“Okay, then. I’ll be right back.”
Off he went, envelope in hand, the half-twenty-dollar bill already safely stashed in his pocket.
* * *
SHE LOOKED AROUND, CONFIDENT no one had noticed them together. She took a rock the size of a softball out of her purse, bent down, placed the rock on the sidewalk, and put the other half of the $20 under the rock. Shaking her head, she went off in the other direction. Amazing what you can still get done in Washington for twenty dollars if you set your mind to it. In D.C., money’s all that matters.
CHAPTER 20
Tuesday, February 10, 5:30 a.m.
SECURITY OFFICER JOE HINTZ was upset. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he figured he needed to call his boss, Frank Hartwell, the Capitol building night-shift security director. Hartwell, who had been in security for decades, would only make him more nervous, but Hintz didn’t think he had any choice.
“Mr. Hartwell? This is Officer Hintz, here in the lobby. We have a bit of a situation, sir. I’m not sure what to do. Thought I should call you.” Trying to control his nerves, Hintz could feel they were getting the best of him.
“I don’t understand, Joe. What do you mean?” Hartwell’s aggressive tone unnerved Hintz even more.
“Well, sir, some street vagrant walked in here a few minutes ago. With a package some lady asked him to deliver. He gave it to me. It’s not really a package. Just an ordinary envelope with the business card of James Ayres taped across the front of it. Ayres works for Senator Wells. The senator who was murdered last week. They have an office in the building. There’s no return address or any other marking on the envelope. What would you like me to do, Mr. Hartwell?”
“Is the guy still there?”
“No. I asked him to hang on for a minute. As soon as I picked up the phone to call you, he bolted.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“It happened so quickly, I didn’t realize he was running till he was half-way out the door. I was afraid to leave my post. Did I mess up?”
“I guess not. Hold onto the envelope. I’ll be right down.”
Approaching Officer Hintz a moment later, Hartwell asked, “Where’s the envelope?”
“Right here, Mr. Hartwell.” Hintz attempted to hand the envelope to Hartwell.
“No, no, Joe, don’t hand it to me, for cripes’ sake! Just set it down on the counter. I have no idea what it is, or what’s inside it. We don’t want any more prints on it than it already has. And we certainly don’t want to move it around any more than necessary. I’ve already called the anti-terrorist folks. They’ll be here in a few minutes. We need to wait for them.”
Hintz said nervously, “This seems like something out of one of my spy novels. Nothing I would be expecting to happen to us here in the real world.”
Hartwell ignored him.
Ten minutes later, three men entered the building lobby, one of them in a business suit and the other two in white lab coats wheeling steel briefcases. They were all business, not a smile among them. Their apparent leader, the one in the business suit, asked, “Is Mr. Hartwell here?”
“I’m Hartwell.”
“Lieutenant Janus Lewski, Homeland Security.” He didn’t bother to introduce his two associates. “Where’s the envelope?”
“Right here.”
“Have you handled it?”
“No, I haven’t, but Officer Hintz here did. When it was handed to him by the vagrant who brought it in.”
“Let’s see what you have.” Without comment, one of the other two agents extracted some tongs and a mask from his briefcase and gently began examining the envelope. Hintz wished he were somewhere else.
Five minutes later, the technician said to Lewski, “Two sets of prints, presumably the vagrant and the security guard here, and no residue of any kind on the outside. There’s no sign of anything inside the envelope other than one sheet of paper that appears to be a newspaper clipping. It doesn’t seem threatening.”
Turning to Hartwell, Lewski asked, “Can you reach Ayres and get him in here?”
“I have every occupant’s contact information in my office. We can go up there and try to reach him.”
“That’ll work.”
It was 6:15 a.m. Ayres was nowhere to be found: Not on his home phone. Not on his cell phone. Not in his office. Nor did he respond to the text message Hartwell sent him. “Tried every number I have. No luck.”
“It’s early. He could be anywhere. Just not on the grid yet. We’ll wait a bit,” Lewski responded.
Close to one frustrating hour later, Hartwell’s office telephone rang. “Hartwell.”
“James Ayres, Mr. Hartwell. Returning your call.”
Hartwell put the call on speakerphone so everyone in the room could hear the conversation. “Thanks, Mr. Ayres. I’m with Capitol building security. We received an envelope this morning addressed to you. It was delivered by a street vagrant. He said a woman asked him to deliver it here. It doesn’t appear dangerous. We’d like your permission to open it.”
“The envelope’s addressed to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re certain it’s safe?”
“That’s what Homeland Security tells us.”
“Then I don’t want anyone other than me to open the envelope. Or to see what’s inside it until I do. Do you understand me, Mr. Hartwell?”
“I do.”
“I should be there in about thirty minutes.”
“We’ll be waiting for you in my office. Please announce yourself to ground-floor security when you arrive. They’ll escort you up.”
Hartwell commented that Ayres seemed kind of hostile. “He’s employed by the government,” replied Lewski. “He worked for a high-profile senator who’s just been murdered. He may be concerned the envelope contains classified or personal information. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.”
