"Your instructor?"
"Yes. Mick Haggarty. Quite a cutie, isn't he? He couldn't make it in the pros and so he teaches at the Glenis Springs Country Club over in Millstone. Actually, Mick wants to go to Hollywood and see his name up in lights, poor schmuck. I've seen him perform in summer stock at Belson College. He's not a bad actor, but everyone knows it's all about who you know and who you are in L.A. And no, we're not sleeping together." She grinned. "Well, not yet. I'm still evaluating. His form on the tennis court is excellent, he's got a good sense of humor, so who knows?"
Sherlock said, "I would imagine your husband doesn't have much time for you, what with the FBI all over him since the murder. Thing is, Mrs. Royal, Caskie did know Helmut Blauvelt."
"Caskie never has much time for anybody, particularly his sons. He knew Blauvelt? That sounds interesting. All he said to me about it was that he met with you guys yesterday at the local police station, in a grungy conference room, his words, to talk about what he knew about Helmut Blauvelt, which wasn't much, he told me. He wasn't happy about it, I can tell you that. So, you caught him out? How did you manage that? Fry his butt?"
"We singed his butt," Sherlock said. "Only singed."
Erin said, "Did he seem worried when he spoke to you?"
Jane Ann shrugged, accepting Erin as another cop. "Caskie's always been a worrier, it's really what he does best. I'm forgetting-he's really smarter than he has a right to be, excellent at planning and sniffing out the marketplace, and that's why he makes the big bucks. The bonuses are quite lovely." She waved her hand around the house and grounds.
"I see he's many thousands of square feet smart," Erin said.
"Nearly nine thousand, as a matter of fact," Jane Ann said. "And that's just the house."
The tea arrived and both Erin and Sherlock turned down sugar. Jane Ann Royal loaded in three envelopes of Splenda, raised her glass, and gave them a toast. "To this beautiful September day. Now, Agents, what can I do for you besides telling you about Caskie's birthmark? It's like a little sea horse on his left buttock, kind of neat, really, very unexpected. When we first got married, I liked to lick it."
"And now?" Sherlock asked. She felt a tug of liking again for this woman with her spectacular topaz eyes, colored contacts, she assumed.
"Now, not so much. I'll tell you what I can, though it's very little. My husband never talks about work to me."
Sherlock said pleasantly, "We'd like to know what you think about your husband sleeping with Carla Alvarez."
27
Jane Ann Royal didn't blink. She took another deep drink of her tea, threw back her head, and laughed, a healthy laugh, loud and full. When she got herself together again, she saluted both Sherlock and Erin with her glass. "What do I think? Nothing much, one way or the other. Carla isn't the first. And yes, I've always known about all the women. Caskie's a cheater, always has been. The first time, I was pregnant with Chad."
"Why do you put up with it?" Erin asked.
"Ah, do I hear a bit of judgment in your voice, Agent? A bit of contempt for the pitiful weak female? Don't concern yourself about me. I like my life, thank you very much, my children like their lives, I believe Alana likes her life, and my husband certainly likes to flaunt his Don Juan image. You saw my tennis instructor. Mick Haggarty, a lovely Irish lad. He's young, has a nice flat stomach, and very well defined muscles. What's not to like?"
Sherlock regarded Jane Ann Royal over the rim of her glass. "Is Mick Haggarty your first tennis instructor?"
An eyebrow flew up. "You can't be serious, Agent Sherlock. He's maybe the fourth, fifth. One forgets. I always hire them young, not over twenty-five. Unlike my husband. Caskie tends to like women closer to his age, which seems against stereotype, but there you have it. After seeing him naked nearly every night for fifteen years, after putting up with him in bed when he's hit a dry spell, it's my never-ending pleasure to have a twenty-two-year-old tennis pro strut around. Surely you can understand that, Agent."
"Well, actually, I can't," Sherlock said. "You said your husband never talks to you about work?"
"That's right. Look, I'm sorry, but I don't see how I can help you. Wait a minute, there's something, isn't there, something you've heard? Did you hope I'd fall apart when you told me about my dear spouse screwing another woman and pour out my guts to you?"
