by Jane Gorman
“You should be more worried about yourself, partner. The captain was asking about you this morning, before you called. He wants to know why you’re still in DC, what’s taking so long.”
“What the hell?” Adam kept his voice low even as his anger mounted. “He knows the deputy commissioner sent me here, right? I’m not even back reporting to him yet, I’m still on my detail for a couple more weeks.”
“I know, I know.” Pete’s voice was calm, rational. “He’s eager to get you back, that’s all. We all are. How much longer do you think you’ll be down there?”
“I don’t know, buddy, I really don’t.” Adam’s voice was resigned. “Every time I think I have an idea where this is heading, I get thrown off target. I’ve got a couple of good leads now. Hopefully not too much longer.” He thought of Julia alone in Philly. He thought of Sylvia, alone with her work parties. “Listen, no one wants me home faster than I do, believe me. I wish there was more I could do to help you out on this one, catch the bastard who attacked my sister.”
“Don’t worry about that, Adam. And look, she’s fine. She really is. I was here when the locksmith came, and she’s got a good lock on that door now. Nothing that anyone’ll be jimmying again any time soon. And I’ll follow up on the names Smiley gave me. I’ll have this guy behind bars before you’re back from DC, I promise.”
“Thanks, buddy, I owe you one. Again.” Adam paused, “I still need more from you. Take care of her. Until I’m back.”
Pete laughed. “Julia’s a big girl, partner, she can take care of herself.” Adam heard the sound of hitting through the phone, and Peter laughed again. “I’m telling you, she’s tough. You don’t need to worry.”
Julia was tough, Adam reminded himself as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He knew that. He grinned as he thought of Julia in contrast to the lawyer he’d just had the displeasure of spending time with. Two strong women. Two very different women.
26
Jason McFellan had taken a seat on the couch this time, part of a graceful seating area across the room from his desk.
The lawyer guided Adam to a chair across the narrow coffee table from McFellan, then took the other chair for herself. She perched on the edge of the seat, her knees together, her spiked heels once again digging into the carpet.
Adam smiled at them both. “Thanks for seeing me again. I’d like to run through your statement one more time.”
“Of course, of course.” McFellan spread his hands. “And I hope you don’t mind that Ms. Monspear is going to join us this time.” He glanced at his lawyer. “To make sure I don’t say anything untoward.” He grinned at Adam.
“Then can you please run through the chain of events that morning for me again.” When neither spoke, Adam added, “From the time you finished breakfast.”
“I see.” McFellan raised his eyebrows. “Well, not much happened after that. Let’s see…” He turned to stare at his lawyer, as if seeking answers from her tightly bound hair or pencil-thin eyebrows. She gave one nod.
“Well,” McFellan repeated. “Let’s see, breakfast was served in the morning room. More of a buffet type thing, you understand.” He waved his hand as he spoke, fully expecting Adam to be well versed in the usual layout of a breakfast buffet in an ambassadorial residence. “The ambassador and senator left the house first—”
“They were the first out of the house?” Adam interrupted him. “Is that right?”
McFellan looked surprised. “Yes, I think so. I mean, other than their aides, that is.”
“I see. So who left the house first?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.” McFellan made a small grimace toward his lawyer. “Look at that, I’m already messing up. I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to misspeak. Yes. There were two aides there, Jay Kapoor and a young man associated with the ambassador. They had both been in the room during breakfast, and they both left — together, I might add — before the rest of us. They went out to make sure the cars were ready, I suppose.”
“And were the cars ready?”
McFellan opened his eyes wide and shrugged as he took a deep breath. “Of course.”
“Ahem.”
McFellan glanced at his attorney as she cleared her throat, then turned back to Adam. “That is to say, I have no idea. I wasn’t out there, so how could I know?”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Please, go on. What happened after Senator Marshall and Ambassador Saint-Amand left the house?”
