“So what have we had so far? Bracey’s round was a Remington Golden Saber. Valenti’s was a Fiocchi, right?”
Erskine nodded. “They’ve all got things in common, though. All 9 x 19’s, all subsonic. But Ballistics says that from the rifling, they all came out of different barrels.”
“So three different guns, then. Which tends to confirm our theory of multiple shooters. Subsonic ammo and nobody hears any shots—so figure they’re using silencers, too. What else?”
“The tire prints are common Goodyears. Length and depth of the tracks, and the mark where the rear ramp came down to unload the golf cart, all consistent with a small box truck—like the ten-or-twelve-foot Ryders and U-Hauls. The federales ran down all the rental places within a hundred miles for the days before and after. So far, zip. If it’s privately owned, we got problems, because they’re not really sure about the make or year.”
“Terrific. Tell me more.”
“From the tracks on the lawn, they ID’d the brands of the golf cart tires and the man’s golf shoes.”
“Golf shoes?” He chuckled. “Clever. They dressed the part. They probably figured— Wait. Did you say ‘man’s’? Singular?”
“What I said. Just one set of footprints, in and out. Also, one set, the same ones, where the truck was parked. Looks like only one guy unloads Conrad and the cart from the truck. Then shoots Conrad right at the scene. Then drives him on the cart over to the house. Then lugs the stiff all the way across the yard to the flagpole. Carries him, ’cause there’s no drag marks. Then climbs the pole, rigs the pulley, and hoists the body. All by his lonesome.”
Cronin frowned and sat back in his swivel chair. “Jesus. He has to be hellaciously strong. What do we have here, a weightlifter?”
Erskine looked at him over the top of his half-moon reading glasses and shrugged. “You’d think, but he can’t be too big. Yeah, we have deep prints tracking in—short steps, because he’s carrying the body. The prints going out, though, they’re much shallower and wider spaced. From that, the feebs say the depth works out to somebody no more than two hundred, max, probably lighter. And the stride suggests medium-tall height, maybe just over six feet.”
“I’ll be damned. Okay, what about the pole? Prints, blood, fibers?”
“Dream on.”
“The pulley?”
“Homemade gadget. The tube part of it tracks back to the type of pipe used at probably half the construction sites around here. They could’ve bought or just swiped a chunk of it almost anywhere. The pulley itself, and the weld rod they used to make the tube, they’re the most common brands out there, too. You can get them at any hardware store.”
Cronin thought about it. “They had to know all about that flagpole in advance to fabricate that pulley gizmo to fit it. And the golf cart: They knew where they were going and what they needed once they got there. That means they had to be inside that community snooping around on at least one previous occasion. Just like the other hits, these guys planned this one down to the tiny details.”
“Did they ever.”
“They aren’t making it easy for us. They’re real pros.” Cronin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then looked at his partner. “Paul, you know what worries me?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m starting to think that maybe they’re law enforcement. Current or ex.”
“Jesus. You think?”
He sighed. “Right now I don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t worry, Ed. Whoever they are, they’re taking way too many chances. Sooner or later, they’re gonna screw up.”
“Sooner rather than later, I hope.”
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
Friday, September 26, 6:45 p.m.
“Who the hell is this?” Bronowski answered his cell with his patented charm.
“The last great hope of Western civilization.”
“Oh. Hunter. Your name didn’t come up on the Caller ID.”
“I would hope not.”
“So, what’s the occasion? Feeling lonely? Where are you? Want to come to my house and introduce yourself, at long last? Meet the wife and mooch some supper?”
“Nothing, no, none of your business, no, and no. I’m in my car, heading off on a few weeks’ vacation.”
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed, Bill. Haven’t I caused you enough grief for the time being?”
“You have, and then some. But I was hoping you might do a follow-up on the Lamont story next week. I’ve gotten mail from a few people, crime victims, who want us to poke into the history of his rulings in criminal trials.”
He pulled into the driveway, shut off the car. “Lamont is hiding out, for the time being. He can’t do any immediate harm, so a follow-up piece will wait. Meanwhile, something else has my attention.”
“Good to hear. I trust it’s got a lot of potential.”
He was looking at Annie’s house. “Definitely.”
*
Hours later, illuminated only by soft candlelight, they lay in each other’s arms in her big four-poster.
He nuzzled her fragrant hair. His limbs felt heavy and relaxed. His body seemed to be floating, drifting along in a slow, languorous current.
