D.C. Dead

by Stuart Woods

  “You’re asking me?” Smith said with a chuckle. “Why don’t you ask whoever sent you to see me?”

  “I just wondered if you feel that the Bureau’s investigation might have left something to be desired.”

  “I visited the crime scene myself, less than an hour after the body was discovered, and I have seen every investigative report my agents submitted. I haven’t seen any lack of enthusiasm for the investigation or any reason to question its conclusions. Now, please, tell me how I can help you.”

  Dino opened his briefcase and extracted a brick inside a zippered plastic bag. He set it on Smith’s coffee table.

  “What is that?” Smith asked.

  “The murder weapon,” Dino replied.

  “A brick?”

  “Clearly. It has blood and hair on it and who knows what else? Maybe a trace of something from the killer.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It was one of many lining the flower beds adjacent to the site of the murder—the closest one to the body, as it happens. Your medical examiner’s report states that the murder weapon was a blunt instrument. Your agents failed to check the nearest blunt instruments available to the killer.”

  Smith colored slightly. “That is embarrassing,” he said.

  “We’d like it run through the famous FBI crime laboratory,” Dino said, “at the earliest possible moment.”

  Smith picked up the phone on the coffee table and pressed a button. “Shelley, will you come in for a moment, please?”

  A moment later the door opened and a quite beautiful blond woman entered. “Shelley, this is Mr. Stone Barrington and Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti. Gentlemen, this is Assistant Director Shelley Bach.”

  Stone and Dino rose and shook her hand.

  Smith picked up the plastic bag gingerly and handed it to his colleague. “Will you please hand-carry this to the lab? It may be the murder weapon in the Emily Kendrick case. Have them analyze the blood and hair on the brick for a match to Mrs. Kendrick and check the remainder of it for any possible traces of the murderer. Please impress upon the director of the lab the urgency of the situation. I’d like a report first thing tomorrow morning, even if it requires an all-nighter of the technician.”

  “Yessir,” the woman said, and left the room.

  Stone somehow knew immediately—he wasn’t sure how—that Kerry Smith and Shelley Bach were sleeping with each other, and probably had been for some time.

  “That’s a very valuable piece of evidence,” Smith said. “I apologize for the negligence of my agents in not discovering it, and I thank you for bringing it in. What else can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Smith,” Stone said, “we’ve noticed in our reading of the Bureau’s report that immediately upon the suicide of Brixton Kendrick, your agents stopped considering other possible suspects. Surely there must have been others under consideration.”

  “Possibly,” Smith replied.

  “May I ask, who were they? It might be useful for us to talk to them.”

  “I’m aware that no other possible suspects were mentioned in the report, and it’s my assumption that the investigating agents were concerned that any such persons would almost certainly be employed in the White House, and they didn’t want to call media attention to specific persons there, since that might adversely affect those persons’ ability to do their jobs.”

  “That was very delicate of them,” Stone said. “Perhaps we could speak to the agent or agents who made the decision to withhold those names from the report, and they could tell us directly, so that we might talk with the relevant people.”

  Smith looked at the floor. “I must tell you that such a list would have to include virtually everyone working or present near the Oval Office at the time.” He cleared his throat. “Including the president of the United States.”

  “I think it is unlikely that the president would be a credible suspect, since it is at his behest that we are here. If he murdered Mrs. Kendrick, he would be unlikely to personally reopen the investigation a year later.”

  “I cannot but agree,” Smith said. He picked up the phone again and pressed a button. “Shelley, when you return to your office, please consult your notes and bring me a list of all the West Wing personnel who might have had access to the crime scene around the time of the murder.” He hung up. “Assistant Director Bach was the lead investigator,” he said.

  It seemed to Stone that Deputy Director Smith relied on Assistant Director Bach for a great many things.

  “I’ve left a message on her voice mail,” Smith said, “since she apparently has not returned from the lab as yet. Do you have any other questions?”

  “I think we might have a few of Assistant Director Bach,” Stone said.

  Smith looked at his watch. “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Hay-Adams.” Stone gave him the suite number.

  “Given the hour, I think it might be best if, when she returns from the lab, I ask Assistant Director Bach to hand deliver her list to you there. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes,” Stone replied, “it would. We’ll look forward to speaking with her.”

  He and Dino thanked Smith for his courtesy and left.

  BACK AT THE HAY-ADAMS, Dino took a sip of his scotch. “You know,” he said, “this investigation was played very close to the vest by the Bureau.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “So much so that it’s almost as if someone important above the agents issued them their instructions and accepted their conclusions.”

  “That’s a very astute observation, Dino,” Stone said, sipping his Knob Creek. “And it would seem that there were very few people at the White House in a position to do that, if you exclude the president and the first lady.”

  “And their names should be on the list that the lovely Assistant Director Bach is bringing us,” he said. The phone rang, and Dino picked it up and listened. “Please send her right up,” he said, then hung up.

  “Well,” Dino said, “I guess we’d better put on our shoes and jackets and tighten our ties.”

