Split Second skamm-1

by David Baldacci

  “What sort of offer?”

  “To help her find John Bruno.”

  Michelle nearly drove off the road. “What!”

  “Her firm’s been hired by Bruno’s people to find him.”

  “Excuse me, doesn’t she know the FBI is on the case?”

  “So? Bruno’s folks can hire anyone they want.”

  “But why involve you?”

  “She gave me an explanation that I don’t really buy. So I don’t know why.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  He looked at her. “What do you think? Should I?”

  She glanced quickly at him. “Why ask me?”

  “You seem to have your suspicions about the woman. If she was involved in Ritter’s killing and now she’s involved in another third-party candidate matter, don’t you find that interesting? So should I or shouldn’t I… Mick?”

  “My first inclination would be no, you shouldn’t.”

  “Why, because it might turn out to bite me in the butt?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your second inclination, which I’m sure is a lot more self-serving and conniving than your first?”

  She eyed him, saw his amused expression and smiled guiltily. “Okay, my second inclination would be for you to do it.”

  “Because then I’d have the inside track on the investigation. And I could feed you everything I find out.”

  “Well, not everything. If you and Joan rekindle your romance, I don’t really want to know the details about that.”

  “Not to worry. Black widows eat their mates. I barely escaped the first time.”

  26

  A little over two hours after leaving Wrightsburg they arrived at Loretta’s home. There were no police cars around, but yellow police tape was across the front door.

  “I guess we can’t go in,” she said.

  “Guess not. How about her son?”

  She pulled the number from her purse and called. The man answered, and she arranged to meet him at a coffee shop in the small downtown area. As Michelle was about to drive away from Baldwin’s house, King stopped her.

  “Give me a sec.” He jumped out of the truck and walked up and down the street, and then he went around the block and disappeared from Michelle’s view. A few minutes later he came from around the rear of Baldwin’s house and rejoined Michelle.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Except Loretta Baldwin has a nice place.”

  As they drove to the downtown area, they passed several police cars parked at various intersections, the officers intently checking the occupants of each car. Overhead they saw a helicopter cutting back and forth.

  “I wonder what’s up?” Michelle said.

  King turned on the radio and got a local news station. They found out that two men had escaped from a state penitentiary nearby and a massive police search was under way.

  When they got to the coffee shop, Michelle was about to park and get out but then stopped.

  “What is it?” asked King.

  She pointed to a road off the main strip where two county cop cars were parked. “I don’t think they’re looking for the escaped cons. We’re being set up.”

  “Okay, call the son again. Tell him you had nothing to do with his mother’s murder, but if he wants to talk, he can do it over the phone.”

  Michelle sighed, put the truck in gear and drove off. When they reached a secluded enough spot she pulled off the road. She called Loretta’s son and told him what King had asked her to say. “All I want to know is, how was she killed?”

  “Why should I tell you?” replied the son. “You visit my mama, and the next thing I know she’s dead.”

  “If I planned on killing her, I wouldn’t have left my name and phone number behind, would I?”

  “I don’t know, maybe you’re into some freaky thrills.”

  “I came to talk to your mother about what she knew about the Ritter killing eight years ago. She told me she knew very little.”

  “Why you want to know about that?”

  “I’m into American history. Are the cops with you right now?”

  “What cops?”

  “Don’t bullshit me. Are they, yes or no?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, I’ll just assume you’re lying about that. Here’s what I think. I think my talking to your mother about the Ritter assassination might have led to someone killing her.”

  “Ritter? That’s crazy. They killed the man who did that.”

  “Can you be sure he was acting alone?”

  “How the hell can I be sure?”

  “Exactly. So, again, how was your mother killed?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  Michelle decided to try a different angle. “I only met with your mother for a little while, but I definitely liked what I saw. She was a real pistol who said what was on her mind. You have to respect that. She was a lifetime of wisdom rolled up into one very tough shell.”

  “Yes, she was,” said the son. “And go to hell.” He hung up.

  “Damn,” said Michelle. “I thought I had him.”

  “You do. He’ll call back. Give him time, he has to ditch the cops.”

  “Sean, he just told me to go to hell.”

  “So he’s not the most subtle person in the world. He’s a guy. Just be patient. We’re not multitaskers like you women; we can only do one thing at a time.”

  About thirty minutes later the phone rang.

  Michelle looked at him. “How’d you know?”

  “Guys are suckers for a good phone voice. And you said all the right things about his mother. We’re suckers for our mothers too.”

  “Okay,” said the son over the phone, “they found her in the bathtub, drowned.”

  “Drowned? So how do they know it wasn’t an accident? Maybe she had a heart attack.”

  “There was money stuffed in her mouth, and the house had been ransacked. I don’t call that a damn accident.”

  “House ransacked and money stuffed in her mouth?” repeated Michelle, and King raised his eyebrows.

