"Will you have a beer, Pete?" she asked.
He settled into a rocking chair. "Looks like I'm the designated driver. Better stick to coffee."
"Kay, what may I get for you?"
"Coffee would be fine," I replied. "If it's no trouble."
"I'm so glad to finally meet you," she added sincerely. "Ben's spoken of you for years. He regards you very highly."
"Thank you."
The compliment disconcerted me, and what she said next came as a shock.
"When we saw Mark last, I made him promise to bring you to dinner next time he comes to Quantico."
"That's very kind," I said, managing a smile. Clearly, Wesley did not tell her everything, and the idea that Mark might have been in Virginia recently without so much as calling me was almost more than I could bear.
When she left us for the kitchen, Marino asked, "You heard from him lately?"
"Denver's beautiful," I replied evasively.
"It's a bitch, you want my opinion. They bring him in from deep cover, hole him up in Quantico for a while. Next thing, they're sending his ass out west to work on something he can't tell nobody about. Just one more reason why you couldn't pay me enough to sign on with the Bureau."
I did not respond.
He went on, "The hell with your personal life. It's like they say, 'If Hoover wanted you to have a wife and kids, he would've issued them with your badge.'" "Hoover was a long time ago," I said, staring out at trees churning in the wind. It looked like it was about to rain again, this time seriously.
"Maybe so. But you still ain't got a life of your own."
"I'm not sure any of us do, Marino."
"That's the damn truth," he muttered under his breath.
Footsteps sounded and then Wesley walked in, still in suit and tie, gray trousers and starched white shirt slightly wrinkled. He seemed tired and tense as he asked if we had been offered drinks.
"Connie's taking care of us," I said.
Lowering himself into a chair, he glanced at his watch. "We'll eat in about an hour."
He clasped his hands in his lap.
"Haven't heard shit from Morrell," Marino started in.
"I'm afraid there are no new developments. Nothing hopeful," Wesley replied.
"Didn't assume there was. I'm just telling you that I ain't heard from Morrell."
Marino's face was expressionless, but I could sense his resentment. Though he had yet to voice any complaints to me, I suspected that he was feeling like a quarterback sitting out the season on the bench. He had always enjoyed a good rapport with detectives from other jurisdictions, and that, frankly, had been one of the strengths of VICAP's efforts in Virginia. Then the missing couple cases had begun. Investigators were no longer talking to each other. They weren't talking to Marino, and they weren't talking to me.
"Local efforts have been halted," Wesley informed him. "We didn't get any farther than the eastbound rest stop where the dog lost the scent. Only other thing to turn up is a receipt found inside the Jeep. It appears that Deborah and Fred stopped off at a Seven-Eleven after leaving the Harvey house in Richmond. They bought a six-pack of Pepsi and a couple other items."
"Then it's been checked out," Marino said, testily.
"The clerk on duty at the time has been located. She remembers them coming in. Apparently, this was shortly after nine P.M."
"And they was alone?"
Marino inquired.
"It would seem so. No one else came in with them, and if there was someone waiting for them inside the Jeep, there was no evidence, based on their demeanor, to suggest that anything was wrong."
"Where is this Seven-Eleven located?" I asked.
"Approximately five miles west of the rest stop where the Jeep was found," Wesley replied.
"You said they bought a few other items," I said. "Can you be more specific?"
"I was getting to that;" Wesley said. "Deborah Harvey bought a box of Tampax. She asked if she could use a bathroom, and was told it was against policy. The clerk said she directed them to the eastbound rest stop on Sixty-four."
"Where the dog lost the scent," Marino said, frowning as if confused. "Versus where the Jeep was found."
"That's right," Wesley replied.
"What about the Pepsi they bought?"
I asked… "Did you find it?"
"Six cans of Pepsi were in the ice chest when the police went through the jeep."
He paused as his wife appeared with our coffee and a glass of iced tea for him. She served us in gracious silence, then was gone. Connie Wesley was practiced at being unobtrusive.
"You're thinking they hit the rest stop so Deborah could take care of her problem, and that's where they met up with the squirrel who took them out," Marino interpolated.
"We don't know what happened to them," Wesley reminded us. "There are a lot of scenarios we need to consider."
"Such as?"
Marino was still frowning.
"Abduction."
"As in kidnapping?"
Marino was blatantly skeptical.
"You have to remember who Deborah's mother is."
"Yeah, I know. Mrs. Got-Rocks-the-Drug-Czar who got sworn in because the President wanted to give the women's movement something to chew on."
"Pete," Wesley said calmly, "I don't think it wise to dismiss her as a plutocratic figurehead or token female appointee. Though the position sounds more powerful than it really is because it was never given Cabinet status, Pat Harvey does answer directly to the President. She does, in fact, coordinate all federal agencies in the war against drug crimes."
"Not to mention her track record when she was a U.S. attorney," I added. "She was a strong supporter of the White House's efforts to make drug-related murders and attempted murders punishable by death. And she was quite vocal about it."