It dawned on him that he was happy. Happy, for the first time in many years. The realization astonished him.
What did you do to yourself?
“Dylan?”
He closed his eyes and squeezed her. “Yes?”
“I know we’re both private people. But the thought occurred to me again today—I don’t even know where you live.”
He opened his eyes. Saw shadows moving on the walls, cast by the sputtering candles.
“I mean, isn’t that little strange?”
You knew it would come to this.
“I have an apartment in Bethesda. In a high-rise, right off Wisconsin Avenue. Just a couple of blocks from the Metro.”
She remained quiet.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I think you’ll like it. Why don’t we go there next weekend?”
She snuggled against him, the satin sheets whispering with her movements. “That sounds nice.” He heard the smile in her voice.
Trust.
Hers and mine.
He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes again.
TWENTY
CANNON HOUSE OFFICE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Friday, October 3, 11:08 a.m.
Kenneth MacLean did not often have a case of nerves. But he did now as he waited in the marble rotunda of the Cannon Office Building, watching the House Majority Whip conclude a live television interview.
For his part, Congressman Morrie Horowitz seemed relaxed and comfortable under the camera lights, standing against the impressive, familiar backdrop of soaring white Corinthian columns. He toyed playfully with a well-known Capitol Hill correspondent for CNN, like a genial, horse-faced grandfather handling a naughty child. But MacLean knew that the affable appearance was an illusion. You don’t get to be a party Whip if you don’t enjoy hardball politics.
Echoing noise from a small group of visitors made the interview unintelligible at this distance. MacLean took the opportunity to lean over the second-floor balustrade and admire the vaulted dome, where natural light poured through the central glazed oculus. It reminded him of the one in the Pantheon in Rome, which he had toured during a vacation visit to the Vatican a few years before.
He noticed that the reporter had turned to the camera and was making what looked like concluding remarks. When he finished, a scruffy young man standing beside the camera made a knife motion across his throat. Horowitz’s young aide, George, who had been leaning against a column, approached his boss and pointed in his direction. Before MacLean could even move, the politician was headed his way, led by a toothy grin that beamed as bright as the television lights.
“Ken, great to see you! So good of you to stop by,”
he said, pumping MacLean’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder as if they were old college drinking buddies. It was only the second time they’d ever met.
“My pleasure, Congressman.”
“Wish I could’ve met you in the office, Ken, but I have a vote coming up at eleven-thirty. Have a few minutes? Good. Walk with me.”
Horowitz led the way while two aides trailed them. They made small talk until they arrived at an imposing set of bronzed elevator doors. Once inside, Horowitz didn’t waste time getting to the point.
“About H.R. 207, Ken. We’re all tied up with other business for the next couple of months, but we’re looking good for squeezing a vote in before the Christmas recess.”
“That’s great to hear, Congressman.” MacLean started to relax.
“But the reason I wanted to talk to you. Some people in my caucus are beginning to get a bit nervous. It’s all that vigilante nonsense, and those Inquirer stories about crime victims.”
“Oh.”
“Nobody wants to be tagged as ‘soft on crime.’”
“I know.”
They were now walking along the broad underground passageway that linked the Cannon Building to the Capitol. Thick pipes and cable conduits ran along one wall, while the other was decorated with pictures.
“Hey now, don’t worry. We’re still in good shape for a floor vote. Just a few folks are wavering, that’s all. I’m sure I can hold them. Especially since nobody has gone directly after the bill in the media. We do get some mail from the victims’ rights groups, but so far there’s no public commotion.”
“I see.” He understood the implication. And it caused him to remember the phone call yesterday—an interview request from some researcher with a funny name. Diffendooser, or something like that. He was glad now that he hadn’t taken the call.
“So the plan is, we keep a low profile until the vote. If there’s any public discussion, though, I may have to call upon you again, and your associate—what’s his name?”
“Dr. Carl Frankfurt.”
“That’s the guy. The testimony from the two of you really impressed everybody during the hearings. Anyway, if there’s any fuss, I may need you to come down here and soothe some nerves.”
But who’s going to settle mine?
“You can count on me, Congressman,” he said. “I’ll do whatever it takes. This bill represents the culmination of my life’s work.”
“That’s the spirit. Together, we’ll get it done.”
They had reached the end of the passageway, where it connected to another corridor.
“Okay, this is where I have to leave you. I’ll let Wendy show you upstairs to the exit.” He stuck out his hand, clapped MacLean’s shoulder again, turned on his one-hundred-watt smile. “It was great to see you again, Ken. Thanks so much for dropping by.”
