The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  Savich said, "Let's back up a minute, Senator. Tell us why you invited a lobbyist to lunch."

  "My wife worked with her years ago, admired her for her energy, her commitment to charities focused on raising money for childhood diseases. I wanted to make use of her expertise in this particular fund-raising area because it is my intention to rekindle Nikki's charities, particularly for spinal meningitis, the charity closest to her heart since her own sister died of that disease when she was six years old. I remember Nikki told me if Dana Frobisher really believed in a cause, she'd throw all her energy into it. I was eager to get her commitment."

  Savich said, "Senator, I've told Ruth we have it on good authority-namely, from your wife, Nikki-that danger was coming in your direction. I agree, it seems more likely you were the target. An assassination attempt? I don't know, but it simply doesn't feel like that to me."

  Hoffman said, "Over the years you learn to expect a lot of things on the campaign trail and on the Hill. Lies about your record, distortion of the facts, thinly disguised attempts to buy influence, even attempts at extortion-but that someone would try to kill a senator for personal gain? I will tell you, it gives me pause. It certainly felt to me like an assassination attempt."

  Hoffman slowly rose, splayed his hands on his mahogany desk. "I think you are wrong about this. I also hope you haven't told anyone about my dead wife contacting you, asking you to warn me. Dear God, man, if the media picks that up, I'll look like a major fool on every TV screen across the United States. It could end my career."

  "Only three people other than Sherlock and I know about your wife, Senator, and they are FBI agents I trust to keep things close to the vest. What about the people you've taken into your confidence-Corliss Rydle and your two sons? Are there others you confided in?"

  "I told you about my nonpolitical friend, Gabe Hilliard, who owns several security firms. He knows, but believe me, he has no axe to grind. He doesn't want to kill me, he only wants to beat me at golf. Listen, if I can't trust him, I can't trust anybody." The senator looked down at his watch. "Corliss told me Gabe's coming by anytime now. She told him he might have to run the gauntlet through the media. You can meet him if you like."

  Savich thought that would be a good idea. "Your aide knows Mr. Hilliard personally?"

  "Oh, yes, they're great friends. You know, maybe one of the house staff overheard something, but no one else. All right, I see your point. There are lots of possible leak sites."

  Savich said, "I suspect your aide, Corliss Rydle, could have her fingernails yanked out and still not tell anyone about this. I gather you've told your sons you'd cut them off at the knees if they let this thing out?"

  "Cut them off at the neck, more like it."

  Savich added, "You're sure the investigator has no clue about Nikki?"

  "No, Corliss told him we were worried about a stalker, not a ghost. Listen, Savich, a media leak still concerns me."

  Savich said, "The media is not what I'm worried about. The fact is, everyone who knows, whether innocently or not, has a tie to this. We have to find out if this was personal, or, as you believe, an assassination attempt, before they have a chance to try again. Now I want to hear everything that happened from the moment you stepped into the Foggy Bottom Grill until Dana Frobisher was taken away by the paramedics."

  29

  Hoffman jerked his fingers through his hair, and looked both ashamed and embarrassed. "Here I am thinking about myself, and how all this will affect me. That poor woman is dead because I called her to ask her to lunch.

  "All right. When she arrived, we chatted about things in general, you know, nothing important, one doesn't discuss business right away. . . ." He paused a moment. "Then we ordered. I had just begun telling her why I'd asked her to lunch, when she became ill and-died."

  Ruth asked, "Did your office call her office?"

  "Yes, Corliss usually makes my calls."

  "Did Corliss tell her the reason for the lunch invitation?"

  Hoffman frowned down at his clasped hands. "No, I don't think so. Corliss was after me about an upcoming vote, and I needed some more information, and so I don't think we did. She accepted my invitation, and that was that."

  Savich said, "Did your office make the reservations, Senator? And when?"

  "Yes, my staffer, Al Pope, always gives them a heads-up even though I'm there like clockwork every single week, usually with a colleague. It's only polite to let them know how many people will be coming. I believe he made the reservation five, maybe six days ago."

  "Which of you arrived first, Senator?"