  9

  STONE AND DINO HAD MADE THEMSELVES PRESENTABLE BY the time Assistant Director Shelley Bach arrived at the door, and, as it turned out, she had made herself very presentable, too. She was wearing a black sheath under a silk coat, very high heels, diamond studs in her ears, and an expensive-looking diamond-like necklace around her throat.

  “Good evening,” she said, as Stone held the door for her. She shook both their hands and her hand seemed to linger in Dino’s for a moment.

  “Please have a seat,” Stone said. “May I get you a drink?”

  Bach glanced at her Cartier wristwatch. “Thank you, yes. A vodka martini on the rocks, please.”

  Stone turned to make the drink, and when he turned back Bach and Dino were sharing the small sofa. He delivered her drink on a small silver tray, then made Di V

  “Long day?” he asked, by way of small talk.

  “It’s always a long day at the Bureau,” she replied. “Especially since I was promoted.”

  “How long have you been an assistant director?” Stone asked.

  “About three months. When Kerry was promoted from assistant to deputy director, he brought me up with him. We’ve worked quite closely together for a couple of years.”

  “What sort of cases do you work?” Dino asked.

  Bach turned her body toward him as she answered. “Kerry’s purview is domestic criminal investigations, so just about everything under that umbrella. I must say, though, that the Kendrick affair was the first homicide I investigated in more than four years.”

  “Was it?” Stone said, noncommittally.

  She rolled her eyes. “I must apologize for my inattention to the bricks. That was inexcusable, and I’m very embarrassed.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dino said, patting her knee.

  Stone observed this action with concealed amusement. Was Dino making a move?

  “You’re very kind,�
�� she said. “We should have the lab report first thing in the morning, and I’ll be sure to get it to you quickly.” She opened the small satin clutch she had brought and extracted a folded sheet of paper, then she unfolded it and read from it: “These are the people who were in the proximity of the crime scene at the time of the murder: the president of the United States; the vice president of the United States; the secretary of state; two undersecretaries of state; the president’s chief of staff, Tim Coleman; one of his two deputies, Charleston Bostwick; and two Secret Service agents.”

  “That’s quite a list of suspects,” Stone said.

  “Those were the people in the Oval Office,” she said, “and ‘suspects’ is your word, not mine. Within a short distance of the Oval Office were the president’s three secretaries, the chief of staff’s two secretaries, the second deputy chief of staff, Herman Wilkes, his secretary, and the secretary of Ms. Bostwick.” She handed the list to Dino. “I’m sorry,” she said to Stone, “I didn’t bring a second copy.”

  “Quite all right,” Stone said. Dino read the list, then handed it to Stone.

  “For your information, we have, through interrogation and questioning of all these people, excluded as suspects those present in the Oval Office at the time, and all the others near the Oval Office, with the exception of Herman Wilkes, who left his office about the time of the murder to attend a meeting in the Map Room, just down the hall from the O.O. We were unable to immediately exclude him, until we had interviewed two people at the meeting who accounted for the time of his presence there.”

  “Did you take a look at a list of visitors to the White House at that time?” Dino asked.

  “Yes, we did, and we were able to exclude all of them, since none had access to the portico.”

  Stone spoke up. “Were you present when Brixton Kendrick was interviewed?”

  “Yes, I conducted the interview.”

  “What were your impressions of him at that time?”

  “Very broken up, understandably. I also inferred a heavy undercurrent of guilt, and in retrospect, I think that was because he caused her death.”

  “When was his body discovered?” Stone asked.

  “The morning after the murder,” Bach replied. “His daughter-in-law stopped by the house to deliver a birthday present to him—she had a key—and she discovered the body hanging in the living room. He had kicked over the ladder he used to tie the rope to the rafter.”

  “Did you consider that it might not have been suicide?” Stone asked.

  “We viewed his death as a homicide from the beginning of the investigation and determined it to be a suicide only after a thorough examination of the premises revealed no evidence of another person present at the time. Then there was the note, of course.”

  “Note?” Stone said, surprised.

  “It’s in the report you were given.”

  Stone picked up the report from the coffee table and leafed through it. “Ah, here it is. I missed it the first time.”

  “Read it to us,” Dino said.

  “It’s handwritten, hurriedly, I would say: ‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death and for everything that’s happened. There is no life for me now, and my affairs are in order.’”

  “That seemed to cover everything,” Bach said. “We closed the investigation two days after his body and the note were found.”

  Stone read from the note again: “‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death and for everything that’s happened.’ He doesn’t say he killed her, and what does ‘everything that’s happened’ mean? What else happened?”

  “My assumption is that he was referring to the events in his marriage that led up to the murder of his wife, and I disagree with your interpretation of ‘I take full responsibility for my wife’s death.’”

  “I think your interpretation is a reasonable one,” Dino said.

  Bach nodded. “I think that, coming from as well-educated and as articulate a man as Brixton Kendrick, ‘full responsibility’ means ‘full responsibility.’”

