“Stop it!” she ordered herself. “You’re playing right into his hands.”
But still she stood there, searching the shadows beneath the trees until she convinced herself that they weren’t concealing anyone.
KATE WAS a very sound sleeper, the result, she’d always thought, of having grown up in a tiny house filled with four kids. So when she awoke abruptly at just after 2:00 a.m., her heart was already pounding and the metallic taste of fear was in her dry mouth.
What had awakened her? She had no recollection of dreaming. Such was her state of mind that she didn’t immediately think of Sam. Instead, she crept quietly out of bed and took her .22 revolver from her nightstand. Her father, a gun collector, had pressed it on her after her divorce.
She went to her bedroom doorway and stopped, listening carefully. If it was Sam, where was he? After deciding that it had probably been nothing more than a noise in the street, she nonetheless crept quietly along the hallway. A faint light came from downstairs, but she knew it was the living room lamp, which was on a timer and would soon turn off.
When she still heard nothing, she headed for the stairs, gun in hand and already cocked. Halfway down, she could finally see into the living room—and there was Sam, sitting in his favorite chair, petting Reject, who was curled on his lap. Even from this distance, she could hear the cat purring.
Fortunately, Sam hadn’t seen her yet, and she knew she should steal back up the stairs to bed. But something in the scene held her there. Sam looked…vulnerable. The description didn’t fit the man, but that’s how it felt to her.
She thought for the first time about the life he’d been living for the past three years—not about the glamour this time, but about the danger and the peripatetic nature of his recent existence. She’d never understood why he’d accepted the job, and for a long while, every time she’d seen him on TV, she’d worried about him.
Belatedly, she started turning to go back up. But Reject had apparently heard her and his sudden reaction drew Sam’s attention. He rose from his seat, cradling the cat against his shoulder as he started toward the stairs.
“Did I wake you?” he asked with surprise as he reached the bottom of the steps.
She edged closer to the railing, trying to conceal the gun. She didn’t want him to know she’d been frightened. But she was wearing only a skimpy nightshirt and there wasn’t any way to hide it. A frown creased his brow.
“Do you have a gun?” he asked incredulously.
She gave up her attempt to hide it and pulled back the hammer to prevent it going off accidentally. “Yes. Dad gave it to me,” she replied with an attempt at nonchalance. “I do some target shooting at his hunting camp every time I go home,” she went on, certain he would ask if she even knew how to use it.
Sam started up the stairs, his gaze going from the gun to her. “Has anything else happened besides that letter?”
She turned and hurried up the steps ahead of him. “No. I wasn’t even thinking about that. I live alone—or I did—and Washington’s a dangerous place these days.”
She waited a moment for him to admit that he’d talked to the detective about the intern’s death, and when he said nothing, she hurried down the hall to her bedroom, tossing a quick good-night over her shoulder.
Just as she was about to fall asleep again, her mind still dwelling on that image of Sam, Reject came in and jumped up on her bed, then curled up next to her. Apparently, he was doing his best to remain neutral by dividing his attentions between them.
“WHATS YOUR INTEREST in the Crawford murder, Ms. Stevens?”
Fortunately, Kate was prepared for the detective’s question. “I’m working on a story about the summer internship program, and someone told me about him.”
“Must be a hot topic,” the detective mused. “Sam Winters from CNN came by yesterday to see me about it, too—and he told me the same thing.”
So we even tell the same lies, Kate thought with grim amusement. “I read the file, but I’m curious about your thoughts—things you might not have put down. It just seemed to me that Crawford was an unlikely candidate for a robbery—especially in an affluent neighborhood like that where there should be better prospects.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone got killed for just a few bucks.”
“He was interning in Congressman Newbury’s office. Did you talk to anyone there? I didn’t see anything in the report.”
“Winters asked about that, too. Someone from Newbury’s office called me the day after the murder—a guy named Armistead, who’s Newbury’s chief of staff. A really obnoxious type. He was trying to throw his weight around, as though we weren’t already doing all we could.”
Interesting, she thought. “Were there any other similar incidents around that time in that neighborhood?”
“No, there weren’t—and that’s what has always bothered me. Like I told Winters, that’s a pretty safe neighborhood. Besides, the kid wasn’t exactly a ninety-pound weakling, which should have made him a less likely target for a robbery. Still, I couldn’t find a reason to think it was anything else.”
“What about his parents? He was living with them, wasn’t he? Did they have any suspicions?”
“He was living with his mother. The parents are divorced. And she wasn’t home when it happened. She’d been away for a few days. But she only said that he was very pleased with his summer job. I guess they’re pretty hard to get. And she didn’t think he could have had any enemies.”
“Do you have his mother’s number?” Kate asked.
“Sure. I gave it to Winters, too. It’s kind of strange that you two are so interested in this.”
Kate smiled, hearing the unspoken question in the detective’s voice. “Well, you know how it is, Detective. This is a town full of journalists and we’re always tripping over each other’s feet.”