Thirty-five minutes later, Ayres walked into Hartwell’s office and handed everyone his business card. Lewski examined the card. “The same as the card taped to the front of the envelope.”
Lewski introduced himself to Ayres. “We were called because of the circumstances. We’ve examined the envelope. It appears to contain a newspaper clipping. We’d like to open it to be sure exactly what we have. Alright with you?”
“It’s not. It’s addressed to me. I alone am entitled to first see what the contents are.”
“You seem a bit defensive, Mr. Ayres. However, we’ll proceed as you wish. So long as the envelope’s opened in the manner we direct. We need to be sure there’s no possible damage to the envelope or its contents.”
“That’s okay, but I’m not committing to letting you see the contents.”
“That’s your prerogative. For the moment. But neither the envelope nor its contents are going anywhere until I first know precisely what’s in the envelope.”
Ayres was gloved and instructed. He opened the envelope and removed the contents. A newspaper clipping. The headline of the article read:
DISTRAUGHT LOCAL MAN TRAGICALLY LOSES FAMILY, IS ARRESTED
Ayres read the article to himself. “I recall seeing this article at the time the story ran. I also recall that the subject of the story, Cliff Norman, tried to meet with Senator Wells only a few days before his arrest. He was turned away because of his unkempt appearance and because no one knew him.”
Lewski asked Ayres if he had any information about Norman’s present whereabouts. Ayres said he did not. Lewski then asked if he could retain the original envelope and newspaper clipping. Ayres said that would be fine with him if he could have a copy of the envelope cover and the clipping. Hartwell was gloved and made two copies of both the envelope and the clipping, one for himself and one for Ayres. Hartwell gave the originals to Lewski.
CHAPTER 21
Tuesday, February 10, 9:00 a.m.
SITTING AT HIS DESK, fresh cup of coffee in hand, Ayres read through the Norman article again. And stared at the copy of the
envelope with his own business card taped to it. Ayres smiled to himself. Wonder if he even remembers our meeting?
Ayres’s intercom buzzed. “Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ayres. There’s a Detective Frank Lotello here to see you. I asked him if he had an appointment. He doesn’t, but says he only needs a couple minutes.”
“It’s okay. Show him in.”
* * *
HAVING COME FROM THE morning’s unproductive task force session, Lotello was hoping Ayres might prove more useful. “Morning, Mr. Ayres. I was in the neighborhood. I’m still after Senator Wells’s calendar.”
“Detective, I want to cooperate, I really do. But I told your partner the other day the senator’s calendar is strictly off-limits. I can’t allow you to see it.”
“You’re obstructing my investigation, Ayres. My next stop will be the district attorney’s office. To obtain a subpoena compelling you to turn over the calendar and a search warrant allowing us to seize the contents of the senator’s office and home. Maybe your home as well.”
“I doubt you can do that, Detective. There are congressional interests and privileges at stake here. Congress has attorneys too.”
“I’ll be back, Mr. Ayres.”
“I’ll be right here.”
As Lotello was leaving, Ayres called after him, “Hey, Detective, are you by any chance familiar with a local gentleman by the name of Cliff Norman?”
“It doesn’t ring any bells. Should it?”
“Not necessarily. I was just wondering. See you.”
“Count on it.”
* * *
LOTELLO HIT THE SPEED dial on his cell phone. “J, it’s Frank. The task force meeting this morning was a complete bust. Reilly struck out trying to get Ayres to cooperate. I tried Ayres just now myself. No luck. Reilly is pursuing a subpoena or a search warrant. Stay on top of Reilly and let me know what happens.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, does the name Cliff Norman mean anything to you?”
“No. I’ll Google it.”
“Good idea. On my way back to the office. See you in a few.”
* * *
LOTELLO WALKED INTO HIS office twenty minutes later to find Barnet waiting for him. “Found a pile of stuff on Norman. Very sad story.”
Barnet walked Lotello through the whole saga. Norman and his wife losing their company and everything else they had. Going from a fancy home to a tiny one-bedroom apartment. Then watching their young son die from cancer when their insurance company refused to pay for the experimental treatment.
Lotello grimaced.
“It gets worse. Norman had some kind of a nervous breakdown. Stopped communicating with his wife. He then disappeared altogether. Apparently joining the ranks of the homeless. He started parading around the Capitol building. Talking to himself and to anyone else who would listen. Ranting and raving that it was all the government’s fault, that the government caused the economy to fail, brought down his whole world, and murdered his son. He said he was going to get even.”
Lotello shook his head. “And?”
“Metro took him into custody and committed him. They tracked down the wife. She had moved back home with her parents in Arizona. She flew back and met with the doctors. They said he was clearly ill and should remain in the hospital.
“He couldn’t be held for more than three days without his consent. He wouldn’t give it. At the end of the three days, he signed himself out and disappeared again. No one knows where he is.”
“How do you know no one knows his whereabouts?”
“The Post ran a story on Norman—under Rachel Santana’s byline, by the way—when Norman was first taken into custody. I called Santana to see if she knew anything more. She told me she’s been trying to find Norman to do a follow-up. But hasn’t been able to find him.”
