Expose

by Saranne Dawson

  Unfortunately, Snyder’s only reply was a string of obscenities.

  “Well,” Sam said with a theatrical sigh, “I guess we’ll just have to do some more digging there.”

  “Don’t move!”

  Kate and Sam both turned to see the other man getting slowly to his feet and brandishing a small but deadly-looking handgun. They hadn’t been paying any attention to him and Sam had set down his own gun.

  Ted Snyder looked at him hopefully and opened his mouth. But before he could do more than that, the other man cut him off.

  “I’m getting out of here. I did what I was paid for. The job’s over.”

  “You haven’t finished it,” Snyder cried. “Get rid of them and-”

  The man shook his head. “I didn’t get paid for that.”

  “You’ll get paid. I told you that.”

  “Sure,” the man said sarcastically as he moved toward the door unsteadily.

  “Who paid you?” Sam asked.

  The man stopped and regarded him for a moment in silence. Kate froze. This man had every reason to want to kill Sam, who’d just beaten him badly.

  “You’re not bad,” the man said conversationally, as though he were discussing a golf swing. “But you’d be dead if I hadn’t tripped.”

  “You’re right,” Sam agreed. “So who paid you—Snyder here?”

  “No, he was just the hired help like me.” He hesitated, seeming to consider his words. “Melrose paid me. His buddy recommended me because I took care of something for him last year.”

  “You mean his business partner?” Sam looked at Kate for help with the name, but she couldn’t recall it, either.

  But the man said nothing, and a moment later, he was gone.

  “The intern…Crawford,” Kate said when she could find her voice. “He means that he killed Crawford.”

  “Maybe,” Sam acknowledged. Then he turned to Ted Snyder, who was staring after the man as though his last hope had vanished with him. “Who is he?” Sam asked.

  Snyder turned to him and shook his head. “A hired gun. That’s what Melrose called him. I think he’s ex-military.”

  Sam tried to elicit more information from Snyder, but the New Leaf director just sat there in stony silence. A few minutes later, they heard the sound of approaching vehicles. Sam went to the door.

  “The cops are here.”

  SORTING IT ALL OUT took hours. Fortunately, a mental health worker had accompanied the police, and she left quickly in one of the squad cars with Charles Scofield, who neither protested nor acknowledged their presence.

  At the police station, Kate and Sam were questioned separately by various officers, but their own questions went unanswered. By the time it was over and the police were apparently satisfied with their stories, Kate felt like Charles had looked. Reality was in danger of slipping from her grasp. When they were finally brought together again, Sam took one look at her and demanded that they be released immediately. That brought Kate around enough that she began to make some demands of her own.

  “What about New Leaf and those kids at Wyndover Farm?” she asked.

  “We already have people at New Leaf and the state police in Pennsylvania will take care of their end.”

  Sam started to lead her from the tiny room where she’d been questioned, but she resisted. “I want my story, Sam.”

  “You’ll get your story,” he said gently. “They’ve promised to call when they’re ready to make a public statement.”

  An officer drove them back to the cabin. When they got out of the police car, Sam took her arm and led her toward his Porsche.

  “‘We’ll stay at the inn in town,’’ he told her. “It’s too late to make the trip back to Washington.”

  Kate nodded. She had no idea what time it was, but it was dark. Everything was a bit blurry around the edges right now, but she still had the presence of mind to ask if the police knew where to reach them.

  “DID YOUKNOW they had hot tubs?” Kate asked as she sank into the steamy, swirling waters.

  “Yeah. I saw it in their brochure when we were here for dinner.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “I’m also very stupid. Not only didn’t I think to lock the cabin and take the gun in with me, but then I didn’t check their hired gun for a spare. He must have had that little gun strapped to his ankle.”

  “I’m surprised that he didn’t kill us,” Kate remarked as she reached for her wineglass.

  “He’s a pro. You heard him. He didn’t think he’d get paid.”

  Kate shivered even in the warmth of the tub.

  “It’s over, Kitty-Kat,” Sam said, tickling the soles of her feet with his toes.

  “No, it isn’t. We still need to prove that what’s-his-name—Melrose’s partner—hired him to kill Crawford.”

  Sam yawned. “I have a feeling that Newbury is going to slither through this just as he has everything else.”

  “There must be some way to nail him, Sam.”

  “Maybe there is, but I’m not up to thinking about it tonight.” He began to slide his foot up along the inside of her leg. “However, there is something else I may be up to.”

  “Only if you’re into necrophilia,” Kate said with a major yawn.

  “WHAT? AND YOU AGREED to this?” Kate was incredulous and on her way to serious anger.

  “They’re only asking for a few days to be sure they have their ‘ducks all in a row,’ as the police chief put it.”

  “No way! I’m not going to sit on a story like this, and then have them give it to some local reporter.”

  “The chief gave me his personal word that we’d get an exclusive.”

  “Sure he did,” she scoffed. “His brother or cousin probably runs the local paper. If this were your story, you wouldn’t wait.”