  “I can’t mount a cogent argument against your view,” Stone admitted. “However, nobody we’ve talked to was aware of any events in the marriage that might have led to a murder/suicide. They’ve been pictured as the happiest and most well-adjusted of couples.”

  “People of their social class do not easily share the details of their marriage with others, even their peers,” Bach said. “Perhaps especially not with their peers.”

  Stone shrugged. “If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that nobody can ever understand what goes on in somebody else’s marriage.”

  “Well said,” Bach replied. She glanced at her watch. “I’m due at a cocktail party at the British Embassy,” she said. “Would you gentlemen like to come along?”

  “Love to,” said Dino, without hesitation.

  “Thanks,” Stone said, “but I think I have a date with room service. You two have fun.”

  Dino

  and Bach left, and Stone thought that neither of them seemed at all broken up about his staying home.

  He c [siz andalled Holly.

  10

  STONE SLOWLY BROUGHT HOLLY TO A CLIMAX, AND CONTINUED his ministrations until she stopped twitching, then he moved up a few inches and rested his cheek on her belly.

  Holly’s breathing became normal. “I had forgotten how good you are at that,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  “And I had forgotten how good a pillow you are,” Stone replied.

  She pulled him up by his ears until his head rested between her breasts. “Have two,” she said.

  “Gladly.”

  “So what do you make of Dino’s running off with Shelley Bach?” Holly asked. “The word is that she and her boss, Kerry Smith, have been an item since before the last presidential election. Do you know their story?”

  “Nope,” Stone sighed.

  “They were assigned to find out if Martin Stanton, whom Will Lee had picked as his vice presidential candidate, was actually born in the United States.”

  “I remember something about that, but I’m not sure what.”

  “They determined that his mother, who was Mexican, gave birth to him in an ambulance shortly after they crossed the border, on the way to a maternity hospital in San Diego.”

  “But he had an American father, didn’t he? Would it have mattered on which side of the border he was born?”

  “I have no idea,” Holly said, “but you can be sure the Republican right wing would have had a field day with it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Where did you say Dino went with Bach?”

  “To a cocktail party at the British Embassy. Why, do you miss them?”

  She slapped him lightly on the cheek that was not pressed to her breast. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  “Listen,” Stone said.

  “Listen to what?”

  “I think I heard the front door open.”

  “And I think I heard Dino’s door close,” Holly said, giggling. “Who knew Dino was such a swordsman?”

  “Dino does all right with the ladies,” Stone said.

  “Is this going to make for an embarrassing breakfast meeting?” she asked.

  “It won’t embarrass me.”

  “It might embarrass Shelley, to see me here.”

  “So, let’s embarrass her.”

  “Where do you stand on your investigation?” Holly asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, you want to talk dirty now, do you?”

  She slapped his cheek again. “Just give me your opinion.”

  “Well,” Stone said, “we haven’t been able to prove that Brixton Kendrick didn’t murder his wife, and, I must say, it was very unhelpful of him to leave a note taking responsibility for her death. Somehow, you didn’t mention that.”

  “It was in the report I gave you.”

  “Yes, I finally found it, afte ^siz a="1em"r I had been told it was there.”

  �
�Don’t blame me.”

  “Why not? I’m certainly not going to blame myself.”

  “I didn’t expect you to,” she laughed.

  “Somehow, I don’t necessarily equate his taking full responsibility with a confession of murder.”

  “The FBI does,” Holly said.

  “Shelley mentioned that,” Stone said. “Of course, the FBI wants desperately for it to be true, because that way they don’t have to find a murderer.”

  “Have you got a candidate for that title?”

  “Well, I don’t believe it was the president, the vice president, or the secretary of state—or either of the secretary’s associates,” Stone said.

  “That’s very patriotic of you.”

  “Each of them has the others for an alibi, and that’s tough to shake.”

  “You have a point,” Holly said.

  Stone crawled up the bed and rested his head on the pillow next to Holly’s. “Dino found the murder weapon, though.” He told her about the brick. “We’ll get the lab report in the morning, so I guess we can hope the murderer spat or bled or sweated on it.”

  “That would certainly simplify things, wouldn’t it?” Holly said.

  “Yes, but life is rarely that simple, and murder, even more rarely.”

  “Can I quote you on that? Or are you stealing from Sherlock Holmes?”

  “That was entirely original,” Stone said, “or at least, I can’t remember anybody else ever saying that, and I haven’t read Sherlock Holmes since about the eighth grade.”

  Holly didn’t reply, and her breathing had become slow.

  Stone’s breathing followed hers, and shortly, he was asleep, too.

  STONE AND HOLLY APPEARED for breakfast in robes and found Dino and Shelley, in robes, already attacking their meal.

  “We ordered for you, too,” Dino said.

  “Good morning, Holly,” Shelley said, without apparent embarrassment.

  “Good morning, Shelley, Dino,” Holly replied, shaking out her napkin and pouring herself and Stone some orange juice. “I hear your conclusions in the investigation are holding up.”