The Diplomatic Coup

by Alan Elsner

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Jason suggested.

  “Don’t you need a warrant or something?” Cooter’s expression radiated suspicion, fear and hostility. Jason felt it too and held his hands out, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture.

  “Come on man, sit down. We’re not here to bust your balls. We just want to chat off the record. This is an unofficial visit, you understand? Fact is, we’re here to do you a favor, if you’re smart enough to take it.”

  Cooter shot him another disbelieving look, then sank into a half-collapsed settee, brushing aside a pizza box still containing a couple of slices. “That’ll be the day when the fuckin’ Feds do me a favor.”

  Jason took an armchair opposite and leaned forward, fixing his eyes on the other man. Delphine remained standing by the door.

  “You may think that, but you’d be wrong. Look man, what you gotta understand is you’re in deep, deep shit—because we know what you done.” Jason spoke more in sadness than anger and his voice had acquired a new, folksy flavor. “We know you drove those guys off the road. We know it weren’t no accident. How much did they pay you? A hundred grand? Two hundred? I saw you already got yourself fancy wheels and this here brand new kick-ass TV. How d’you pay for that?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” Cooter said sullenly. But Jason’s words had hit the mark. Delphine could see it from Cooter’s demeanor, the rigid way he held his limbs, his refusal to make eye contact.

  “I got no quarrel with you,” Jason said. “I understand how tough it is, working day and night, trying to keep up with everything. I know you lost your rig that you saved up for and drove for 20 years. After a lifetime of work, you’re flat on your ass. And then someone comes along dangling big bucks to do a little job. Naturally, you’re tempted. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Listen Buck, I could bust you now—but I want to give you a chance. The Bureau’s not focusing so much on what you did. It’s the big guys we want—the ones who set it up and gave the orders, the ones who paid the money – those are the guys we’re after.”

  Cooter massaged the back of his neck with one hand but said nothing. The air conditioning gave a final rattle and died. Jason launched in again.

  “The way things stand, you’re looking at murder one, maybe even the needle. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make sure that’s off the table. Cooperate fully and all sorts of sweet deals are possible – a new life somewhere, a fresh start. You like Arizona, maybe Vegas or Reno? Sure, you showed a lack of judgment, doing what you did, but is that a reason to ruin a guy’s life?”

  Cooter looked at him for a long minute, then seemed to gain courage. “I’m not saying nothin’ till I talk to my lawyer. I’ll get you his card. You call him, set up a meeting. Then we’ll talk … maybe.”

  “Big mistake,” Jason said sadly. “This is a one-time offer.”

  Cooter hauled himself upright and limped off into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a business card. “See here, Philip Havers, attorney at law, firm of Havers, Bellamy and Biggs, 2100 K Street, Washington DC. You call him. He’s a genuine lawyer, the real deal.”

  Jason took it reluctantly. “It’s real sad to see a smart guy like you screw up. You can still do yourself some good, it’s not too late. But we start bringing lawyers into it and all bets are off. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna follow the money. Guy like you, living in a trailer suddenly goes out and buys himself a 50-inch TV and a new set of wheels. How much did that cost? Twenty five, thirty grand? And who’s paying for the fancy lawyer ‘cause it’s not you, that’s for damn sure?”

  He was blathering and it wasn’t doing any good. Delphine grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him gently toward the door. As they exited, Jason turned, “We’ll be back, Cooter, we’ll be back.”

  They drove outside the gates and parked under some trees.

  “Now what?” Delphine asked. “We’re done, aren’t we? It didn’t work.” She felt utterly deflated. She’d known the odds were slim but still she’d pinned her hopes on this.

  “We wait.”

  “For what?”

  “To see what happens. My guess is, he’s on the phone right now to let his contact know he’s had a visit from the FBI. It may shake them into action. Who knows, maybe someone else will show up.” By now, the sky was bruised a hideous dark purple and the wind was kicking up. The birds had stopped singing. A minute later, a jagged bolt of lightning pierced the clouds briefly illuminating the wooded hills.

