"What is that, Ms. Birmingham?"
She held up the bag for me to view in the ambient light.
"GoPro."
"A camera?"
"Yes. Another CSI on the premises search almost fell over it."
"It was where?"
She pointed to a small abutment on the far side of the pool.
"There. On the ground in plain view. I don't know how we didn't lose it to a gawker. Rather a helpless crowd that wouldn't stoop to pick up evidence and compromise it with their prints and DNA."
"Maybe they're all honest and know better than to touch."
"Yeah, sure, counselor. Jeez."
She turned away and returned to her inside-the-tape chores. I turned away and was just about to go looking for another vehicle to hunker down in when I spotted another FBI agent I knew. This one wasn't a relationship built on mutual respect. Quite the opposite. It was none other than the top agent of the D.C. FBI office. She had come on-site while I was over warming my hands. She was there with two aides, lost in a discourse and probably praying the news team was shooting her good side. When she saw me return, she headed over.
"You just getting here?" were her first words.
"Nope. Been talking to Jack Ames."
"Where did you put him?" she asked, searching past me.
"I sent him to take statements."
"Now, isn't that my choice to make, where my agents spend their time?"
"If you had arrived when the rest of us did, I would say yes. But as it was, you weren't here and so it was my scene, my crew."
She smiled and studied my garb. "You're didn't ride your whatchamacallit here tonight, did you?"
"My Spyder and I are a team. He refuses to go without me."
"Cute, counselor."
"So let me ask you, Special Agent Marian. Why are you here at a nothing-shooting? Is the dead guy one of your Ten Most?"
"Actually, no. But he was the Climate Party candidate for president in 2016."
"Never heard of it. Who's the guy?"
"Gerald Tybaum. Remember? Wanted to dissolve all federal agencies except Defense?"
"I missed that. He probably would have had my vote if I'd known," I said.
"But it's on the street now. Press is showing up, and more are on the way. This will be all over the ten o'clock news."
"Well, you handle the press release and the TV comments."
"Are you ordering me, counselor?"
I drew myself fully upright and stared into her eyes. "Actually, I am." It was my scene. She would follow my instructions.
She pulled away and looked at each of her aides, who were standing apart while Special Agent Marian spoke with me. They didn't appear to have heard my reply. Marian's image was intact.
"I planned on talking to the press, counselor. It's part of my job."
"That's good. And tell them we haven't been able to positively ID the body yet."
"Which will give us time to notify next-of-kin."
"Exactly. No one wants to hear about her husband's murder on News At Ten."
She smiled and nodded, turning away. Without another word to me, Marian was gone, floating back to the scene with her entourage in tow. I decided it was time to check in with Jack Ames's partner, Marty Longstreet. I'd tell him where Jack had gone. Marty was a junkyard dog, and if anyone could turn up some eyeballs, it would be him.
I found Marty on the other side of the yellow tape talking to a man with a briefcase manacled to his wrist. Now what? I wondered. I approached Marty but then stood respectfully aside while the conversation progressed. From what I could hear--and it wasn't all that much--the briefcase man was a pharmaceutical rep who'd been at the White House to offload some samples with the White House Physician. After he had left the White House, he happened to stop by the Reflecting Pool. Agent Longstreet was trying to understand why a salesman would come to the Reflecting Pool after dark. But the more the conversation progressed, the more I realized the man was half of an adulterous meet-up. He wasn't willing to come right out and say that because his wife would eventually find out. So he was hemming and hawing and convincing no one that he had only wanted to see the Lincoln Memorial after dark. Oh, yeah, right.
Unsatisfied with the man's explanation of his itinerary, but running out of time, Agent Longstreet cut to the chase.
"Tell me what you saw, sir."