  “Yep, a hundred bucks. Five twenties. I found her. I had called that night but she didn’t answer. I live about forty miles away. I drove over. Damn! Seeing her like that.” His voice broke off.

  “I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry that I never even asked your name.”

  “Tony. Tony Baldwin.”

  “Tony, I’m sorry. I visited your mother to talk about the Ritter assassination. I was interested in how it happened. I found out she was there that day and still lived in Bowlington, and I went to visit her. I talked to two other former maids too. I can give you their names. That’s all I did, I swear.”

  “Okay, I guess I believe you. So you got any idea who did this?”

  “Not yet, but starting right now, finding out is my number one priority.”

  She thanked him, hung up and turned to King.

  “Money stuffed in her mouth,” he said thoughtfully.

  “My money,” said Michelle miserably. “I gave her that hundred dollars, five twenties, for answering my questions.”

  King rubbed his chin. “Okay, robbery wasn’t a motive. They wouldn’t have left the cash. But they searched the house. The person was looking for something.”

  “But the cash in her mouth. My God, that’s gruesome.”

  “Maybe not so much gruesome as making a statement.”

  She looked at him curiously. “What sort of statement?”

  “Maybe a fatal one, for both of them. Who would have thought it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I haven’t finished thinking about it, that’s why. It’s just the way I do things.”

  Michelle threw up her hands in frustration. “God, you are so maddening.”

  “Thanks, I really work at it.” King looked out the window for a while a
nd then finally stirred. “Okay, this is a small town, and we’re bound to attract suspicion, particularly with so many cops around. Let’s head out and find a place to stay. We’ll wait until late tonight before we hit it.”

  “Hit what?”

  He looked at her. “I can be as nostalgic as the next person.”

  Michelle scowled. “Do lawyers always find it impossible to actually answer a question directly?”

  “Okay, I think it’s about time I paid the Fairmount Hotel a visit. Is that direct enough for you?”

  27

  They approached the hotel from the rear, careful to stay close to the thick tree line. The two were dressed identically and moved in tandem. They waited a bit at the edge of the trees, scanning the area ahead for signs of anyone. Satisfied, they moved out, quickly covering the ground between the forest and the fence surrounding the hotel. Scrambling over, they dropped on the other side. One of the pair pulled a pistol, and then they made their way down the rear face of the hotel. They found a side door that they forced open. In another moment they disappeared inside the dark space.

  King and Michelle parked a good distance away from the Fairmount Hotel and covered the rest on foot. As they approached the building, they ducked back into the woods as the chopper, its searchlight racing over the ground, shot across overhead.

  “This is actually exciting,” said Michelle as they emerged from the trees and threaded their way to the hotel. “You know, sort of being on the other side of the badge for a change.”

  “Yeah, it’s a thrill a minute. Just think, I could be at my house with a nice glass of Viognier in front of a blazing fire reading Proust instead of skipping merrily through the environs of Bowlington, North Carolina, while dodging police choppers.”

  “Please tell me you don’t actually read Proust while drinking wine,” she said.

  “Well, only if there’s nothing good on ESPN.”

  As they drew near to the hotel, King ran his gaze along the jumbled facade. “This place always struck me as something Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed if he’d been strung out on heroin.”

  “It is pretty ugly,” agreed Michelle.

  “Just so you understand Clyde Ritter’s sense of aesthetics, he thought the Fairmont was beautiful.”

  The gap in the fence Michelle had used on her earlier visit had been sealed. So they were forced to go over the fence. King looked on a little enviously as Michelle clambered over with much greater ease than he would probably demonstrate. He was right. He almost fell on his face coming down the other side when his foot caught in one of the links. She helped him up without comment and led him down the side of the building. They entered through the same place she’d used on her first visit.

  Inside she pulled out a flashlight, but King held up a warning hand. “Wait a minute. You said there was a guard.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t see him around when we came through.”

  King looked at her strangely. “Actually as I recall, you said the second time you came you ran into the guard, but the first time there wasn’t anyone.”

  “He could have been making his rounds on the other side. They probably just patrol the perimeter.”

  “Yeah, probably,” said King. He nodded for her to turn on the flashlight, and they made their way toward the lobby.

  “The Stonewall Jackson Room is just down this hall,” she said.

  “Oh, is it? I had no idea.”

  “I’m sorry, Sean. It was so long ago and I was just here.”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’m just being a jerk.”

  “Do you want to go there now?”

  “Maybe later. There’s something I want to check first.”

  “The closet Loretta Baldwin hid in?”

  “Great minds really do think alike. The next thing you know you’ll be drinking fine wine and reading thought-provoking literature. And maybe, just maybe, that might lead you actually to clean out your truck, if you find you have a spare year or two.”