  “Yes, I would…and I have. It’s called responsible journalism.”

  “Don’t start lecturing me, Sam.”

  “It seems to me that you need a lecture. Look at it this way. It’ll give us a couple of days to tie Newbury and Ar-mistead into it, and if we do, it’ll be even better.”

  “I don’t care about Newbury at this point.”

  “Well, you should. As it stands, you’ve got a very good story—but if they can be included in it, then you’ve definitely got Pulitzer-grade material.”

  Kate opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He did have a point. Tying the well-known congressman to this case virtually guaranteed a Pulitzer. As it was, she was sitting on a story that still had a lot of loose ends—a great human interest story, to be sure, but not one with famous names.

  Sam pressed on, apparently sensing his advantage. “The chief said that the place is swarming with high-powered attorneys, and because there are other jurisdictions involved, sorting it out will take some time. He also says that he has the word of the other police involved that they’ll let him handle the public announcement.

  “One more thing. He wants us to come in and see if we can identify the guy that got away. They contacted the FBI, and they’ve already sent an agent here with some photos. Snyder has refused to talk on advice of counsel, but the chief says that the FBI think they may know who he is from the description we gave them.”

  “What about Tony?” she asked plaintively.

  Sam shrugged. “Like I said, nobody’s talking at this point. My guess is that the D.A. is going to start offering some deals and then someone will talk.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “What that probably means is that they’ll all get off despite the fact that they’ve destroyed who knows how many kids’ lives.”

  “That’s the way the system works. Equal injustice for all. And what it probably means is that the ones with the best lawyers will get off.”

  They drove to police headquarters, where they were shown into the chief’s office. With him was an FBI agent. Instead of a thick folder of photographs, he had only one, which he laid on the chief’s desk in front of them.

  “Th
at’s him!” Kate and Sam said simultaneously. Kate thought he looked even more threatening in the picture than he had in real life, though she wouldn’t have thought that possible.

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  “His real name is Taylor Wright, but he uses a lot of aliases. He’s a hired killer. We can tie him to at least a dozen killings for hire, but we’ve never been able to track him down.”

  Kate shivered. “What I don’t understand is why he didn’t kill us.”

  “Probably for the reason he gave you. He hadn’t been paid for it. He operates strictly on a cash basis.”

  Kate was certainly glad to be alive, but she couldn’t help thinking that somehow that fact made him even worse. “Can you give me some information on him for my story?”

  “I’ve already given some background to the chief. He said that you’ve agreed to hold your story for a few days.” Kate nodded, although not at all happily. The agent gave her his card. “If you have any questions about him then, call me.”

  “What’s happening at the camp?” Kate asked as soon as the agent had gone.

  “The state has sent in some people to supervise the place for the time being,” the chief told her, handing her a piece of paper. “This is the name of the person authorized to speak for them. She’ll make herself available to you when the time comes.”

  “This had better not get out to some other reporter, Chief.”

  “It won’t. I understand your concern and I really appreciate your help. I can’t promise you that some other reporter won’t get word of it through some New Leaf employees even though they’ve been warned not to talk. But I promise that you’ll get the story first. The most anyone else will get is speculation.” He smiled at Kate. “If it weren’t for you two, this would never have come to light, so we owe you that much—especially since you came close to getting yourselves killed for it.”

  Kate thanked him, feeling far more reassured now. “What about Tony DiSalvo?”

  “Well, off the record for now, we think we might know where he’s been buried. One of my men knows the New Leaf handyman we picked up—the one with the black Ford pickup—and he says the guy’s got a little shack of a hunting camp off Hill Road. It’s possible that’s where he’s buried. Or maybe, if we’re lucky, he’s still alive and being held there. My men should be at the place by now.”

  “But you don’t think he’s alive, do you?”

  The chief shook his head. “It seems to me that they’d have no reason to keep him alive.”

  Kate was silent for a moment, trying to assuage the guilt she continued to feel over Tony. Sam asked about the kids at Wyndover Farm.

  “The Pennsylvania authorities have taken charge there. They’ve been questioning the couple hired to look after them, too.”

  “Have you talked to the hospital about Charles Sco-field?” Kate asked.

  The chief nodded. “Just before you got here. I don’t know much about this stuff, but they said that they’re going to be doing a complete brain scan on the boy. And the state police lab is rushing analysis on the pills we found at New Leaf. The labels on the bottles say they’re vitamins.”

  He rubbed his grizzled face wearily. “This case is about as complicated as it gets. I don’t know how you caught on to them in the first place. You’ll have to tell me the whole story sometime.”

  Kate promised that she would, although she admitted that a lot of it was nothing more than luck.

  He nodded. “A lot of our work’s like that, too—but don’t quote me on it.”

  They left the chief’s office and started back to Washington, turning their attention to the matter of Congressman Newbury.

  “The way I see it,” Sam said, “our only hope is to find someone close to Newbury who knows something and is willing to talk.”

  “That isn’t very likely, given the fact that Armistead has them all terrorized,” Kate said glumly.