  “I screwed up in there, didn’t I?” Jason said as rain began pummeling the car. “I let you down. I’m really sorry.”

  “You did your best. I don’t think anything would have made him cooperate. He’d been too well coached. He knew how to respond.”

  There was another bolt of lightning followed by rolling thunder. Jason shook his head. “I screwed up. I went in too strong.”

  The storm intensified, swallowing their words. It felt like being inside a washing machine, a curiously safe, womblike sensation. Water came from every direction, hammering on the car roof. Twenty minutes later, the deluge stopped as suddenly as it had begun. As the sun came out again, birds resumed singing as if nothing had happened. Water dripped from the leaves. Vapor was already rising from the road. It would be dry in half an hour.

  “Look,” Jason said, grabbing Delphine’s hand as the red Explorer came charging out of the park and swung by them, already going 50 miles an hour. A second later, Delphine gave chase. Cooter turned onto Route 15 and headed north toward Pennsylvania. About five minutes past the exit for Camp David he left the highway for a small country road, then suddenly swerved on to a dirt track that climbed steeply into thickly-forested hills. Delphine followed a cautious distance behind. This was evidently a disused logging trail, its ruts filled with puddles left by the storm. With woods on either side, there were few places to turn. The path became narrower and rougher and she started to worry they’d bog down. It was obvious from the condition of the road that few people ever drove up here. Cooter was some way ahead, out of sight. The track abruptly crested a small hill and began veering down. Delphine killed the engine and allowed the car to coast. Cautiously, she edged around a corner. Cooter had stopped about 100 yards ahead alongside another vehicle.

  “Merde,” she swore softly, wrestling with the wheel, looking for somewhere to pull off. Just in time, she found a gap in the trees.

  Jason threw open the passenger door. “Wait here,” he ordered melodramatically. Creeping back to the trail, he stuck his head out for a moment before returning to the car. “Seems to be two of them, Cooter and another guy,” he whispered, although there was no way they could have been heard at that distance. “I’m going up to take a peek. You stay here.” He took his weapon out of his holster and set out through the brush, obviously hoping to get behind them without setting foot on the trail.

  Delphine was not about to stay there like an obedient little girl while he played the intrepid hero. She waited a couple of minutes, then set out herself. A moment later, she had a thought and returned to the car to collect the video camera that had been lying on the back seat since their first attempt to interview Cooter.

  Taking a different path from Jason, Delphine was immediately showered with water dripping from trees and bushes. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and kept going. Mosquitoes whined and buzzed about her head; already she could feel welts rising on her arms and the back of her neck. The saturated air had an almost silvery sheen, making everything dreamy and indistinct like a scene by Monet or Pissarro. Delphine could hear a hum of conversation and edged closer until she found a gap in the vegetation. Cooter and the other man were still a few yards distant. Dropping to the ground, she poked the camera through a gap in the leaves. Bracing her elbows against the soft earth, she zoomed in on Cooter’s face until his features were
sharp enough to see the stubble on his chin.

  She heard Cooter shout, “Why the fuck should I believe you? Once the FBI gets on the trail, they never let go.” The second man, wearing a sports jacket and khaki pants, was several inches taller. He placed both hands on Cooter’s shoulders. “Calm down man, not so loud,” he said. They continued speaking, their voices too soft for Delphine to make out the words. She shifted the camera upward to get a view of the other man’s face—and gasped. That sandy hair cropped almost down to his scalp; those thin, bloodless lips ... lips she had once so disastrously kissed.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. It’s not your ass on the line,” Cooter suddenly shouted, shaking Mitchell’s hands off. “I want the rest of my money and then I’m out of here.” Mitchell took a step back, put his hand inside his jacket, extracted a small gun and fired. Cooter’s head exploded. A couple of panicked birds took wing, squawking loudly. Then there was an unearthly hush. Even the mosquitoes had been stunned into silence.