Crawford’s mother worked at the Justice Department and Kate called her there, wondering if Sam had already contacted her. But she discovered that the woman was on vacation and not expected back for nearly two weeks.
“Actually, she’s on her honeymoon,” the secretary confided to her. “She and her former husband got remarried.”
Kate thanked the woman and hung up, thinking that this was not the time to be reopening old wounds for either of the parents. By now, they had probably come to terms with the loss of their son and it seemed to Kate that she didn’t have a good enough reason to bother them.
Still, she wanted to talk to someone who’d known Crawford, if only to find out what kind of kid he’d been. Was he the kind who would have pursued any ethical lapses that he discovered—even if it cost him his precious internship?
She decided to call the University of Virginia, where Crawford had been a student. She didn’t really have much hope of learning anything, since school was out for the summer, but to her pleased surprise, his faculty adviser was available.
“Yes, of course I remember Jim,” the man told her. “It was a real tragedy. He was a fine young man. He’d planned to go to law school and then hoped to work for the Justice Department, like his mother. He was just the kind we need there, too.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, although she thought she already knew.
“Jim was an idealistic young man, but unlike so many kids, his ideals were deeply rooted.”
“Would you say that he was the kind who’d pursue the truth even if it might cost him a great deal?”
“That’s exactly what I meant,” the professor confirmed. “Are you saying that there could have been more to his death than just robbery?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Kate said cautiously.
“He tried to reach me the night before he was killed. I was away for a few days, and when I got home, there was a message on my machine from him. I called his home and that’s how I learned he’d been murdered.”
“What did he say in the message?”
“Nothing, really, except that he
wanted to talk to me. He left only his home number and said that it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to call him at work.”
“Were those his exact words?” Kate asked.
“Something to that effect. But it didn’t really surprise me that he wouldn’t want to be called at work. He was a very conscientious young man and he probably just didn’t want personal calls at work.”
Kate thanked him and hung up before he could start asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Too late, she realized that she hadn’t asked him if Sam had contacted him. But surely he would have mentioned it. And he’d told her that she’d caught him as he’d stopped by his office for a few minutes.
She was sitting there trying to decide what to do next when she received a summons from Damon, her editor. Hoping that he wasn’t going to hand her yet another assignment, she hurried off to his office.
“Kate, why didn’t you tell me about that threatening letter?” he demanded the moment she walked in.
“Because there wasn’t anything to tell,” she replied, visualizing Sam’s very attractive butt with her foot planted squarely on it. “I have no idea who could have sent it.”
“Don’t try to outmacho the guys, Kate,” he said gruffly. “You know damned well that we take things like that seriously. Has there been anything more?”
Kate hesitated for a moment too long. Damon’s bushy gray brows shot up expectantly.
She told him about the E-mail message, but said nothing about the calls last night. “Sam doesn’t know about it and I don’t want him to know, Damon. This is none of his business.”
“He’s living with you, isn’t he?”
“He’s staying in my basement apartment until he gets settled,” she stated firmly.
“Okay, okay, but he’s got to know because he’s looking into it.”
“I know he is, and it’s not his—”
“I approved it. You don’t have the time. We’re short staffed as it is, with people on vacation and all these summer interns to deal with…Anyway, he offered to look into that kid’s death and nose around a little about Armistead and Newbury. If there’s anything to find, Sam will find it.”
“Thanks for your confidence in me, Damon,” she said acerbically.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with my confidence in you. I just can’t spare you right now to spend time on this. Sam and I agreed that if there’s really a story in it, you’ll be the one to write it.”
“Is Sam coming back to the Post?” she asked.
“No, although I’m trying to persuade him to make us a base for his syndicated column.”
“You’re not being fair to me, Damon. I can find the time to pursue that story. I’ll even work overtime without pay.”
“Good. Then you can take on these assignments.” He handed her three yellow memo sheets.
Kate glared at him. “I really wish I could accuse you of being sexist, Damon.”
He chuckled. “Sam said you’d probably say that. But it won’t wash, and you know it.”
Unfortunately, she did. Damon’s reason for bringing Sam into it was exactly what he’d told her.
“What do you think about the possibility that Armistead could be behind the threats?” she asked curiously. Damon had one of the best minds she’d ever run across, and she always valued his thoughts and advice.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his nearly bald head. “I don’t know, Kate. It seems pretty farfetched. Armistead and his boss are both dirt bags, but I just don’t see how your story could pose a threat to them. On the other hand, I’ve gone over everything else you’ve been working on and I don’t see anything there, either.” He brought his chair back to the floor with a thump. “You be careful, Kate. I’m glad that Sam is staying with you. And I don’t care if that sounds sexist.”
Clutching her new assignments, Kate returned to her cubicle, only to realize that she was going to be late for an appointment. She took the elevator down to the underground garage, still seething over Sam’s intrusion into her story.