  "I did. I always arrange to get there first, say hello to everyone, shake hands with the diners I know. Dana Frobisher arrived some ten minutes later, if I remember correctly. My waiter-the same waiter I've had for years, Mr. Graves-he would know for sure."

  "Did you order something to drink while you waited for her?"

  "Yes, mineral water, lemon slice. Mr. Graves always brings it without my even asking."

  Savich said, "Did you suggest she order the shrimp, Senator?"

  Again, Hoffman paused, looked over at the draperies covering the long windows at the front of the house. "Maybe I did, or maybe Mr. Graves did. Isn't it odd? I don't remember Mr. Graves's first name, never used it. In any case, Mr. Graves might have mentioned to her that it was excellent, that it was the dish I always ordered, or I might have. She told me this was her first visit to the Foggy Bottom Grill.

  "As I said, I always order the fried shrimp. It's my one dietary sin for the week. Everyone who works there knows that, it's sort of a joke, you know, they batter up the shrimp extra thick for me, fry it in a skillet with two inches of hot oil. But I wanted something light, as my weight was up this morning, so Mr. Graves suggested I order the small Cobb salad. Can you believe that? I overindulge at dinner last night and that saves my life? Something so insignificant, so arbitrary. It's hard to deal with this, Agent Savich."

  Ruth asked, "You're sure Mr. Graves told her you always ordered that dish, Senator?"

  "Yes, I think so. I remember how I also told her it was the best thing on the menu. And we laughed about fried food and how delicious it was. I really can't remember anything else, my brain feels a bit scrambled right now.

  "I remember the look on her face when she ate that first fried shrimp-sheer bliss. I think she said something about having a spiritual moment. I remember I laughed, and wished I'd ordered it too, I could diet the next day." He paused a moment, swallowed, then he rubbed his hand over his throat.

  "What?" Savich asked.

  "She was doing that, rubbing her hand over her throat. I didn't know why, really didn't think about it, but now of course I realize it had to do with the poison beginning to act, she must have been having trouble swallowing.

  "I reminded her she'd worked with Nikki, easing into what I wanted to ask of her-now that I think about it, she didn't say anything. Listen, Agent Savich, it all happened so very fast. One minute she was eating shrimp and we were talking and then she turned silent, working her hands against her throat, then she fell out of her chair and onto the floor, and she vomited, and went into seizures." Again, he shuddered, seeing it clearly, Savich thought, knowing it could easily have been him on the floor, wracked by seizures, spurting out foam as he lay dying.

  "And then she was dead. Just dead, gone."

  Ruth said, "So she never knew why you'd asked her to lunch?"

  He drew back a bit, looked impatiently at Ruth. "No, I don't suppose so." He fanned his hands in front of him. "Who cares?"

  Savich said, "Mr. Graves initially set down the shrimp plate in front of you, didn't he, sir?"

  "Yes, he did, and I told him it wasn't for me today, and he apologized, moved the plate in front of Dana. I don't remember if he said anything else. Obviously you've spoken to him. What did he say?"


  Savich merely smiled. "Did you have time to eat any of your salad before she became obviously ill?"

  "Maybe a bite or two. As I said, it all happened very fast."

  Ruth said, "The M.E. said she'd eaten five shrimp, and yet you only ate a couple of bites of salad?" Her voice was a bit sharp, a bit disbelieving. Savich never changed expression. For a moment he thought Senator Hoffman looked at Ruth like he'd just as soon she jumped out the front window. But when he spoke, his voice was deep, disarming, his words self-deprecating. "It was probably because I didn't have time-I was doing most of the talking." He gave both of them a tired smile. "Agent Savich knows how much I like to talk," he added to Ruth. He rubbed his forehead. "Maybe I ate more than a couple of bites, it's hard to remember. I close my eyes and see her lying dead on the floor, everyone standing over her, horrified, and all I can think of is that it should have been me eating that fried shrimp, not Dana Frobisher. It should have been me lying dead on the floor. I should have listened to you, Agent Savich, when you told me about Nikki."

  Savich was on the verge of asking him about the work Dana Frobisher and Nikki shared, when there was a knock on the study door, and Corliss Rydle stuck her head in. "Gabe is here, sir."

