the First District?”
Well, that’s one way to solve the jurisdiction problem. Malone couldn’t figure out what was going on.
“Tonight?” he asked.
“That would be best.”
“Well, sure. I’ll drive in. Where’s First District?”
“It’s at 101 M Street Southwest.”
“Be there soon.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. Malone.”
Bobbi had watched him through the whole conversation with questions in her eyes. He told her what he was doing.
“I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary. If I get arrested, I’ll call you for bail.”
“Not funny, Oak.”
He pulled the Sig Sauer and its holster from the small of his back and laid it on the table. “I guess I won’t take that with me. It might upset their security system. Maybe Ford will give me back my Walther.”
Traffic was still heavy on a Friday night, and though it was only seven miles away, it took him twenty-five minutes to get there and find a place to park. Inside the station, he was directed to the homicide squad room where he found a few detectives working. Ford was one of them, and after picking up a file folder, he got up to lead them into an interview room. They sat on opposite sides of the single table. The detective was wearing a long-sleeved white-on-white shirt and had a distinctive blue and silver tie tugged tightly at his throat but wasn’t wearing his suit jacket. In another age, he’d have been a model for Playboy or Esquire. Hell, maybe that was still true. Oak hadn’t looked at either magazine in years.
“Thanks for coming in, Mr. Malone.”
“Sure thing. You have an affidavit for me to sign?”
“I do.”
He thumbed through the folder, found a two-page typed report and handed it to Malone.
; “Read that first.”
Malone read it. Pretty close to what he had said about the hotel shooting. He signed and dated it, and Ford got up and went to make a copy for Oak. He also gave him another document.
“You can go to the evidence room and pick up your weapon.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“You have a weapon on you now?”
“Nope, came right through your scanner.”
“Now, I’ve got some new questions.”
Malone had thought there would be something else.
“Do you know a woman named Lanette Dixon?”
Okay. Did she file a complaint about him?
“I do, though not well.”
“How did you meet her?” Ford asked.
This was strange.
“It was about six years ago, at a French Embassy welcome party. I was still with the Agency then.”
That was an unexpected response, judging by the way Ford’s eyes widened.
“So you’ve known her quite awhile?”
“Not to socialize, Detective.” Time to be a volunteer. “In fact, I hadn’t seen her at all since that party until this morning.”
“You did see her today, then?”
“I stopped by her house at, oh, around 10:30, I think it was. We talked for about half an hour, and I left. What’s this about?”
“One of her neighbors saw a blue Chevy hanging around and got the license number. That came back as rented to you. Naturally, I gave you a call.”
Naturally.
“What’s going on?” Malone asked again.
“Why would you be, as the neighbor put it, “hanging around” her house?”
“I got there early and had to wait for her. She had some fundraising breakfast earlier. This neighbor have a name?”
Ford mulled that one over. This wasn’t supposed to be a give-and-take event. “Anonymous call.”
“Those are always good, aren’t they?”
“What did you talk about?”
Where do we go from here?
“A couple of things. She and I both graduated from the University of Arizona. We talked about that. We talked about charities she supported because I’ve developed an interest in charitable causes. I knew she was involved with many such organizations.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You went to the same college?”
Malone nodded.
“You left there at 11:00?”
“Maybe a few minutes after.”
“What was she wearing?”
“A light yellow dress. She looked good, as she always did. Come on, Detective Ford. Where are we going with this?”
He thought about it for a full minute.
“Mrs. Dixon is dead,” he said.
Wow. That was a stunner. She was nervous with Malone, but a beautiful nervous.
“Shit. That’s terrible. What happened?”
“She went through a third floor window and landed on the patio. Her neck was broken. Her husband found her when he got home from work.”
“Goddamn, Detective. She wasn’t suicidal. Not when I talked to her.”
Ford was studying Malone closely. Looking for those tells?
“You don’t think so?” he asked. “You didn’t tell her anything that would have upset her?”
Well, maybe. But not that upset. Couldn’t be.
Malone shook his head. “She was fine when I left. Is this your case?”
“Another team got the call. I got involved when your name came up. What with Dean Mal, the guy named Kincaid in California, and now this, people around you seem to have unfortunate ends.”
“I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”
Malone briefly considered telling Ford about his suspicions, but there wasn’t a single piece of hard evidence connecting Dixon or anyone else to suspected disappearances of Institute funds.
They sat quietly a couple of minutes. There may have been other information that Ford had, like a neighbor seeing Malone leave the house at 11:00 in the morning. Until the medical examiners determined a time of death for Lani, Ford wouldn’t do anything. Oak felt that Ford was about halfway into believing him, or he wouldn’t have released the Walther.
“Are you going to be in the area?” the detective asked.