McFellan frowned. “Nothing. Nothing happened. John Marshall stood where he was for a few minutes, finishing his coffee…” He glanced at Monspear, who nodded silently. McFellan continued, “He finished his coffee, asked me if I was coming. I told him no, I was just there for breakfast, I wasn’t joining them in Philadelphia. He left the room.”
“He wasn’t outside when the shot was fired,” Adam pointed out.
“Then that must have been right at that moment. He left the room.” McFellan stated with finality.
Adam pictured the layout of the residence. The bright morning room standing off the hallway, only a few steps from the open door. A few more steps from the ground floor office space, main staircase, and hallway to the back kitchen. How far had John Marshall made it before the shot was fired? If someone else had been in the house, would Marshall have seen them? Or heard them?
McFellan leaned forward, his eyes meeting Adam’s. “Detective, what am I missing? Is there anything else I can say that would help?” He leaned back again, his hands open on his lap. “I want to help. I want you to find the guy who did this. And if anything I saw that morning can help you…” He shrugged as his voice trailed off.
Adam glanced at the lawyer, who was nodding silently, her lips pursed.
“I appreciate that, Mr. McFellan. I’m really looking for anything you didn’t mention before. Anything that’s occurred to you, now you’ve had some time to reflect on what happened that morning.” Adam recognized a snow job when he heard one, but he was willing to play along if there was a chance he could learn something new. Something helpful. “Tell me again what happened after the ambassador and senator left the room.”
McFellan sat back in his seat, his eyes screwed up tight. After a second, he opened his eyes and looked at Adam. “I heard them in the hall. Talking. Couldn’t make out the words, then… yep, then I heard the door close behind them.”
Adam cut him off again. “You heard the door? Are you sure?” Adam thought about the gentle sigh the heavy door had made on closing. No way that was audible in the morning room.
McFellan pursed his lips and glanced at his lawyer. “Well… I think so. I mean, I can’t be one hundred percent sure. I’m trying to remember.”
Ms. Monspear smiled at Adam. “Please understand that the events you’re asking my client to describe are now a few days old. And they were traumatic events. If there is any discrepancy between my client’s statement now and his statement at the time, I assure you his statement at the time was accurate.”
Adam looked down at his hands. “If you heard a door, Mr. McFellan, that could be very helpful to us.”
McFellan shook his head rapidly back and forth, his hands as well. “I think I heard a door. Maybe. I couldn’t swear to it. Or maybe that was after John Marshall left the room. Yes…” He held up a hand. “It might have been after John left the room.” He shrugged again. “I’m not sure.” He glanced at his lawyer.
Monspear smiled sweetly at McFellan, then turned her face to Adam, her friendly look turning to ice. “Is there anything else, Detective Kaminski? I think your questions are getting my client flustered. Are you trying to trick him into saying something?”
Adam furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, ma’am, nothing like that.” He glanced at the lawyer and could have sworn he saw a twinkle in her eye. Was she playing with him? He couldn’t help but grin. One corner of her mouth turned up in response as she looked away, crossing one leg over the other, her dangling foot tapping up and down in the air.
/> Adam looked at McFellan. “When does Senator Marshall start here?”
McFellan raised his eyebrows. “In the fall. Late fall. End of the year.”
“And what will she be doing here, exactly?”
“Well” — McFellan blew his cheeks out — “the same as the rest of us, really.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“Working on behalf of our clients to persuade certain people in power to make certain decisions. Good decisions, I assure you.”
Adam nodded, trying not to look at Ms. Monspear’s pale leg swinging to his right at the edge of his view. “Are there any particular clients she’s expected to work with? Or topics she’ll be working on?”
McFellan’s eyes widened, and Adam noticed the movement of Monspear’s leg stop. “I really couldn’t tell you that, Detective.” He held up his hands as Adam started to speak. “Not that I don’t want to, nothing like that. I simply don’t have an answer yet.” He shook his head. “We haven’t finalized her portfolio yet.”