  They went to the closet and pulled open the door. Taking the flashlight from Michelle, King went inside and looked around. He zeroed in on a small crevice in the very back, then turned to her.

  “Loretta was small?”

  “Almost skeletal.”

  “So she could have gotten back there with no problem. She didn’t actually say where she was hiding in here?”

  “No, but she could have just stood anywhere.”

  King shook his head. “If I was a terrified person in the middle of murder, mayhem and screaming, panicked people, and I ran into a closet to hide, I think I’d burrow in as deeply as possible. It’s sort of instinctive, like pulling the covers over your head. She wouldn’t have known at that point what the hell was going on. For all she knew, some guy with a gun would come running in here to hide too and—” He stopped and stared at the spot where Loretta might have hidden.

  “What is it, Sean?”

  He simply shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He stepped back out of the closet and shut the door.

  “Okay, where now?” asked Michelle.

  He drew a long breath. “To the Stonewall Jackson Room.”

  When they arrived there, Michelle silently watched, shining the light along his path as King stepped off the room’s parameters precisely, his gaze sweeping every point. Then he looked at the spot where he’d stood eight years before. Letting go of another deep breath, King walked over and seemed to take up his old post there, his hand creeping up on the imaginary back of a sweaty, coatless Clyde Ritter.

  King was now firmly back in September 1996 as his gaze went to the imaginary people, the potential troublemakers, babies being kissed, the jibe from the back and Ritter’s response to it. He even found himself mumbling into his mic, relaying intelligence. He glanced at the clock at the back, though there wasn’t one there, and he couldn’t have seen it in the darkness anyway. Only three more minutes and the meet-and-greet would be over. Amazing when you thought about it. If Ramsey had been late or Ritter had ended the event early, none of it would have happened. How different King’s life would have been.

  He wasn’t quite aware of it, but his gaze was now on the elevator bank. He heard the ding over and over. In his mind’s eye the doors opened over and over. It was as though he were being sucked into that vacuum.

  The bang startled him badly, but his hand flew to his holster, and he pulled out his imaginary gun, his eyes going to the floor where Ritter’s body was. Then he looked over at where Michelle was standing with the flashlight, having just slammed the door shut.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I just wanted to see your reaction. I guess I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said firmly.

  She came and stood beside him. “What were you thinking just now?”

  “Would it surprise you if I told you I wasn’t really sure?”

  “Talk it out, then. It might be important.”

  He thought for a few moments. “Well, I remember staring at Arnold Ramsey. He had this expression on his face that was not the look of a man who’d just assassinated a presidential candidate. He didn’t look scared or defiant, or angry or nuts.”

  “What did he look like?”

  King stared at her. “He looked surprised, Michelle, as though he hadn’t expected to kill Ritter.”

  “Okay, that truly makes no sense. He’d just shot the man. Do you remember anything else?”

  “After they took away Ritter’s body, I remember Bobby Scott coming over to me, to check my injury.”

  “Under the circumstances that was pretty remarkable.”

  “Well, he didn’t know what had happened. He just knew he had a wounded agent. All the crap hit later.”

  “Anything else?”

  King studied the floor. “When they were taking me out later, Bobby and Sidney Morse were going toe-to-toe out in the corridor. There was another guy with them, someone I didn’t recognize. Morse was about five-ten and two hundred fifty pounds of mo
stly blubber, and you had ex-marine-built-like-an-oak-tree Bobby Scott, and they were really going at it. It was quite a sight. Another time it might have made me laugh.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “Ritter was dead and it was Scott’s fault—I’m sure that’s what Bobby was hearing from Morse.”

  “Did you see either of them after that?”

  “I only saw Bobby at some official hearings that took place afterwards. We never spoke privately. I always thought about calling him up, telling him I was sorry for what had happened. But I never did.”

  “I read where Sidney Morse was committed to a mental institution.”

  “Yep. I don’t think he really cared what Ritter’s politics were. For Morse, it was all a show, a big production. He was in show business or something way back when. And I did overhear him telling someone that if he could propel a guy like Ritter to the national spotlight, it would make him—Morse—an icon.”

  Michelle looked around and shivered. “It’s so quiet in here. It reminds me of a tomb.”

  “Well, in a way it is. Two men died here.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t three.”

  Wasn’t it? King thought.

  She drew a line on the floor with the beam from the flashlight. “The rope to hold back the crowds was right about here, wasn’t it?” King nodded. “So it would have pretty much run from that wall to about a foot behind the edge of the wall for the elevator bank. And on the video I remember that it ran catty-cornered. Do you remember who placed the rope there?”

  “It would have been the Service.”

  “So the detail leader, Bob Scott?”

  “I doubt that Bobby got into those sorts of details.”

  “So how do you know the Service did it, for sure?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I don’t. I just knew Ritter and I were going to be behind that rope.”