Erin said. "Mrs. Royal, you live with a man who's up to his eyeballs in bad stuff. Come now, surely he's let something drop, something that might help us protect you."
Jane Ann Royal smiled at them, studied her lovely French manicure, then slowly shook her head.
Sherlock said, voice a bit harder, "Caskie is in very deep trouble, Jane Ann. Like Erin said, we're talking bad stuff here, real danger. He's playing hardball with people who won't hesitate to do whatever necessary to win. One man's dead already. Help us. Help yourself and your family. Tell us what you know about what's been happening at Schiffer Hartwin."
"Danger? Me? My kids? Come on, what could possibly be the danger? Good Lord, he works for a pharmaceutical company headquartered in Germany. As I said, he gets great bonuses. He's treated well. Danger, from Schiffer Hartwin? I can tell you what he's been doing for them-he's been selling drugs, coming up with new marketing strategies, for heaven's sake."
Sherlock said, "We think someone at your husband's company has broken the law, Jane Ann, and on a global scale. I guess Caskie didn't tell you about the woman who broke into his office Sunday night and copied documents off his computer, documents that may prove he and Schiffer Hartwin are knowingly engaging in unethical, perhaps even criminal, practices?"
"If you want to make me believe you, you've got to be more specific."
"All right, then." They weren't one hundred percent certain, but close enough. Sherlock continued. "It involves a drug called Culovort, which is used with the common 5-FU chemotherapy formula, a very critical drug for cancer. Culovort is now in very short supply and we believe it's because of Schiffer Hartwin's manipulations."
Jane Ann Royal had straightened in her chair now, shoulders square, focused on Sherlock. Her voice lowered. "Listen to me, I know nothing at all about this Culovort shortage. I wasn't lying to you, I know very little about Caskie's work. He doesn't bring it home, never has, so how would I know what Schiffer Hartwin is doing?"
Sherlock waited a bit, then said with deadly calm, "Caskie's involved big-time in this, Jane Ann. He's in deep trouble. The stolen documents will come to light very soon now, and everything will blow wide open, with Caskie in the center of it. After all, he's the one here at the U.S. Schiffer Hartwin headquarters. Germany's far away.
"It's just a matter of time before he gets hauled off to jail or Schiffer Hartwin sends over someone to keep him quiet. Don't you know the murdered man, Helmut Blauvelt, was the main Schiffer Hartwin enforcer?"
She saw the flash of knowledge in Jane Ann Royal's eyes, and for the first time, fear, but again, she shook her head. "No, I didn't know. This Blauvelt, you're saying he was here to shut Caskie up? But how on earth does that make any sense?"
"No, you're right, it doesn't," Sherlock said, "for the simple reason that Caskie's papers hadn't yet been stolen. So, why, exactly, was Blauvelt here? Who was he here to see? To shut up? We don't know yet."
Erin said, "What we do know is Schiffer Hartwin has to respond. As we speak, their lawyers are with your husband, trying to convince him to keep his mouth shut."
Sherlock said, her voice hard as flint, "Do you think Caskie will keep quiet?"
Jane Ann slowly shook her head. "I really don't know. Caskie's always been something of a maverick, plots his own course, sometimes contrary to what others in his company have laid out. He's always coming up with ideas no one else ever thought of. He's proud of that." She rubbed her fist over her eyes. Sherlock hoped she wouldn't dislodge the topaz contacts. "I had no idea about any of this."
Jane Ann Royal jumped to her feet, splayed her lovely tanned hands on the tabletop. She was visibly shaking. "You think I had something to do with that German's death? No, no way, not a chance."
"Please tell us where you were," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "or I will take you to the local police department, to that grungy conference room, and grill you in your tennis whites until your lovely tan fades."
"This is ridiculous nonsense," but she sat down again. At last she looked scared. About time, Erin thought, and looked through her lashes at Sherlock. She was good, excellent in fact.
Erin leaned toward Jane Ann. "Talk to us, Mrs. Royal. Believe me, these are powerful people."