“You believe she’ll be a useful employee for your company?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.” McFellan nodded vigorously. “With her background… local politics, the Senate, her husband a small business owner… well, a large business owner.” He smiled as Adam raised his eyebrows. “Yes, she’ll be a great asset.”
“She’s certainly familiar with this city. The people who live here, the culture.”
“Culture?” McFellan almost giggled. “There’s no such thing as DC culture, Detective. Scratch the surface and you’ll see there’s nothing there. It’s an empty shell, waiting for the right person to come along and shape it. DC is whatever you want to make of it.”
Adam tried not to let thoughts of Ramona and how she would have reacted to that statement distract him. He considered McFellan’s position. His relationship to the senator. His belief that he was going to benefit from having her on his team. “And if she doesn’t work out?” he asked.
“I don’t see how that can be. It’s pretty much the same skill set, you know, senator and advocacy consultant.”
Adam grinned at the title, but said nothing. He still avoided looking at the lawyer.
McFellan continued, “Of course, nothing is permanent.” He shrugged. “Her contract is only for one year. Renewable, obviously.”
Adam wasn’t surprised to hear that. McFellan certainly wasn’t the type of guy to make a long-term commitment to anyone. For anything.
“Look, I can’t tell you much else. Have you spoken to everyone else who was there? The staff? The drivers? They might have seen something, they were moving around the house and grounds.” McFellan tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Or that little man, what’s his name… Towne. Have you spoken to him?”
Adam glanced the lawyer, but her face was impassive. “Why would I talk to Greg Towne?” he asked, keeping his voice slow.
“He might have seen something.” McFellan lowered his eyebrows. “That’s all. I’m not accusing him of anything.” He spoke as if the suggestion were absurd.
“Was he there that morning, Mr. McFellan?”
“Well, he was at the residence, anyway. I passed him on my way in, his car was pulling out as my car turned into the drive.” McFellan shrugged. “Surely you knew that, Detective?”
McFellan and Monspear shared a glance. “Perhaps you should be focusing your efforts in a different direction, Detective.” Monspear’s smile was narrow, her eyes even narrower.
Adam had ended the interview with that. He had no doubt this man could sell cow dung to a dairy farm, but he seriously doubted McFellan was passionate enough about anything to kill for it. Greg Towne, on the other hand, was a whole different story.
27
“Sorry.” The boy glanced over his shoulder as he kept running. His friend was already on the other side of the food court, dodging behind a cart stacked with hats, T-shirts, and baseball pendants.
“No problem.” Adam spoke to the boy’s retreating back, unconsciously wiping his hand along the side of the pants where the boy had slammed into him. The boy’s parents or teachers were nowhere to be seen, but it was clear he was part of a larger group of preteens gathering in the food court of the Old Post Office Tower.
Adam paused to watch the group. Clumps of girls gathered around the stalls, picking through scarves and necklaces. Boys gathered in separate groups, occasionally breaking out into a gallop around the open seating area. Alive and full of life.
Turning away from the children and the dark memories they conjured for him, he glimpsed Towne heading toward the elevators that would take him up to the Bells of Congress. So his colleagues at the university were right when they suggested Towne might be here once again.
Towne carried a plastic bag from one of the stalls in the food court. It stuck out like a sore thumb against his Armani suit, his Italian leather shoes. It wasn’t right. Even from this distance across the food court, Adam could see the shake in his hands, the fidgeting in his steps. Towne was even more nervous than usual. That couldn’t be good.
Weaving his way around the late lunch crowd that surged in the food court, Adam worked his way toward the elevators. The line to go up to see the Bells couldn’t be long; the end of the line didn’t stretch out to the corridor where Adam could see it. By the time Adam had cleared the lunchroom floor, he could see Towne’s white face staring down at him from the glass elevator rising up into the tower.
Their eyes met, and Towne’s hand tightened its grip on the plastic bag, his other hand flattening itself against the glass of the elevator.
