‘OK.’
Jeff headed out of the bedroom towards the living room. Kelly took a last look around. She could not see anything out of the ordinary. Casually, she opened a drawer in the small bedside table. It contained a copy of Hustler magazine and photographs of two young women, no identification but, by their appearance, not American. Respectable looking. Perhaps family, girl friends, or marriage interests. One of the pages of the magazine was folded over slightly at the top right-hand corner. Kelly opened the magazine at the page. It featured a series of color photographs of a man performing various sexual acts on a naked woman who was tied, spread-eagled, to a bed, lying on her back. She appeared to be enjoying whatever he was doing.
‘Probably not encouraged in Lebanon,’ Kelly said to herself.
She smiled, replaced the magazine in the drawer, and began to walk away. But suddenly, she turned back, savagely yanked the drawer open, and flicked through the magazine until she came to the same page.
‘Kelly Smith, God damn it, switch your brain on,’ she told herself.
She ran into the living room, told the forensic officer to bag the Hustler, and called to Jeff Morris.
‘Jeff, I need to speak to the M.E. Do you have a number?’
‘He’ll be back at the morgue with the body by now,’ Jeff replied. ‘Hold on. I have a mobile number.’
After a brief search, Jeff dictated a number.
‘Thanks. Can you get all that stuff downstairs now, find Ed, and tell him to take it straight to Headquarters, and not let it out of his sight until we come for it?’
‘Our Headquarters, or yours?’
They looked at each other.
‘It should be yours, technically’ Kelly said, ‘but…’
‘Yours,’ Jeff said decisively. ‘It will be OK. We can explain it. It was your search warrant.’
‘Good,’ Kelly said.
Morris called to the agents, who were waiting patiently by the door of the apartment.
‘Guys, give me a hand with this stuff. It has to be out of here now.’
Kelly quickly dialed the medical examiner’s mobile number. To her relief, he picked up.
‘Dr. Edloe, this is Agent Kelly Smith. I’ve just thought of something I need you to do. I need you to take samples from the body for DNA. testing.’
‘I can do that,’ the M.E. replied. ‘What kind of tests did you have in mind?’
‘I want them tested against samples taken from another body you have down there at the morgue, a woman called Lucia Benoni. There should be blood samples and a vaginal swab. Can you do that?’
‘Sure. I remember Benoni. I was there when they brought her in. Is our guy a suspect in that one?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping you’re going to tell us,’ Kelly said.
A uniformed D.C. police officer came in, looking distinctly pleased with himself.
‘Excuse me, Ma’am, …’
‘Yes?’
‘I just thought you ought to know, I just talked with a Mr. and Mrs. John Bacon. They live on the second floor.’
‘And…?’
‘Ma’am, they say they saw a man leaving the building by the staircase about three o’clock this morning. He was in a hurry, and he was carrying a canvas bag, the kind of thing you might carry your tennis gear in.’
‘Description?’
‘Yeah, kind of weird. They said real wild-looking, with a beard, plaid shirt, heavy boots, reminded them of some kind of mountain man. Young, about six feet tall. The staircase is pretty well lit, so they claim they had a good view.’
‘What were the Bacons doing on the staircase at that hour?’
‘They weren’t actually on the staircase. They had been out of town, got a late start driving back, and they were just unloading their bags from the elevator. They heard someone running hell for leather downstairs, they looked and saw this guy going from three to two.’
‘Did he see them?’
‘Ma’am, they’re not sure.’
‘All right. Nice work, officer. Get a full statement, arrange for them to meet with a sketch artist as soon as possible, and tell them I’m going to arrange twenty-four hour security until we’re sure there’s no danger.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ the officer beamed, and ran out of the apartment.
As he did so, an official-looking delegation presented itself at the door, accompanied by Jeff Morris and a uniformed officer.
‘Agent Kelly Smith?’ the man who seemed to be the leader asked. He was tall and thin, with a short goatee beard, immaculately attired in a formal charcoal suit, white shirt, and red tie. His voice betrayed only the trace of an accent.
‘Yes.’
‘I am Kalik Amal, Deputy Head of Station, Embassy of the Republic of Lebanon.’
Amal produced his identification, and waved it briefly in front of her.
‘I demand access to this apartment and possession of all diplomatic papers.’
Kelly stood aside, and gestured to Amal to enter.
‘It’s all yours, Your Excellency. Help yourself. This is Mr. Marfrela’s passport. I’m not aware of any other diplomatic papers here, but if you should find any, you are welcome to remove them. On behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, may I express my condolences on Mr. Marfrela’s death. I assure you that we will spare no effort to bring whoever is responsible to justice.’
The diplomat seemed taken aback by her immediate agreement.
‘Thank you, Agent Smith. What effects have been removed already?’
‘Only evidence relating to the murder.’
‘What is that evidence?’
‘Your Excellency, I regret that I am not authorized to disclose that information. You would have to request it from my Director, and the Chief of Police for the District of Columbia.’
‘You were here, Agent Smith. I demand that you tell me.’
‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency. I would be happy to convey your request to Director Lazenby immediately.’