"I told you, I was standing right over there in the shadows. I wasn't paying any attention to the people coming or going until I saw the man come running past me. I swear, I could have reached out and touched him. Coming right behind was a man with very pale skin--it looked like his face was glowing in the dark. He was running like a track star. He was catching up to the guy. So I kept watching. Right about where that photographer is standing, the first guy suddenly stops and throws out his hands, like he wants to surrender. The other guy stops maybe ten feet away, pulls a gun out, and starts blasting the first guy in the back. The first guy falls into the pool and floats face down. The shooter walks over and fires several more times. Then he pulls up the hood on his parka and walks off. I was stunned. I didn't do anything."
"Wait. You saw the guy go in, you dialed 911, but when the cops arrived the pool was frozen with the guy in it?"
"Not exactly. After it had happened, I left. But then I came back when I was on my way home."
"Why did you come back?"
"I realized there were video cameras everywhere. I realized they had my picture and could ID me. I didn't want anyone thinking I had something to hide, so here I am."
"Was the guy still in the water when you got back?"
"It had been hours. By then it was solid ice. I watched a young couple arrive and put their skates on. Once or twice around and they stopped. The guy whipped out his cell phone. I guess that's who called 911."
"You mean you didn't dial 911 earlier?"
"Not exactly, I didn't. I wasn't supposed to be here, officer. My wife is gonna divorce me when she finds out."
The agent ignored that.
"How long were you gone?"
"Four, maybe five, hours."
"Where were you?"
"I was meeting with a customer. When I came back, it was all ice."
"The pool."
"Yes."
"You know, Mr. Wintergreen, I'm finding some of this hard to believe. If you were meeting a girl--or even a guy--here, why don't you come right out and say that? We're going to know sooner or later."
Wintergreen staggered sideways and reached out to Longstreet for balance. It was only then that I realized he'd been drinking. Agent Longstreet's hand shot out to steady the guy. Longstreet continued with his questions, patient and plodding like the FBI at its best. I just happened to have stumbled into the interview of a key eyewitness. So I had what I came for--a case I could leave in good conscience at that point. I stepped up and whispered in Longstreet's ear: "I sent Jack to take a statement. He'll be back."
Then I located Agent Marian and told her she had the scene. I told her I was getting ready for trial tomorrow and had to skip out. She gave me a sideways glance, clearly believing none of my whopper, but nodded that she understood. I turned and walked off before anything further was said.
The ride home was a deep freeze. The temperature on a moving motorcycle is a good twenty degrees lower than the air temperature. I was a popsicle when I got home and got my ride put away in the basement.
Heading for the elevator, I suddenly stopped. I listened carefully as I had heard something that alerted me. There, I heard it again.
Rudolph was barking and crying. Something told me I was going to find a very frustrated policeman outside the door to my condo, trying to get me to come to the door so he could make the dog shut up.
But when I got up to my floor and stepped off the elevator, there was no cop, and I couldn't hear my dog.
I approached my door cautiously. It wasn't like Rudolph to just suddenly break it off and stop with the howling.
There had to be s
omeone inside who'd done something to him. Maybe they were waiting now to do something to me.
I slipped the key in the doorknob and turned.
This was nothing to a CIA agent who had killed very large men with just her hands.
Who needed to stop and call the cops for protection?
The shithead inside my condo, that's who.
14
Antonia Xiang to Michael Gresham (Cont'd)
When I stepped inside my condo, I was ready to bring it. All the lights were off except the entry light. I moved in and switched on the living room light. Rudolph came creeping up, his tail wagging.
Then I spied my husband, asleep on the couch. Rusty was home. He later told me that he spent the day being debriefed on yet another CIA case--something he had to do to receive his full severance package. He had sleepily driven home and here he was, sound asleep and snoring like a locomotive.
I went to the couch and sat down beside him. I tweaked his toes through his socks. The snoring continued. I leaned down and sniffed. Reeking. Drunk as a Russian on Russian New Year.
"Hey," I said softly. "Hey, Russell!"
Deafening snoring.