"Her and a hundred other politicians," Marino said. "Maybe I'd be more concerned if she was one of these liberals wanting to legalize the shit. Then I have to wonder about some right-wing Moral Majority type who thinks God's told him to snatch Pat Harvey's kid."
"She's been very aggressive," Wesley said, "succeeded in getting convictions on some of the worst in the lot, has been instrumental in getting important bills passed, has withstood death threats, and several years ago even had her car bombed - " "Yeah, an unoccupied Jag parked at the country club. And it made her a hero," Marino interrupted.
"My point," Wesley went on patiently, "is that she's made her share of enemies, especially when it comes to the efforts she's directed at various charities."
"I've read something about that," I said, trying to recall the details.
"What the public knows at present is just a scratch on the surface," Wesley said. "Her latest efforts have been directed at ACTMAD. The American Coalition of Tough Mothers Against Drugs."
"You gotta be kidding," Marino said. "That's like saying UNICEF's dirty."
I did not volunteer that I sent money to ACTMAD every year and considered myself an enthusiastic supporter.
Wesley went on, "Mrs. Harvey has been gathering, evidence to prove that ACTMAD has been serving as a front for a drug cartel and other illegal activities in Central America."
"Geez," Marino said shaking his head. "Good thing I don't give a dime to nobody except the FOP."
"Deborah's and Fred's disappearance is perplexing because it seems connected to the other four couples," Wesley said. "But this could also be deliberate, someone's attempt to make us assume there is a link, when in fact there may not be. We may be dealing with a serial killer. We may be dealing with something else. Whatever the case, we want to work this as quietly as possible."
So I guess what you're waiting for now is a ransom or something, huh?" Marino said.
"You know, some Central American thugs will return Deborah to her for a price."
"I don't think that's going to happen, Pete."
Wesley replied: "It may be worse than that. Pat Harvey is due to testify in a congressional hearing early next yea
r - and again, this all has to do with the illegitimate charities. There isn't anything much worse that could have happened right now than to have her daughter disappear."
My stomach knotted at the thought. Professionally, Pat Harvey did not seem particularly vulnerable, having enjoyed a spotless reputation throughout her career. But she was also a mother. The welfare of her children would be more precious to her than her own life her family was her Achilles' heel.
"We can't dismiss the possibility, of political kidnapping," Wesley remark, staring out at the yard thrashed by the wind.
Wesley had a family, too. The nightmare was that a crime family boss, a murderer, someone Wesley had been instrumental in bringing down would go after Wesley's wife or children. He lad a sophisticated burglar alarm system in tic house and an intercom outside the front door. He had chosen to live in the far-removed setting of the Virginia countryside, telephone number unlisted, address never given to reporters or even to most of his colleagues and acquaintances. Until today, even I had not known where he lived, but had assumed his home was closer to Quantico, perhaps in McLean or Alexandria.
Wesley said, "I'm sure Marino's mentioned to you this business about Hilda 0zimek."
I nodded. "Is she genuine?"
'The Bureau has used her on a number of occasions, though we don't like to admit it. Her gift, power, whatever you want to call it, is quite genuine. Don't ask me to explain. This sort of phenomenon goes beyond my immediate experience. I can tell you, however; that on one occasion she helped us locate a Bureau plane that had gone down in the mountains of West Virginia. She also predated Sadat's assassination, and we might have had a little more forewarning about the attempt on Reagan had we listened to her words more carefully".
"You're not going to tell me she predicted Reagans shooting," Marino said.
"Almost the day. We didn't pass along what she'd said. Didn't, well, take it seriously, I suppose. That was our mistake, weird as it may seem. Ever since, whenever she says anything, the Secret Service wants to know."
"The Secret Service reading horoscopes, too?" Marino asked.
"I believe that Hilda Ozimek would consider horoscopes rather generic. And as far as I know, she doesn't read palms," Wesley said pointedly.
"How did Mrs. Harvey find out about her?" I asked.
"Possibly from someone within the Justice Department," Wesley said. "In any event, she flew the psychic to Richmond on Friday and apparently was told a number of things that have succeeded in making her… well, let's just say that I'm viewing Mrs. Harvey as a loose cannon. I'm concerned that her activities may prove to do a lot more harm than good."
"What exactly did this psychic tell her?" I wanted to know.
Wesley looked levelly at me and replied, "I really can't go into that. Not now."
"But she discussed it with you?"
I inquired. "Pat Harvey volunteered to you that she had resorted to a psychic?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss it, Kay," Wesley said, and the three of us were silent for a moment.
It went through my mind that Mrs. Harvey had not divulged this information to Wesley. He had found out in some other way.
"I don't know," Marino finally said. "Could be a random thing. I don't want to count that out" "We can't count anything out," Wesley said firmly.
"It's been going on for two and a half years, Benton," I said.
"Yeah," Marino said. "A friggin' long time. Still strikes me as the work of some squirrel out there who fixes on couples, a jealousy-type thing because he's a loser, can't have relationships and hates other people who can."