Amal was furious, but he realized that his options were limited. Kelly was within her rights. She breathed a sigh of relief that the evidence was safely in Ed’s care and on its way by van to the Hoover Building, where it would be catalogued and then thoroughly tested in the FBI laboratory. Amal nodded to the three men with him, who began their own search of the apartment. Amal himself walked back casually into the living room, and sat in an armchair, studying the bloodstains with apparent fascination. Kelly took Jeff by the arm, and led him to the front door.
‘I’m getting an urge to go look at the evidence before the Director has to decide whether we need to hand any of it over.’
‘Fine with me,’ Morris replied. ‘Amal’s not exactly a bundle of laughs.’
‘Right,’ Kelly said. ‘Let’s leave him to it.’
‘Harry,’ Kelly whispered to the agent who had just returned after carrying down the last box of evidence, ‘Would you mind locking up after our guests leave? I need to get back to Headquarters.’
‘I guess,’ Harry replied. ‘But what happens if he wants to take…?’
‘He can take whatever he wants,’ Kelly reassured him. ‘We’ve got what we need, and we’re pretty sure there’s nothing left to interest Amal. Just get a receipt for anything he does take, and call me later.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
With that, Kelly and Jeff left unnoticed.
15
‘YOU LOOK AS exhausted as I feel,’ Ted Lazenby said.
‘I’ve had better days,’ Kelly acknowledged. She had just entered his office, and was leaning weakly against the door frame. It was almost nine o’clock on a rainy Friday evening.
On arriving back at the Hoover Building, she had spent some time with the agents who had been assigned to conduct a preliminary examination of the evidence taken from Hamid Marfela’s apartment. Mercifully, there was not much of it, and probably most of it would eventually be found to be irrelevant to the murder of Lucia Benoni. In ordinary circumstances, it would have been taken
directly to the laboratory for testing, or to an evidence room for storage. But these were not ordinary circumstances. The Bureau had taken a number of significant risks in the way it had handled the case. It was essential to go by the book from this point on, especially where the Lebanese Embassy was concerned. If there were any papers or effects which should be turned over to the Ambassador, now was the time to find out. Kelly stayed long enough to be satisfied that the agents understood what was expected of them. She then left Jeff Morris with the agents as the representative of the D.C. Police Department, and made her way to the Director’s office, where Lazenby was waiting for her.
Lazenby waved Kelly into a chair and used a small key to open the doors of a cabinet which formed the base of a book case behind his desk. The contents of the cabinet were more interesting than the volumes of the United States Code and the onyx book ends on the shelves above them. A bottle of single malt whisky, one of Lazenby’s few indulgences. Without asking, he poured two glasses and handed one to Kelly. He pulled up a chair for himself across from her.
‘This will get the blood circulating again.’
Kelly smiled.
‘Thanks, Director.’
‘How was it today – for you, I mean?’
‘It was fine. I didn’t have time to think about it.’
She sniffed her glass. ‘Thank you for trusting me with this. It means a lot.’
‘I had no doubts. All that mattered was how you felt. So, what does it look like down there? Anything we’re going to have to turn over?’
Kelly took a grateful sip of the whisky and felt it warming and relaxing her whole body. She began to realize how much the day had taken out of her. She was drained.
‘I don’t think so, though some of it may be a judgment call.’
‘Such as…?’
‘Well, there’s a clear paper trail from Marfrela to the Sons of the Flag compound in Oregon. If we make the assumption that the Embassy was somehow involved with that…’
‘That has to be a possibility.’
‘Yes, but I doubt they would want to admit it. They’re pretty much bound to take the line that whatever Marfrela was doing, he was doing on his own time.’
‘Agreed. Why don’t we just keep quiet and see whether they ask for it? If they do, we’ll consider turning it over.’
‘Right, Sir. Did you get my message that we found a handgun and ammunition?’
‘Yes. I don’t think we need to worry about that, at least as far as the Embassy is concerned. Hardly diplomatic material.’
‘It could be Embassy property.’
‘Whether it is or not, it’s staying with us until it’s been tested, and if there’s any chance at all that it’s the murder weapon in the Benoni case, it’s staying with us indefinitely.’
Kelly allowed herself to stretch out her legs and sink into her chair.
‘The truth is, Director, there’s not much down there that’s going to interest the Embassy. I’m not sure how much of it will interest us, really. We’ll see what the tests turn up, and I’ll run those phone numbers in Oregon by Phil Hammond. But I can’t help thinking we would have gotten a lot more from a few minutes of conversation with Hamid Marfrela.’
‘Yes. Very likely, whoever killed him had the same thought,’ Lazenby mused.
‘Yes, Sir. God, I just wish…’
‘No, no, you know what they say about hindsight.’
Lazenby watched his personal assistant try unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn.
‘Look, why don’t you get out of here for the weekend and get some rest?’ he suggested kindly. ‘It’s getting way too late.’
Kelly took a long drink of her whisky.
‘I appreciate it, Director, but I think I’d better stay until they finish cataloguing the evidence. You never know what might crawl out of the woodwork.’