I tweaked toes and tickled. No sign of revival. So I went down the hall to the linen closet and returned with my mother's down comforter, the one on her bed when she passed on. I carefully unfolded it and dropped it down over Rusty. He didn't react--nor did I expect he would. My guess was that he had given notice at work--he had finally decided to leave. He had probably done just that and then proceeded to go out and get rip-roaring drunk.
And that's just it: Rusty never drinks. Maybe a beer after he's mowed my mother's yard. But usually not. So what happened today evidently had a huge impact. Which I knew it would at some point. Which was the reason I'd offered to call in sick for him and let him just send a letter of resignation. Rusty wouldn't hear of it. Wanted to say goodbye to his friends at the Agency.
I left him snoring away on the couch. In the bedroom, I was getting undressed for bed when I heard movement behind me. My startle reflex caused me to jump. I came down in a fighting stance. Rusty's eyes widened. His hands shot out. "I'm unarmed, Anty. Honest!"
Evidently, the down blanket was too hot.
"Go jump in the shower. You smell bad."
He ignored me. Instead of washing off the cocktail lounge, he undressed and crawled into bed on his side and was immediately gone again. But I wasn't. I was wired from what I'd seen and heard that night. So I pulled up a book and cracked it open. Two hours later I was sound asleep with the nightstand light still on, the book on my chest, and my neck cramping up from the two pillows under my head.
I looked over. No Rusty. I jumped out of bed.
I rushed and turned on the hallway light.
"I'm in the kitchen, Anty," he called out without too much of a slur. So I went on in and sat down across the table from him.
"You resigned?" I asked.
"Sure as hell did. Signed their NDA, signed a dozen other forms. Turned in my ID and guns. The whole nine yards. Arno said they'd pay me for accumulated vacay time next check."
"Well, I'm glad you did it."
"I told you I was going to, Anty. Didn't I tell you that?"
"You did tell me that. Hey, do you want some eggs to go with your cereal?"
"Hell, yes. I'm starved."
"The two times I've seen you drunk you were starved then too. Most people puke their guts out after a bender. Not you, you eat."
"Put any bad guys away today?"
"No, it's Sunday. Only the CIA works on Sundays."
"It's like any other day to the spooks."
"Didn't I just say that? How do you want them, scrambled or scrambled?"
"Neither. I'll have mine scrambled."
"Hey, there's a good choice. Why didn't I think of that?”
"Know what I'm gonna do now, Anty?"
"No, what are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to open a bait and tackle shop."
"In Georgetown? That sounds promising. You can service the people who dare to fish the Potomac."
"Hey, don't laugh. The tidal waters have Striped Bass, Largemouth, Smallmouth, Shad, Catfish and even Snakehead. But I'm sure you already knew that."
"Actually, no, I didn't know that. Bait and tackle sounds perfect. I can see we'll be set for life, Rusty."
"Thought you'd like the idea. But I need seed money. Do we have any savings?"
"We've got a few thousand in checking and maybe five in savings."
"Really? Where does our money go?"
"Ask me that tomorrow if you're still interested."
"Tell me about tonight. I'm guessing you got called out."
"Some guy got shot and fell into the Reflecting Pool."
"Shit, tonight? Was he frozen?"
"Harder than a mackerel--speaking of fish. Yes, he was frozen stiff. They had to cut him out with chainsaws."
"Shit, who did it?"
"Shot him? Some guy with a GoPro camera. Six rounds. Nice tight group. Reminded me of your groups."
"Well, I've got an alibi tonight. I was in several Georgetown watering holes. Someone even tried to pick me up."
"Really? Was she successful?"
"Yes, but I chickened out. Well, she asked me if I was single and I told her about my beautiful wife waiting at home. It was a deal breaker."
"Rusty, here. Eat this."
I scraped the scrambled eggs onto a small plate and slid it across the table. He dug in with his cereal spoon.
"Know what else happened today?"