MacLean was outside of the building before he realized that Horowitz had used exactly the same words to greet him and to send him on his way.
CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Friday, October 3, 2:45 p.m.
“Hey there, stranger, what’s the big rush?”
Annie stopped in the middle of the corridor. “Oh, Susie. I didn’t see you.”
Her friend laughed. “You had your eyes on your watch. You blew right past me.”
“Sorry. I have my mind on other things, I guess.”
“I guess, indeed.” Susie took in the coat draped over Annie’s arm. “Leaving so early?”
She nodded. “I’ve come in early the past couple days so that I could beat the Friday traffic.”
“Yeah, yeah, well, you can’t fool me. I bet you’ve got a hot date.”
The joke caught her by surprise. She felt her cheeks grow warm.
Susie’s eyes widened. “No. Not really.”
Dammit.
Susie grabbed her arms. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Suddenly, a huge grin spread across her face. “It’s him, isn’t it? Tell me it’s him!”
She had to smile and nod. “It just...happened.”
“Wow! When?”
“Two weeks ago”
“And you’ve been keeping this a secret from me?”
“Well, I really didn’t want to say anything. I mean, you just–” She stopped.
“Oh, Annie. Did you think news like this would make me feel bad? Didn’t you know I’d be thrilled for you, girlfriend?”
She could only answer with a long hug.
Susie moved back, held her at arm’s length. “I should have known. You’ve been absolutely glowing lately. And I certainly knew he was interested. That night at my house—he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
“Shhh.” She glanced around. “Don’t you know this is the CIA? The walls have ears.”
Susie laughed. “Well, when you can spare some time—if you can tear yourself away from him—let’s get together for coffee. Then you can tell me all about it. Everything. I want sordid details.”
“Pervert.”
“Just teasing. I’m so happy for you. What a catch!” Then she looked her up and down. “No, I take that back. He’s definitely getting the better of it.”
“Susie, dear, you are such a treasure.”
“Well, a fine treasure I am, holding you up. Now, go to your man, Annie Woods.”
The words struck her with unexpected force. She leaned in to kiss her friend on the cheek, then had to turn away quickly.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Friday, October 3, 3:45 p.m.
She reached the office building just up Connecticut from K Street. After a couple of left turns, she drove down the ramp on 18th into the underground garage. Following his instructions, she took the elevator to the tenth floor.
When she entered the reception area, a gorgeous African-American woman seated behind the counter looked up and smiled.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Hunter.”
The receptionist’s eyes moved in an appraising, once-over glance. “You must be Ms. Woods, then.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Why don’t you have a seat?”
She felt the woman’s eyes on her as she walked to a chair.
He emerged from a hallway a moment later. He was in a business suit, beautifully tailored and charcoal gray. As he approached, she noticed how the rich copper tones in his tie picked up the hazel of his eyes.
She stood to meet him. He smiled his crooked little smile and kissed her. Not long. Just long enough for her to notice the receptionist raise a brow in amusement.
Dylan took her hand and drew her to the desk as the woman stood.
“Annie Woods, this is Danika Brown. Danika handles all my business arrangements.” He paused, just an instant. Looking at her, not the receptionist, he said: “Annie is my girlfriend, Danika.”
The word sent a tiny shiver through her.
Danika’s face lit with a dazzling smile. “I am truly pleased to meet you, Ms. Woods.”
“And Dylan has said wonderful things about you, Ms. Brown.”
He groaned. “Ladies, please. Cut the Ms. stuff. First names, shall we?”
They laughed.
“Okay—Annie,” she said.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Danika.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I wanted Annie to see where I work. At least, where I sometimes work.”
Danika shot him a mischievous glance. “Well, Mr. Hunter, meeting this lovely lady, I understand now why I’ve seen so little of you lately.”
He grinned. “Mainly, though, I wanted the two of you to meet. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Annie will give you her phone number before we leave today, so that if you can’t otherwise reach me, you can try her. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Danika, I’ll show her around a bit before we head over to the Mayflower for cocktails and an early dinner.”
As he walked her down the hall, Annie couldn’t resist saying, “She’s truly stunning.”
He turned to her, eyes twinkling.
“Second most stunning woman I’ve ever met.”
BETHESDA, MARYLAND
Friday, October 3, 8:07 p.m.
HUNTER Page 16