"Certainly that's one strong possibility. Someone who routinely cruises around looking for young couples. He may frequent lovers' lanes, rest stops, the watering holes where kids park. He may go through a lot of dry runs before he strikes, then replay the homicides for months before the urge to kill again becomes irresistible and the perfect opportunity presents itself. It may be coincidence - Deborah Harvey and Fred Cheney may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I'm not aware there's evidence to suggest that any of the couples were parking, engaged in sexual activity, when they met up with an assailant," I pointed out.
Wesley did not respond.
"And other than Deborah and Fred, the other couples didn't appear to have pulled off at a rest stop or any other sort of 'watering hole', as you put it," I went on. "It appears they were en route to some destination when something happened to make them pull off the road and either let someone in their car or get into this person's vehicle."
"The killer cop theory," Marino muttered. "Don't think I haven't heard it before."
"It could be someone posing as a cop," Wesley replied: "Certainly that would account for the couples pulling over and, perhaps, getting into someone else's car for a routine license check or whatever. Anybody can walk into a uniform store and buy a bubble light, uniform, badge, you name it. Problem with that is a flashing light draws attention. Other motorists notice it, and if there is a real cop in the area, he's likely to at least slow down, perhaps even pull over to offer assistance. So far, there hasn't been a single report of anyone noticing a traffic stop that might-have occurred in the area and at the time that these kids disappeared."
"You would also have to wonder why wallets and purses would be left inside their cars - with the exception of Deborah Harvey, whose purse has not been found," 1 said. "If the young people were told to get inside a so called police vehicle for a routine traffic violation, then why would they leave car registrations and driver's licenses behind? These are the first items an officer asks to see, and when you get inside his car, you have these personal effects with you."
"They may not have gotten into this person's vehicle willingly, fly," Wesley said. "They think they're being stopped by a police officer, and when the guy walks up to their window, he pulls out a gun, orders them into his car."
"Risky as shit," Marino argued. "If it was me, I'd throw the damn car in gear and floorboard it the hell out of there. Always the chance someone driving by might see something, too. I mean, how do you force two people at gunpoint into your car on four, maybe five different occasions and not have anyone passing by notice a goddam thing?"
"A better question," Wesley said, looking unemphatically at me, "is how do you murder eight people without leaving any evidence, not so much as a nick on a bone or a bullet found somewhere near the bodies?"
"Strangulation, garroting, or throats cut," I said, and it was not the first time he had pressed me on this. "The bodies have all been badly decomposed, Benton. And I want to remind you that the cop theory implies the victims got inside the assailant's vehicle. Based on the scent the bloodhound followed last weekend, it seems plausible that if someone did something bad to Deborah Harvey and Fred Cheney, this individual may have driven off in Deborah's Jeep, abandoned it at the rest stop, and then taken off on foot across the Interstate."
Wesley's face was tired. Several times now he had rubbed Ids temples as if he had a headache. "My purpose in talking to both of you is that there may be some angles to this thing that require us to act very carefully. I'm asking for direct and open channels among the three of us. Absolute discretion is imperative. No loose talk to reporters, no divulging of information to anyone, not to close friends, relatives, other medical examiners, or cops. And no radio transmissions."
He looked at both of us. "I want to be land lined immediately if and when Deborah Harvey's and Fred Cheney's bodies are found. And if Mrs. Harvey tries to get in touch with either of you, direct her to me."
"She's already been in contact," I said.
"I'm aware of that, Kay," Wesley replied without looking at me.
I did not ask him how he knew, but I was unnerved and it showed.
"Under the circumstances, I can understand your going to see her," he added. "But it's best if it doesn't happen again, better you don't discuss these cases with her further. It only causes more problems. It goes beyond her interfering w
ith the investigation. The more she gets involved, the more she may be endangering herself."
"What? Because she turns up dead?"
Marino asked skeptically.
"More likely because she ends up out of control, irrational."
Wesley's concern over Pat Harvey's psychological wellbeing may have been valid, but it seemed flimsy to me. And I could not help but worry as Marino and I were driving back to Richmond after dinner that the reason Wesley had wanted to see us had nothing to do with the welfare of the missing couple.
"I think I'm feeling handled," I finally confessed as the Richmond skyline came into view.
"Join the club," Marino said irritably.
"Do you have any idea what's really going on here?"
"Oh, yeah," he replied, punching in the cigarette lighter. "I got a suspicion, all right. I think the Friggin' Bureau of Investigation's caught a whiff of something that's going to make someone who counts look bad. I got this funny feeling someone's covering his ass, and Benton's caught in the middle."
"If he is, then so are we."
"You got it, Doc."
It had been three years since Abby Turnbull had appeared in my office doorway, arms laden with fresh cut irises and a bottle of exceptional wine. That had been the day when she had come to say good-bye, having given the Richmond Times notice. She was on her way to work in Washington as a police reporter for the Post. We had promised to keep in touch as people always do. I was ashamed I could not remember the last time I had called or written her a note.
"Do you want me to put her through?"
Rose, my secretary, was asking. "Or should I take a message?"
"I'll talk to her," I said. "Scarpetta," I announced out of habit before I could catch myself.
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