She hadn’t told Damon about her conversation with the dead intern’s faculty advisor, and she had half a mind to keep it from Sam, as well. Let Sam tell her what he was finding out, and then she could still do some sleuthing on her own. Or she would if she could find a few extra hours in the day.
Normally, she waited in the elevator, her finger on the button, while she surveyed the cavernous space. There was a security guard on duty at the only entrance and exit, but it still wasn’t one of her favorite places. No one had been attacked here that she knew of, but thefts from cars weren’t uncommon.
Today, however, with her mind on Sam and his meddling—not to mention her desire to get to her appointment on time—Kate walked out of the elevator and started across to the far corner where her Toyota was parked. But halfway across the garage, she suddenly froze as a figure separated itself from the shadows near her car. Then before she could turn back to the elevator, he dashed around a corner and out of sight. A few seconds later, she heard the heavy fire door bang shut.
She hesitated, then continued toward her car. It could have just been someone who worked in the building, but something in his hurried movement seemed furtive.
She unlocked her car and looked around inside. There was no sign that he’d attempted to break in, and why would anyone do that anyway? Her six-year-old Toyota wasn’t exactly the most enticing vehicle down here.
She looked at the cars parked near hers: a new BMW and a late-model Audi. A quick glance inside them revealed no sign that they’d been tampered with. Then she felt the hoods of both cars. Neither one was warm, so he couldn’t have just driven in. Besides, she was sure that when she first saw him, he’d been between her car and the wall, and not even near the other two.
She drove to the exit ramp, then pulled over and went into the security office. The guard told her that the only traffic in the past half hour had been two people exiting. No one had come in.
“We’re careful down here, miss,” he told her. “But there’s not much we can do to prevent people from getting in through the building. I make rounds, but there’s too many places for them to hide.”
“Have there been any problems in the garage lately?”
“Not for a while—not since that rash of phone and CD thefts a couple of months ago.”
Kate drove off to her appointment, deciding that she’d probably overreacted. The man she’d seen could have been someone who worked in the building who’d come down to his car for something. And if he was up to no good, he was probably nothing more than an ordinary thief she’d surprised in the act of selecting his target.
She reminded herself that the only threats she could positively confirm had been the letter and the E-mail message. Those phone calls last night could have been from anyone.
Now that Sam had taken over, Kate was inclined to shrug off the whole thing. Let him play Sam Spade while she got on with the more important work.
Chapter Three
Kate saw the brand-new charcoal gray Porsche in her driveway the moment she turned onto her street. The trunk lid was open, and as she pulled in behind it, she could see that it contained a case of Sam’s favorite German beer. She got out and started toward the house. He’d better not think he could have the garage just because his car was worth ten times what hers was.
She turned and cast a glance back at the two cars and then revised her estimate. Fifty times was probably more like it. Then she nearly collided with Sam as he came out the door.
“Sorry. I was just unloading. Give me your keys and I’ll put your car in the garage.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling deflated but still ready to fight over another bone of contention. “Did you manage to erase any of my messages today?”
“There weren’t any for you,” he called back over his shoulder as he started toward the Porsche.
She went inside and sorted quickly through the mail. No more threats. Maybe it was over and Sam Spade would be spinning
his wheels, eager to go out and slay dragons when there were none to be found.
The refrigerator didn’t yield anything of interest. He must have taken the food he’d brought downstairs to the apartment. Even her emergency supply of frozen dinners was down to a tuna casserole she’d picked up by mistake on one of her whirlwind tours of the supermarket.
She made a face, remembering endless tuna casseroles during her days as a starving grad student. It looked as though dinner would have to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich unless she was willing to go shopping.
Sam came back up the stairs. “Let’s go out to dinner. I saw some new restaurants over on M. Any of them must be better than that,” he added, gesturing to the casserole. “Do you ever plan to become domesticated?”
“Probably about the same time you grow up and stop driving macho kiddie cars,” she replied. “There’s a good Japanese place that opened about six months ago.”
His wide mouth twisted wryly. “First you impugn my manhood, and then you accept my dinner invitation.”
“Okay, so I won’t accept your dinner invitation.”
He narrowed his electric blue eyes at her. “Do you know how many women would be happy to have dinner with me?”
“Probably only about ten thousand or so. This town is full of desperate women. Is it true that you have your own fan club?”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you want to change first?”
“No, I’m starving. If I behave myself, do you suppose I could have an autographed picture?”
“DAMON INFORMED ME that you’re going to be taking over my story,” she said after she’d waited long enough for him to raise the subject.
“I’m not taking over your story. If I find anything, it’s yours to write. Why didn’t you tell me about the E-mail message?”
“I was planning to. So Damon called you after I talked to him?”
He nodded. “He probably didn’t trust you to tell me, since you hadn’t bothered to tell him about either the letter or the E-mail.”
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