"Listen to me, both of you! I don't know anything! I was in bed two nights ago, watching a stupid movie on TV, then I went to sleep at maybe midnight."
Erin said, "Since your husband wasn't with you, you really don't have an alibi, do you?"
"You told me he was with Carla." She shook her head, diverted. "Poor bitch, to have to settle for him. She divorced a jerk and now she's sleeping with another one. Look, I don't have an alibi, but I wouldn't leave my kids alone, I wouldn't! And I never sleep with another man in my own house, not with my children here. Caskie probably would, he's simply never had the opportunity. At least as far as I know."
Jane Ann Royal, whatever she knew, if there was indeed more, wasn't going to spill. Sherlock knew it. But they'd primed the pump well. Sherlock rose, Erin followed suit. She said, "We hope you have an excellent security system, Jane Ann. I strongly suggest you speak candidly to your husband about this. You might want to ask him how he plans to prevent his kids from getting hurt. He's up to his neck in alligators here. Encourage him to come clean with us, and we can help him. You might also want to give more thought to coming clean yourself. Good day."
After a few steps, Sherlock turned back. "You might want to consider visiting your mom for a while, with your kids."
Sherlock and Erin both nodded to Jane Ann Royal, who still sat at the wrought-iron white painted café table, the glass of iced tea in her hand. They walked around to the front of the house, just as the tennis instructor had done.
They heard Jane Ann shout, "Alana! Come here, now!"
"You really shook her," Erin said with a good deal of satisfaction. "She said so much, contradicted herself. To be honest, Sherlock, I couldn't tell the truth from the lies."
"I'm thinking she just might call me tonight. Don't think we failed, Erin. Thing is, we accomplished our mission. The woman is now seriously rattled."
She paused a moment as she opened the car door. She looked at Erin over the roof. "You said the wife always knows, but this was so blatant, so accepted, and Jane Ann has this ironic perspective about it.
"Dillon knows to his toes if he ever slept with another woman I'd shoot him dead, not the woman. Her I'd just rough up some." Sherlock shook her head. "To make promises, then to break them for no good reason I can think of, and you've got kids at home looking up to you, that's simply pathetic." She sighed as she opened the car door and slid in. "All too common, I guess."
Erin slid in beside her. "To be honest, I don't understand it either, not that I have all that much experience. I was married for a total of two months and twenty-seven days when I was twenty-two, not yet graduated from college. My husband was a grad student in economics. He didn't sleep with my friends, nothing like that, he simply didn't want to take his turn at washing the dishes and doing the laundry, that was my job, and so he told me. He said he had more important things to do than be a stupid drudge. Can you beat that?"
"Please tell me you took a whip to him."
"I should have, but I didn't. By the time eight weeks had passed I was so disillusioned with the jerk I didn't really care what he said, I just wanted him out and gone. But Jane Ann, she's different."
"Yes. I wonder if Caskie knows she sleeps with her tennis pros?"
When Sherlock's cell phone rang two hours later, she looked at the screen and pulled over. "It's Dillon, Erin. Let's see what's going on down there."
Sherlock listened as she unfastened her seat belt and stretched. "You're already on your way to see Senator Hoffman? This is wild, Dillon. His wife sends him a warning through you from the vast beyond, and he discounts it. Or maybe he didn't, just didn't realize he could die in a public restaurant.
"I bet he's really shook now. Yes, call me later. Then I'll tell you about Jane Ann Royal."
28
CHEVY CHASE, MARYLAND
Late Wednesday afternoon
Savich drove his Porsche through Senator David Hoffman's old established neighborhood, Ruth beside him. "A longtime lobbyist dead of poison with a United States senator sitting across the table from her, and he's probably the one meant to eat the arsenic. This is going to be pretty wild, Dillon. Good thing wild is our unit's middle name."
"Actually, our middle name is Apprehension."
Ruth punched him in the arm.
"'Wild' is the word Sherlock used when I called her."
"Great minds usually run in parallel," Ruth said.