‘No,’ Lazenby replied firmly. ‘It won’t do the Lebanese Embassy any harm to stew for a couple of days. I can easily put them off until some time next week. State will back me up. They’re not overjoyed that Marfrela was running around doing whatever he was doing without adult supervision, so the Ambassador’s not exactly flavor of the month with State right now. The Lebanese Ambassador is not worth killing yourself for, Kelly. Just make sure it’s all secure till Monday.’
‘Thank you, Director,’ Kelly smiled with relief. ‘I have to admit I’m looking forward to getting home tonight.’
She finished her whisky and replaced the glass on the table at the side of her chair.
‘And I hope you’re going to take your own advice.’
Lazenby stood slowly.
‘What?’
‘You should get out of here too.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he muttered non-committally. ‘I will. I have to make a stop on the way home, but I’m out of here.’
‘OK Sir. Good night.’
‘Good night, Kelly.’
After Kelly had left, the Director waited for a few seconds, then picked up his personal phone. He dialed a number, which was answered almost immediately.
‘Steve, I’m sorry it’s so late. Do you still want to…?’
‘Hell, yes. I’m waiting for you. Come on over.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Lazenby replied.
16
‘THE BASTARDS ARE out to assassinate me,’ Steve Wade observed bitterly, handing Ted Lazenby a glass of whisky. The whisky was blended and undistinguished, so Lazenby had asked for water and a little ice, a form of pollution he would never have dreamed of inflicting on his own single malt.
‘That’s all it is. Assassination. Bastards.’
They were alone in a private den in the Residence on the second floor of the White House. Their friendship had begun years before in college, on the football field and in the fraternity house. The President still kept around ten friends from that time in his life, a kind of inner circle, who were close enough to be invited to spend time in this inner sanctum. Only three, including Lazenby, were now based in Washington, and of these only Lazenby had been offered a job within the Administration. Ever since Wade’s election to his first term, Lazenby had visited him privately for a drink and casual conversation at least once a month. He had wondered whether that would change after his appointment as Director of the FBI, but it seemed that Wade continued to value their time together as friends, and saw no conflict in their meeting as before. They had a tacit, but clear understanding that these informal occasions were privileged, and that no matters of business would be discussed. It was a rare opportunity for the President to relax in the company of a trusted friend.
Lazenby waited for the President to take a seat in his armchair before doing the same, and shook his head to decline the offer of a cigar.
‘Steve, I understand how it must look to you. You’re the President. You’re in the papers day-in, day-out, can’t avoid it, and God knows they’re always looking for a good story. But you don’t have to see it as assassination.’
‘I don’t know what the hell else to call it.’
‘You’re a public figure. They think they own you.’
‘So, that gives them the right to tell lies about me?’
‘No. Not in my book.’
‘Well, that’s my point.’
Slowly, Lazenby drank some whisky.
‘Is that what they’re doing?’ he asked.
Wade paused in the act of lighting a cigar and allowed the match to burn out.
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
Wade struck another match, and there was silence while he lit his cigar and appreciatively blew out several smoke rings.
‘Are you saying you don’t believe me?’
‘No.’
‘That’s what it sounds like. Christ, that’s all I need.’
‘I’m not saying anything, Steve. I’m asking you a question. You don’t have to answer. But it’s the same question the press are asking you.’
‘Everyone’s after me.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘You should live my life for a day. I can’t get away from Lucia Benoni. If it’s not the press, it’s my wife or even my fucking Vice President, for Christ’s sake. Why can’t I get a break from it for five minutes? Would it kill you people to believe me and get on with your lives?’
‘I’m not ‘you people’,’ Lazenby replied quietly. ‘I’m your friend, and as your friend, I’m counseling you to face up to a few facts, to ask yourself why the press doesn’t believe you.’
Wade flicked a small deposit of ash from his cigar.
‘You mean the S-pass?’
‘Yes.’
‘A lot of people have S-passes, Ted. I can’t keep track of all that. We have staff here in the White House who issue them. I can’t understand what the big deal is. The Secret Service checks them all out. I don’t get to just hand them out to anyone I want. Hell, if I ask for an S-pass to be issued, there must be at least twenty people who know about it. I couldn’t keep it quiet if I wanted to. The President has no privacy, Ted. Jesus, living in the White House is like living in a fucking zoo. The whole world gets to peer into your cage.’
‘Fine,’ Lazenby said. ‘Tell them that.’
‘Do you really think that would make a difference? That Sullivan bitch has me in her sights, and she’s loaded for bear. She has me in bed with the Benoni woman, and nothing’s going to change that.’
‘Mary Sullivan’s not like that, Steve. Show her she’s barking up the wrong tree and she’ll back off faster than you can say ‘Washington Post’.’
‘The woman’s a leech.’
‘The woman’s a Pulitzer Prize-winner with a reputation for sticking to the facts. Look, if this had come from The Enquirer, that’s one thing. If it comes from the Post, that’s another thing. And if it comes from Mary Sullivan, that’s something else again.’
‘You’re saying they’ll believe her rather than me?’
‘I’m saying she has credibility. But if you tell the truth and she sees that you’re telling the truth, she will go away, and so will the rest of them. It will die a natural death.’
Wade nodded, exhaling cigar smoke.
‘The Benoni woman did have my phone number, didn’t she?’
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