  It had happened so quickly it seemed unreal, like watching a movie. In her shock, Delphine had jerked the camera upward when the shot sounded. She may have uttered a little cry. Now, as birds started singing again, she refocused on Cooter’s body, which lay twitching on the ground, feet toward her. There could be little doubt he was dead. Her ears still rang and she felt a sob gather. She thrust it back down her throat, clenching her lips tight, concentrating on keeping the camera steady and the focus sharp. Strangely, she did not hear music in her head, not then and not ever again.

  Mitchell took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Cooter’s blood from his face and hands. Delphine recalled the feel of his cold lips and shuddered. Suddenly Mitchell looked over right in her direction. Had he heard something? He took a step forward. Delphine edged the camera back out of sight, buried her head in the undergrowth and froze. The next 30 seconds were the longest of her life. Her pulse galloped. There was a roaring in her ears, a rank taste in her mouth. She closed her eyes and told herself that if Mitchell shot her, it would be over before she even realized she was dead. Perhaps he was standing there, waiting for her to look up before he put a bullet through her brain. Delphine was trapped in a tiny sliver of time that seemed not to end.

  Eventually, she forced herself to peek. Mitchell had returned his attention to the body. For a moment, she thought he was shaping to kick it. Instead, he took off his jacket and laid it carefully on the front seat of his car, a silver BMW. Cautiously, Delphine lifted the camera and resumed filming. Mitchell started dragging the body into the woods by the feet, pulling the dead weight behind him. Cooter was such a slender man; he couldn’t have weighed much more than 130 pounds but it still required considerable effort. Perhaps the dead weigh more than the living, she thought.

  She heard breaking twigs and muffled curses as Mitchell disappeared into the foliage. Delphine knew she should escape and make herself scarce while she had the chance but she wanted to see what happened next. If she hadn’t been discovered so far, she figured she was probably safe. So she waited, ignoring the stiffness in her limbs.

  After 10 minutes, Mitchell returned carrying Cooter’s boots and clothing. He must have stripped the body naked and left it in the woods. Delphine fought a wave of nausea. Mitchell was sweating and breathing hard but his movements remained relaxed and unhurried. He started kicking mud over the spot where Cooter’s body had fallen, obscuring the signs of blood. Through the viewfinder Delphine could clearly see his wet hair, the mud on his pants and the blood on his shirt. Suddenly music started blaring from the BMW, a catchy Cuban rumba that could not have been more incongruous. After a terrifying second, she realized it was a cell phone ringing.

  Mitchell retrieved his jacket, took the phone out of the inside pocket and flipped it open. “Webb,” he said leaning against the vehicle, speaking in a normal conversational tone, loud enough for Delphine to hear. “Yeah, I met him … No, it didn’t go so well. He was in a panic, said he wanted to skip town. I tried to reason with him … Nah, he wouldn’t listen.” There was a lengthy pause. “Yeah … one shot.” He listened. “I already dealt with it. Don’t worry, nobody but critters will find it.”

  Another pause. “That’s next. I’ll dump it somewhere where no-one will find it for a while. I’ll come by your office later.”

  Mitchell closed the phone, opened his car trunk and took out a duffel bag which contained a clean shirt and jeans. He’d come prepared. Quickly, he stripped to his underwear and changed, packing his soiled clothes along with Cooter’s in the duffel which he tossed back in the trunk. Then he climbed into Cooter’s SUV and drove off down the trail. Delphine allowed herself the luxury of breathing again.

  Chapter 20

  When she was sure Webb was really gone, Delphine stood up, allowing the blood to return to her muscles. She retraced her footsteps, not daring to use the road in case Mitchell unexpectedly returned. Jason was waiting by her car.

  “Thank God. I heard a shot. I thought maybe… I thought … I was about to go looking for you. Are you OK?”

  She held out her arms and he grabbed her, pressing her body against his chest so hard she thought her ribs might crack. She felt his lips caressing her forehead, her eyelids, her ears. “You’re soaking,” he whispered.