  "Show him in, Corliss." Hoffman rose to walk around his desk. "Gabe, thank you for coming."

  Savich and Ruth watched the man squeeze Corliss's hand, then he walked to Hoffman and the two men embraced. Hilliard stepped back. "I was scared out of my mind, Dave, are you all right?"

  "Yes, yes, I'm fine, just rattled."

  "No wonder." Gabe Hilliard turned his attention to Savich, who'd slowly risen from his chair.

  He was a block, Savich thought, nearly as wide as he was tall. He was about Hoffman's age, and perfectly bald. His features were as blunt as Hoffman's were refined.

  "Gabe, these are two FBI agents. Agent Savich, Agent Warnecki, this is Gabe Hilliard, a very longtime friend. Incidentally, his son, Derek, knows Corliss."

  Gabe Hilliard grinned. "Maybe there'll be an announcement from those two pretty soon."

  They all shook hands. Ruth had to admit she was impressed when Hilliard offered her his hand as well. She gave it a good shake. He was shorter than she was.

  "Sit down, sit down, Gabe. We were talking about what happened today and that poor woman's death."

  Gabe Hilliard pulled up a chair beside Ruth's, sat down and crossed one leg over his knee. "If you want to, tell me everything. I've got a brain, maybe I can help."

  "From your lips to God's ear," Hoffman said.

  30

  Ruth was on her cell phone as Savich negotiated the heavy traffic back into Washington, wondering what Sherlock was doing, praying she was keeping herself safe.

  Ruth punched off. "That was Ollie giving me the results of his last interview. He said he got statements from all the staff who handled food in the kitchen at lunchtime today."

  "Talk to me."

  Ruth thought briefly of her husband of one month, Dix, and the boys, and realized she wasn't going to be in the stands for Rob's Friday night high school football game. It was the beginning of the season, but still . . . "There were eleven employees in and out of the kitchen today at the Foggy Bottom Grill: the chef, two sous chefs, three dishwashers, two busboys, and three waiters all had easy access. The owner, Raul Minsker, was also in and out of the kitchen, but he doesn't think he was in there during the time the poison had to have been introduced into the shrimp batter, but who knows? We're not going to discount him.

  "I was there when Ollie spoke to the chef-Carlysle is his name, Carlysle Boyd-and he said he always prepares Senator Hoffman's shrimp personally, and he did this time as well. He said he thought it was for the senator's usual order. The batter was mixed by one of the sous chefs, Jay Luckoff's his name, from the usual ingredients as far as he knew. Luckoff said he let the batter sit because he was preparing three other dishes at the same time, so anyone could have stirred something into it.

  "Ollie's doing an in-depth check on Luckoff, nothing so far. Elliot's doing checks on all the other kitchen employees. One of the busboys has a few juvenile offenses, nothing horrendous, joy riding in a stolen car, some marijuana. He was shaking so hard when Ollie spoke to him, Ollie doesn't think he could have pulled it off.

  "To be honest here, Dillon, it could be any one of them. Ollie's setting all of them up for lie detector tests."

  "That'd be too easy."

  "Show me some optimism here, boss."

  "All right then, I'm hoping by tomorrow we'll have nailed him," he said as he smoothly swung around a big black SUV.

  Ruth felt the wind tear through her hair. "Let's hope." She laughed. "Ah, this is wonderful. I'm thinking I'll talk Dix into a Porsche. What are my chances?"

  Savich shot her a grin. "I'd like to hear what he says."

  "Are you going back up to Connecticut?"

  "Tomorrow, if Mr. Maitland agrees. I want to see the results of the lie detector tests, use them to recreate where everyone was in the kitchen." Savich shrugged. "I've got some serious thinking to do."

  Back in his office, Savich shut his door, turned off his cell, pulled off his tie, and sat down. He closed his eyes and he concentrated. Nikki, David nearly died today. I really do need you.