“Santana again. She sure seems to be everywhere lately. First, she knew about the Wells and DiMarco murders as soon as we did. Maybe even before we did. She told Reilly she learned about the murders from some anonymous tips. Now it turns out she’s all over this Norman guy, too. I wonder how much more she knows.”
“Why’d you ask me about Norman, Frank?”
“Just premonition. Comes with all my years on the job.” Pausing, he added, “Just kidding, J. When I was visiting with Ayres this morning, he casually asked me as I was leaving if I knew anything about Norman. He didn’t say why. I didn’t ask him why without first knowing who Norman is.”
A slight smile crept across Barnet’s face. “Yesterday, after the task force meeting, you told me a note found at the scene of the Johnson killing said, ‘You killed Ryan. Now I got you.’”
“Yeah?”
“Three guesses what Norman’s son’s name was.”
“Norman’s son was named Ryan?”
“Yep!”
“Hmm. Let me know as soon as we have the subpoena or search warrant.”
“Hey, do you know how many times you’ve reminded me about this court order business this morning?”
“Why?”
“Twice. Heard you the first time.”
“I’m being a little anal. On me, not you. I wanna get back to Ayres as soon as possible. I’d like to do it this morning if we can. Before that fucking calendar or little black book, or whatever Wells kept, disappears altogether.”
“You’ll be the first to know when I have it.”
“Sorry. Thanks.”
Lotello closed his office door as soon as Barnet left. I’m not doing so well here, Beth. This case seems to be taking some weird turns. So far, I’ve got a lot more questions than answers. I still can’t understand who’s making these telephone calls. And why. Does Santana know something? Why is Ayres playing such hardball with us over Wells’s little black book? Who is this guy Norman? And where is he? Is he our killer? Was the sex angle in the first two murders just a diversion to throw us off the track? You were always there when I needed a sounding board, Beth. Now Jeremy thinks I’m losing confidence in him. Actually, I’m just losing confidence in … me. I think I need a bit of a break. Maybe something to do with the kids.
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday, February 10, 2:30 p.m.
AS IF ON CUE, Chief of Staff Manny Reyes entered the Oval Office to find President Tuttle staring out the window rather than sitting at his desk. He often had trouble sitting still when something was bothering him.
Turning to face Reyes, Tuttle said, “What do you think about our meeting this morning with Speaker Jamison and Senator Roberts?”
“They’re both looking for cover, Mr. President. I don’t think you can count on either of them for any genuine support. Lip service, maybe. But not any real support. Jamison is sensing resistance both in her home district and among the party faithful. After three killings, Senator Roberts doesn’t want to be seen or heard. Let alone stand up and be counted.”
“My take as well. Where does that leave me? Between the proverbial rock and a hard place. We have a killer out there dusting off politicians. I would prefer to maintain a low profile until he’s caught. I don’t want to risk agitating or encouraging him. But I’ve got a nation waiting to hear how I’m gonna lead the world out of our financial crisis. I can’t just cancel this evening’s press conference. All the networks are covering it. I’m on in three hours. What do you suggest?”
“No more speeches on the teleprompter for you to read mindlessly. People want to ask questions and be given answers. The media are their representatives. You have to take some questions. And answer them.”
“I agree. What do you have for me?”
“On your desk in one hour: the list of questions, who will be asking them, and in what order to call on them. In and out in thirty minutes, and you’ll come across as in command and responsive to the public’s concerns.”
“Get me the list.”
“Will do. Thank you, Mr. President.”
CHAPTER 23
Tuesday, February 10, 6:00 p.m.
“
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE president of the United States!”
“Good evening, fellow Americans. These are tough times for everyone. I know that. You know that. I think you’ve heard enough speeches. Tonight, I want to answer your questions. I’m going to let the press ask the questions, and I’m going to answer as best I can.” Looking out at the audience, Tuttle called on the first reporter on the list Reyes had given him. “James Scott, NBC News.”
“Good evening, Mr. President. Sir, I know you are championing the various stimulus proposals your administration has put before Congress. But isn’t it the case that the first who will benefit from these proposed dollars are the various Wall Street houses that have brought our economy to its knees?”
“Jim, I understand your point. But now’s not the time to look to the past. We have to direct our attention to the future. How we are going to get out of our difficulties, not how we got into them. We’re all in this together. A solution that does not include Wall Street as well as Main Street will not be any solution at all. These companies are simply too big for us to let them fail. The repercussions would be untenable.
“Leslie Rawlings, New York Times.”
“Sir, that may be well and good, but Wall Street’s greed caused this collapse. What are you doing to hold them accountable?”
“Fair enough, Leslie. The answer is that the bailout funds Wall Street will be receiving will not come without strings. We will not allow the same kinds of mistakes to be made in the future. We may not be able to turn back the clock. However, that doesn’t mean we won’t learn from the past. Corporate jets, boondoggle retreats at fancy resorts, absurd bonuses: they’re all coming to an end. Future compensation will be meritocratic, tied to and conditioned upon genuine cash profits. We will be reinstituting government oversight that the prior administration did away with.
“Byron Hanover, Oklahoma Press.”
Manny Reyes watched and listened. Going well so far. Exactly according to script. A few more questions and we’re outta here.
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