  “Just rain water.”

  “What happened?”

  “You didn’t see?”

  “I saw someone go down. Couldn’t see who.”

  “Cooter. He’s dead.”

  “And the killer?”

  “Webb.”

  “What?”

  “Your former colleague.”

  “Mitch? I don’t believe it. Where is he now?”

  Delphine pointed down the trail. “He took Cooter’s SUV. Before that, he spoke to someone on his cellphone.”

  “Let’s get out of here while we can. I’ll drive,” Jason said. Before they left, he knotted his tie to the branch of a tree by the side of the road so they’d be able to find the place again.

  Ten minutes later, they were back on the country lane. Jason drove half a mile and parked by the side of the road. He turned to face Delphine.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Delphine had a flashback of Cooter’s face disintegrating in a shower of gore and shivered. “I think I got it all on film.”

  “Let’s see.”

  She replayed the film on the small inbuilt screen. Yes, she’d captured everything, despite quite a bit of camera shake. When it got to the point of the gunshot, she had to look away. The scene was already recorded in her brain and there was no ‘delete’ button she could press to get rid of it.

  “My God, you’ve really nailed him,” Jason said. “We need to get to the police right now – or maybe the FBI.”

  “Not yet. He’s getting his orders from someone. Remember, this is about Dayton, not Webb. He’s just a pawn, she’s the black queen. We need to see where he leads us next.”

  “It doesn’t feel right, leaving a murderer to wander around on the loose,” Jason said.

  “We have to.” Delphine shivered again. “It was a perfect crime. If we hadn’t been there, it would have been months or years before anyone discovered the body by which time there wouldn’t be much left to discover. The scavengers have probably found it already.” She shivered at the thought.

  By now, it was getting dark. Delphine removed her shredded pantyhose and did her best to repair her appearance. Her clothes were drying quickly but her beautiful shoes were wrecked.

  They waited another half hour before Mitchell’s silver BMW nosed its way on to the road and turned back toward the highway, Jason following a safe distance behind. They hit Route 15 and headed back in the direction of Washington. Mitchell merged on to the Capital Beltway and then took the turnoff for Potomac. By now, it was obvious where he was heading. Jason slowed down and allowed the lights of the BMW to fade into the distance. He pulled over just down
the road from Schuyler’s estate.

  “OK, you have your proof. Let’s go to the police,” he said.

  “What proof?”

  “You have him on video. What more do you need?”

  “We have nothing on Dayton,” Delphine said. “We have to go in there.”

  “What will that achieve?”

  “The house is full of surveillance cameras. If we could get a video of Mitchell talking to Schuyler, that at least would help tie him to the murder and set her back a bit.”

  “That would be risky, not to say potentially suicidal.”

  “I don’t see why. You work there and I’m about to become the daughter of the family.”

  “That doesn’t excuse us snooping around. And the guards won’t let you past the gate if you’re not on their visitors list.”

  “So I’ll hide in back.”

  “You really want to do this?”

  “I really have to do it. So do you, if you want to avoid dating Dayton’s adopted daughter.”

  “OK, you win,” he said reluctantly.

  Delphine climbed into the back seat and lay down as Jason drove up to the entrance. He waved his pass at the security man and waited for the electronic gates to open. Then they drove down the long path and parked next to Webb’s BMW.

  “Come quickly,” Jason said. “They have guards with attack dogs walking around all night. I don’t want to tangle with them. They spook me out.”

  Instead of going through the front door as on her previous visit, Jason led Delphine to a small entrance in the rear used by staff. He touched his pass to an electronic pad and they entered the control room.

  “Hey Jason, what brings you here?” a guard asked, turning away from the bank of TV screens he was monitoring. He glanced at Delphine, taking in her disheveled appearance, but made no comment.

  “I have the 8:30 shift.”

  The man consulted a clipboard. “We don’t have you down to work until tomorrow afternoon.”