  He pictured her from the photo Senator Hoffman had showed him and Sherlock. A solid woman, she had thoughtful brown eyes, "handsome" was the word, he supposed. She looked fit, a gym lover probably, lightly tanned, her hair beautifully styled and red as a sunset. And an appealing smile, at least in the photo. She stood alone, a big star jasmine bush trellised behind her, white blooms so thick they nearly covered the trellis. He pictured her, tried to feel her. Nikki, please come. There's trouble here, and I know you can help me.

  He waited, tried to relax, and opened his hands on his desk. He made her face as clear in his mind as he could, as if she were right in front of his nose.

  He felt nothing at first, and then it seemed her face was floating, but it wasn't clear anymore. It was swallowed up by what seemed like a fog, cold and gray. Suddenly the fog was churning in front of him. It seemed substantial, and yet he knew he could put his hand through it, knew it would be wet if he did, but she wouldn't really be there to grasp his hand. There would be nothing. Nikki, make yourself clear.

  The swirling fog thinned, and he saw a vague outline, blurred, then clearer, but never clear enough, as if she were a prisoner behind the thick veil, unable to come through. He concentrated hard on trying to see her face, but there was nothing but a vague outline he could hardly make out. He thought he heard her voice, faint and hollow, her words indistinct and distant, as if she were retreating, farther and farther away.

  Savich's eyes opened slowly. He looked at Dane Carver, who stood in the doorway of his office, stone still, watching him. Dane asked calmly, "You get anything from the wife?"

  Had Dane knocked and he hadn't heard him? Very probably. Savich had to grin. There was no doubt in his mind the whole unit knew now about Senator Hoffman's dead wife. There was no doubt in his mind either that not a word about it would get out. "No, well, she couldn't seem to come through to me. Very weird, actually. What's going on, Dane?"

  "You need to switch gears back to Connecticut. Maitland just told me the top-dog director of Schiffer Hartwin, Adler Dieffendorf, and one of his subordinates, Werner Gerlach, marketing and sales, are on their way here from Germany."

  "Isn't that a nice surprise? It seems this is very important to them if they don't trust their lawyers to handle it. When are they arriving?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon at JFK."

  Savich picked up his cell from his desktop. "I'll give Sherlock and Bowie a heads-up. Things are going to happen fast up there now."

  31

  STONE BRIDGE, CONNECTICUT

  Early Wednesday evening

  "Hot diggity," Sherlock sai
d. "The mountain's coming to Mohammed. I can't believe it. I've got Bowie right here, I'll tell him." Sherlock rang off, gave Bowie a fat grin. "Guess what? Dillon told me the big German guns are coming here, all the way from Hartwin, Germany, the managing director, Dr. Adler Dieffendorf, and Mr. Werner Gerlach, director of pharma marketing and sales."

  Bowie made a victory fist. "Here I was picturing us going to Germany and having them slam the door in our faces, the German cops kissing us off, and here they come, right into our open arms."

  Erin was spooning taco meat from a skillet into a bowl on the table. Her heart was pounding hard, but she tried to look only mildly interested. She had to be cool, had to keep her excitement under wraps, well hidden from these two pairs of sharp eyes and sharper brains. "That's great, right? And even better, they'll speak English."

  Sherlock smiled at her. "How do you know that, Erin?"

  Erin's spoon dashed taco meat onto the table. "Oh, rats, look what I did. How do I know they speak English? Well, all the higher-ups in the big corporations in Europe speak English. They'd have to, wouldn't they? I thought everybody knew that."

  "I didn't," Bowie said, and helped her spoon up the meat. "Is the placemat clean?"

  "Yes. In any case, don't forget the five-second rule. Georgie," she called out, "come to dinner."

  "I didn't know that either," Sherlock said. She knew something was up here, knew it to her red toenails.

  Erin gave them both a distracted smile. "Now you won't underestimate us private investigators in the future. We know lots of stuff." She turned to Georgie, who looked adorable, Sherlock thought, dressed in jeans and a red, white, and blue T-shirt that had Wonder Woman emblazoned across the chest. "Hey, kiddo, your hands clean?"

  Georgie held up her hands, palms out.

  "Good. Tacos, Georgie. You said you could match me. Come and prove it. You really think you can eat a dozen?"