“For awhile, anyway. Look, I’m staying with an old friend in Alexandria.” He gave the address, and Ford jotted it down in his file folder.
“Friend’s name?”
“Roberta Galway. She’s also a former employee of the Agency.”
“She’s the one that shot Kincaid.”
“Which I appreciated at the time.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
*
Forty minutes after Oak left for the District, Galway’s doorbell chimed.
Too soon for him to be back. She looked at the door. The door was sheathed in steel. The knob lock was locked. The dead bolt was locked, and the chain was in place. She had good locks.
She leaned forward and placed the laptop on the coffee table. Stood up and went to the door to peer through the peephole.
It was dark outside.
She reached over and flipped the switch for the outside light.
Stayed dark. Bulb was out. Wasn’t out last night.
She squinted, but the feeble radiance from a distant street light only revealed a dark shadow.
Big, dark shadow.
She heard the doorknob rattle and looked to see it shaking.
“I’m calling the police now!” she called out.
The doorknob rattled harder.
The door thudded as a shoulder or arm slammed into it.
Bobbi backed away quickly to the lamp table and picked up Malone’s Sig Sauer. She pulled it from the holster, worked the slide which ejected a bullet that had already been chambered.
Aimed at the door.
Another thud as someone tried to slam it open.
She put four bullets into the door.
Chapter Thirteen – Saturday, June 22
When Malone pulled into the parking lot, there were two squad cars and an unmarked but obvious police car parked haphazardly near Bobbi’s unit. Blue and red strobes flickered. He drove the Chevy into the first slot he found, bailed out, and ran down the sidewalk.
Two figures were moving around shining flashlights on the ground near the front door, which was standing open.
A uniformed cop stepped onto the sidewalk from the grass and held up his hand. “Hold on!”
Oak skidded to a stop. “What’s going on?”
“Who are you, sir?”
“Malone. That’s my friend’s unit.”
“Friend’s name?”
“Galway. Roberta.”
“Please wait here, sir.”
The cop walked twenty feet to Galway’s entrance and called inside to someone.
Someone came outside and approached Malone.
“You’re a friend of Ms. Galway?”
“Is she all right? What happened?”
Malone looked around the someone at the doorway and was relieved to see Bobbi appear. She called to him, and someone relented and let him by.
There was another detective inside the condo with Bobbi, and he identified himself as Milner. The place smelled of gunpowder. That aroma could linger in the air for at least half an hour. The detective listened to Bobbi another time as she explained it to Malone.
“The outside light was out?” he asked.
“Someone unscrewed it,” Milner said. “We’ll check for fingerprints.”
That was about the only possible evidence they had that someone was outside the door when Bobbi started shooting.
“You didn’t call me,” Oak said.
“I called 911 instead.”
“You think it was Sherry?”
“Big enough, but I couldn’t see a face at all. He had to have stepped away from the door when I fired because he wasn’t here with the cops arrived, and there’s no
blood.”
“Who’s Sherry?” Milner asked.
So Bobbi related the Conrad Sherry story while Milner took notes. The other detective came inside. His name was Carson.
Malone checked the door. Four bullet holes right where critical mass should have been. About a five-inch spread. Bobbi was a good shot, and Conrad Sherry, or whoever, was a lucky dude. On the outside of the door, there was a large shallow dent. About shoulder high. Additional evidence someone had tried to break in.
When he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, Carson asked him who he was calling.
“Detective Aaron Ford at Metro. He’s been on top of this.”
He didn’t think Carson liked the idea, but the policeman went ahead and nodded.
After someone tracked Ford down and he came on the line, he said, “Malone here.”
“Oh, boy. Something new?”
Malone told him about Bobbi’s encounter.
“Someone from Alexandria PD there? Let me talk to him.”
Malone handed the phone to Milner, who said, “Detective Jason Milner, Crimes Against Persons.”
While the two of them talked, Carson asked Malone about the Sig Sauer. Oak produced his concealed carry permits. Carson said they’d have to take the gun for ballistics tests.
Of course they would. He supposed the cops with flashlights were not only looking for blood traces but also slugs that had made it through the door.
He thought Carson also wanted to complain about his leaving the gun for Bobbi, but decided against that debate for the time being.
It was almost 10:30 by the time the cops disappeared and the bullet-holed door was once again locked.
“Do you want Scotch?” Bobbi asked. “I do.”
“Yeah, I can go with that. Damn, I should have taken you with me.”
In the kitchen, she pushed the refrigerator door button for ice in two squat glasses, and then added Johnny Walker Blue. She handed him one glass and they moved to the couch.
“Wouldn’t have mattered, Oak. The thing that gets me is that my address isn’t published anywhere accessible. And I don’t think this was a coincidental home invasion attempt.”
“Big Brother.”
Solid Oak Page 16