  “Then how about a full court press?”

  “Stop with the sports metaphors. You know I hate football.”

  “It’s basketball, and what I mean is that we start bugging Newbury’s office and the committee staff and his PAC and ORDP—hinting that we know something’s not kosher.”

  Kate grinned, then leaned over to kiss him. “Sometimes I really am glad that you’re back, Sam.”

  “I certainly hope so, since you agreed to marry me again.”

  “I did?”

  “Right before all hell broke loose at the cabin.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Damn straight I’m sure, and don’t try to get out of it.”

  She wasn’t—exactly. But she was thinking that she might have been a bit hasty. However, before she could tell him that, they heard the wail of a siren. Kate turned to see a police cruiser bearing down on them.

  Sam swore. “Did you see any radar? I’m doing seventy-five.”

  “They sometimes use helicopters out here,” she reminded him as he turned off the road. The siren wound down as the cruiser pulled in behind him.

  Sam ran the window down as the officer approached. “Are you Sam Winters?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” Sam replied, putting away the license he’d been about to hand over.

  “Chief Pollard of Catoctin Valley wants to talk to you. I can patch you through from my car.”

  “Tony,” Kate said as they both got out. “They’ve found him.”

  She waited impatiently as Sam talked to the chief. The conversation was brief, but one look at Sam’s face told her what she already knew but didn’t want to hear.

  “They found him in a shallow grave at the hunting camp,” Sam confirmed a few moments later. “One bullet to the back of the head, but it looked like he’d been slapped around some, too, according to the chief.”

  “SO NOW WE WAIT TO SEE if we shook the tree enough for something to fall out,” Sam pronounced as they sat in the gathering twilight of their backyard, where Reject was once again on the prowl.

  It had been a very long day, beginning with a lengthy meeting with Damon and the legal department. Damon had called Chief Pollard to hear for himself the promise that the Post would get the story first. Other reporters, sensing that something big was about to happen, had crowded around them, pressing for details.

  Then she and Sam had gone their separate ways to begin putting the heat on anyone who might have some knowledge of what Newbury was up to. Sam had met with Armistead and with the head of Newbury’s PAC, while she had talked to the committee staff and to the director at ORDP.

  Mentally reviewing her interviews as she sipped some wine, Kate said that her money was on Tom Levander, the head of ORDP.

  “I could be wrong, but when I told him I suspected that something illegal was going on—that some payoffs might be involved—he looked like I’d just confirmed his worst fears. He got really defensive, but his heart wasn’t in it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Sam said. “Armistead nearly blew his cool, but we both know that he isn’t going to help us. And the head of Newbury’s PAC is an Armistead clone. I’m sure that Armistead must have called him before I got there.”

  Kate sighed. “I should call Lisa, Tony’s fianc#233;e, and offer my condolences. And I need to find out when and where the funeral will be.”

  Sam reached for her hand. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Kitty-Kat. Tony’s death isn’t your fault. He was already nosing into things that were bound to cause him trouble even before you came on the scene.”

  She nodded, knowing at an intellectual level that Sam was right, but still unable to accept it at an emotional level.

  For the first time, she was glad this ordeal was over. Frustrating and scary as it had all been though, she knew that she’d been at her journalistic sharpest and was going to find it difficult to go back to mundane reporting.

  “Were you serious about our doing a syndicated column together?” she asked.

  Sam arched a dark brow. “So now you remember that conversation?”


  “Was that just a bribe to get me to marry you again?”

  “I’m taking the Fifth on that one.”

  “What you’re going to take is a smack on the head if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  “Everything sort of fell together in my head, that’s all. I really would like to try my hand at fiction writing, but I don’t want to give up journalism, either, and a regular column is a lot of work. But if we share it, then we’ll both have some more time. That was one of our problems, Kate. There was never any time for us. Working for the same paper doesn’t count. In fact, it only made things worse.”

  She supposed that he was right, but she was sure that their biggest problem had been the unevenness in their relationship. Sam was the star, while she was a struggling novice. He was still a much bigger name than she was, but she knew that she was catching up fast.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do the column with you. But will they agree to that?”

  “They already have. I’d gotten their agreement before you came busting in to end the meeting the other day.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re too darned sure of yourself, Sam Winters.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “What I’m sure of is us.”

  The phone rang before Kate could launch into another round of comparisons between Sam’s supreme self-confidence and her constant questioning of her own. She reached over and picked it up.

  “This is Kate Stevens.”

  “Ms. Stevens, this is Tom Levander. I need to talk to you.”

  Kate glanced over at Sam, grinning and barely able to keep the note of triumph from her voice.

  “Just name the time and place,” she told the head of ORDP.

  A moment later, she put down the phone and jumped up from the chaise to dance gleefully around the patio.

  “I’m meeting him at a bar in Falls Church,” she told the patiently waiting Sam after explaining who the caller was.

  “Am I going with you?”

  “I didn’t think to mention you, so I’d better go alone.”