Savich was grinning when he turned the Porsche smoothly into Senator Hoffman's driveway. He saw a TV van parked across the street. "They're fast. We've got to hurry." He and Ruth did a fast jog up the flagstone path to the senator's front door.
An agent stepped out. "Agents. Get inside before the locusts swarm onto the yard. Look at that yahoo running up here to get to you, waving his camera guy forward. The idiot, I'll deal with him."
Savich closed the door firmly behind them and turned to look around the large entrance hall. It was empty and dead silent. They waited a moment, but no one appeared. There didn't seem to be anyone inside the house. Since Savich knew the way, he led Ruth to Senator Hoffman's study, down the hall and to the right. Another FBI agent stood beside the door. He nodded to them.
The senator was seated behind his desk, his head back against the comfortable headrest, his eyes closed. His senior aide, Corliss Rydle, stood in front of his desk, arms crossed over her chest, yet another guard dog. Savich had seen two FBI agents. He wondered how many more Mr. Maitland had assigned to guard the senator. Corliss Rydle stared at them hard. Message received, Savich thought, we'll have to go through you first to get to the great man. She was closer to a guard poodle, he thought, petite, probably had to stretch to reach five-foot-two. She had short black hair and an olive complexion, probably some Mediterranean blood lurking around in her background somewhere. She was dressed in a stark black suit, white blouse, and a glossy pearl necklace. She all but growled at them.
Senator Hoffman opened his eyes, sat forward. "It's all right, Corliss." There was a hint of humor in his voice. "This is Agent Savich, and he's-very important."
Savich introduced himself and Ruth to Corliss Rydle, watched her step down a bit. He asked her to leave.
She didn't move, shot her dark eyes to her boss. Hoffman said quietly, "It's all right, Corlie. If I'm not safe with these people, then I should simply hang it up. Go finish drafting that statement for me. We've got to move on this, and as soon as Agent Savich brings me up to date, we're going to proceed."
When they were alone, Hoffman eyed Ruth. "Where's Agent Sherlock?"
Savich said, "Sherlock's up in Connecticut working on the murder of that German national."
"Oh, yes, I heard about that. What the devil is going on up there?" He stopped, shook his head at himself. "What am I blathering on about? Dana Frobisher is dead. I asked her to go to lunch with me and she ate my favorite dish-the fried shrimp-and died
right there in front of me, seizing on the floor, foaming at the mouth." He shuddered, swallowed, then whispered, "It was meant for me, wasn't it, Agent Savich?"
"Could have been," Savich said matter-of-factly. "We're certainly looking at that as one possibility."
Hoffman stared at Savich like he was nuts. "You're telling me it's possible a middle-aged woman who happens to be a lobbyist had enemies who hated her enough to take the incredible risk of poisoning her in the Foggy Bottom Grill?"
"The same could be said for you, Senator. You're a middle-aged man who just happens to be a United States senator, and someone took the incredible risk of trying to kill you. What's the difference?"
"Well, that's a point, Agent Savich, but there is a world of difference between the murder of a lobbyist and what could have been an assassination attempt on a United States senator.
"My wife told you-warned you-but I refused to take it seriously. Even if I had taken her warning seriously, I wouldn't have questioned having lunch at one of my favorite eating places. But it happened there. Now, you're not going to tell me Dana Frobisher's ex-husband paid someone in the kitchen to poison her lunch? The woman isn't-she wasn't-rich, she wasn't particularly savvy or charismatic, she wielded very little power, hardly a person worth killing for any reason other than a personal one."
Ruth said, "Actually, sir, Dana Frobisher did very well financially. Her experience and contacts have given her a certain power, a certain cachet, if you will. I'm told she was a very effective negotiator.
"So far we have not found anything out of the ordinary-no stalkers, no angry neighbors, no seriously pissed-off clients. Her ex-husband is a farmer in New Mexico. He was distraught when we spoke to him. She left one grown daughter, in her third year at Brown, and an extended family, who are in shock. But of course we'll keep looking on her side of things, to see if she could indeed have been the target."
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 113