“Shit.” Adam jogged toward the entrance. A uniformed park ranger stood behind the desk, occasionally glancing up as visitors lined up for the elevators. His eyes ran right over Adam, probably more interested in seeking out gum chewers than crazy architects.
As the elevator doors crawled open, the ranger spoke up. “Stay to your right, ladies and gentlemen. Let the others off the elevator first, please, then you can step in.”
Adam baby-stepped his way onto the elevator behind a large man holding a child’s hand. As the elevator rose, the child stared in awe at the scene unfolding below them, and Adam followed his gaze to the open seating area packed with noisy school groups, the grand arcades of the turn-of-the-century architecture, the glass ceiling glowing above them and slowly coming closer.
At the back of the elevator, Adam waited impatiently for the rest of the group to step off. The narrow hallway that led to the tower viewing platform didn’t leave any room for running, but he managed to sidestep his way past the rest of the group, pushing open the door into the open bell tower.
Another uniformed park ranger stood here, engaging a young couple in a discussion of the Bells of Congress and their significance. Large open windows on each side of the tower exposed miles of DC, a stunning view. Wind whipped through the open platform, and the ranger stood with his hand planted firmly on his flat hat.
The square tower was no more than twenty feet on each side, and it took only a second for Adam to see that Towne wasn’t there. He turned to the park ranger.
“Excuse me, have you seen a gentleman, mid-thirties, curly brown hair? He looked nervous and carried a plastic shopping bag.”
“I’m sorry, sir, we get so many visitors up here.” The ranger shrugged and looked apologetic. He pointed Adam in the direction of the stairs leading down. “Perhaps your friend went to the next level down, to see the bells?”
“Thanks.” Adam was already jogging toward the door. He took the stairs down two at a time, skidding out into the next level. Fewer visitors gathered here. Lower inside the tower, this room offered no views of the city. Instead, it offered a view of the resource Towne was fighting so hard to preserve — the Bells of Congress.
Towne stood on the far side of the display, Adam’s view of him warped by the thick plastic case that enclosed the bells. Adam had taken a few steps in Towne’s direction when he looked up.
“Stay where you are, Detective.�
� Towne’s hand was deep inside the plastic bag and his fingers shifted around whatever he held.
The few visitors in the room turned to look, first at Towne, then at Adam, who stopped walking and held his hands open in front of him.
“What’s going on, Towne? What are you doing?”
The bag slipped away. Towne held a gun, its barrel pushed against the side of his leg. Perhaps in the future the contractors managing security for this building wouldn’t be so eager to let VIPs skip the security line.
“What are you thinking, Towne? Talk to me.” Adam kept his voice low, but Towne raised the gun.
A woman standing near him gasped and pulled her daughter close to her.
“You all should probably leave this area.” Adam kept his eyes fixed on Towne. The other visitors in the space moved away as he directed. Hopefully one of them was going up to let the park ranger know what was going on.
Towne raised the gun even higher, turning to face the bell closest to him. “No one will listen to me. No one takes me seriously.”
“And you think this will help with that?” Adam shook his head and frowned. “I don’t buy that.”
“This was supposed to be my legacy,” Towne was whispering now, leaning in to the plastic case that covered the bells on display. “The one thing I thought I could do right.” Towne’s voice was calm. Too calm.
“What are you trying to do, Towne?” Adam asked, his tone of voice matching Towne’s. As if they were simply having a friendly conversation. “You don’t want to damage the bells that you’re trying to protect.”
“Why not?” Towne shrugged, and for the first time moved his eyes from the bells to look at Adam.
While his voice was calm, his eyes told a different story. Red rims encircled eyes worn out from crying. Eyes that showed defeat. Acceptance. Utter despair. Adam had looked into eyes like that before. When there was no hope left. Nowhere else to turn for solace. No more anger, no more fear. Just acceptance of the very, very worst.