"No, what else happened today?"
"I called a guy from the Post. I'm going to spill the beans about what happened in Moscow."
He meant how the CIA had disavowed all knowledge of him when he got himself arrested for shooting a KGB agent. The CIA disowned him after he got caught. Rusty would still be in jail if it weren't for his father's law school roommate, you, Michael Gresham. You saved Rusty's life. Some other people too. Evidently Rusty wanted to make a deal out of it in the papers. I knew I'd talk him out of it tomorrow. No sense in both of us getting fired.
That's right. Rusty had been fired from the CIA, and I knew that. Drunk, he turned it into resigning, but I knew better. His cover was blown, he was useless to them anymore, and that left him with a huge hole in his resume when the next potential employer asked where his fifteen years went. As of tonight, he was virtually unemployable.
But the CIA knew that. That's why Rusty had a check in his shirt pocket made out to him from some business in Weehawken in Jersey. It was a CIA front, of course, but the check was real.
One million dollars, payable to Russell Xiang.
I removed the check from his pocket and slid it partway under the toaster.
He looked at me and sadly shook his head.
"I got paid. I got fired."
"I know. Let's get you to bed. I want to spoon you."
"I love you, Anty."
"Eat your eggs."
15
When Antonia had finished up, we thanked her and moved back to my office. "Michael," Holt said to me, "you probably need to go over my story, too." I agreed and once we were back in my office Holt poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from me.
Then I said, "Can you just give me the twenty-thousand-foot view of the night you got involved with the case?"
Sure. Mamie was in the kitchen frying up a pan of hush puppies when the call came. I was on the floor in front of the TV, trying to watch the Bulls-Wizards game while my kids beat up on me. They're little and spend every second I'm home trying to get up onto my back for a ride down crocodile river. Anyway, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and said hello.
"Ronnie, Andrea here. We've got an ice man at the Mall."
"Oh no. I just got home."
"Oh yes. But out of honor to your schedule, I'll just go tell the DCPD to fish the guy out and put up barricades, that we have to finish dinner before we can get involved. I'll do that, dickhead."
"I'm on my way."
"Wait out front. Be by in ten."
Andrea Washington was my partner. Six years we'd been together in robbery-homicide. She was an excellent partner too. I pushed the little guys off my back and headed for my coats in the hallway. "Got to run out," I called to Mamie. "Most I'll be gone is three hours!"
No response.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, yes, yes. Quit with the yelling, Ronnie. I heard you're going out. Another crime scene, I'm guessing. Or you've got a CI on the hook, and you need his statement preserved."
"Something like that. Dead body in the Reflecting Pool."
"That's a cold dip in the pool."
"Worse than that. The guy's frozen in the ice."
"Pool froze over?"
We had come together in the hallway, halfway between the kitchen and the front door. We hugged, and I kissed the top of her head. "All right. Don't wait up. Stories for the kids tonight, yes?"
"I'll do my best," the mother of my kids promised. I was the storyteller, not her."
Then I was outside on the street in front of our house, waiting for Andrea to swing by and get me. Five minutes and lots of arm flapping later, here she came. The Chevy crawled up, and she leaned across and pushed open the passenger door.
"Hey, Andy. Que pasa?" I said as I climbed inside.
"Not much, if you don't count Mr. Ice Cube."
"You've been to the scene?"
"Only briefly because I was in the area. Then I called you and left there and came here."
We pulled away from the curb. The heater was going full blast, and I removed my gloves. Rubbing my palms together seemed to help against the cold.
"Any ID on the guy?"
"Yep. His name's Gerald Tybaum."
"I've heard that name. Bring me up to speed, Andy."
She swung a U-turn at the end of my block and came back past my house at thirty-five and accelerating. We were in a hurry now.
"Tybaum was one of the candidates for president this last time."
"Really? I'm sure there's a big story behind this crime."
Annie's Verdict (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 6) Page 8