by L. T. Ryan
Beck squinted as he thought it over. “Not that I can recall. He really hadn’t been involved in much at all. The president was considered a strong candidate six years ago, so the Party didn’t see a need to nominate an equally strong or stronger vice president candidate. They went with a younger guy. One they could groom to take over eight years later. McCormick hadn’t even been in politics that long. Thinking about it, it must’ve been a whirlwind for him.”
“That rules out revenge against him, then.”
“Assuming it was Polanski,” Beck added.
“No revenge. No hope of getting a promotion. No sure connection between her and Sinclair as far as I know.”
Beck nodded, said nothing.
“So where’s that leave us?”
“Confused.” He tapped on the steering wheel for a few moments. “Unless her goal was to get Banner fired.”
Chapter 40
They arrived in Arlington, Virginia a few hours later, after stopping in Frederick, Maryland to ditch the car in a free parking garage and pick up a rental. While in Frederick, they also purchased new cell phones, with the purpose of using them one time and discarding them.
At four in the afternoon, the sun remained high and bright. The heat wave continued to drag on, making it feel like August in June. The rental’s air conditioning fought to keep up. It spat lukewarm air at them. For a while it made more sense to leave the windows down.
They drove by Julie Polanski’s cookie-cutter house in a subdivision off Washington Blvd. There were no security signs in the windows or planted in the flowerbed. The six-foot privacy fence would do little to keep them out.
The neighborhood screamed middle class. Despite the later hour, there were few cars in driveways. That didn’t mean people weren’t home, though. Clarissa and Beck had to make a decision.
“We can go in now and wait for her,” he said. “That’ll give us time to try and break into her computer and check her files, physical and digital. It’s that, or we wait until nighttime.”
“We’ll have better cover then.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be after nine p.m. By then it’s dark out.”
She recalled the solstice again.
“I say we go now,” he said. “Park on the street behind this one and make our move.”
“Okay.”
Beck turned right at the next street. There were no houses facing them, only the sides of four large homes. Even better, there was a narrow alley that ran behind the two rows of houses. The car wouldn’t fit, but it was more than large enough for them to run down.
He slowed the car down to get a better look as they passed. “Utility right-of-way.”
They turned left at the next street and parked two blocks further in front of an empty lot. Beck looked around, then nodded for Clarissa to exit.
She stepped out of the car and met Beck at the rear bumper. He took her hand and started walking.
“We need to make it look like we’re a couple out on a walk.”
Her nerves got the better of her. A thin layer of sweat formed on her palm. She wanted to pull her hand away. When she tried, he squeezed harder.
They turned on the side street, and again at the narrow utility right-of-way alley. She counted the houses until they reached Polanski’s.
“This one,” she said.
Beck nodded. He tugged on the gate. It didn’t open. Peering through the crack between the fence and gate, he said, “It’s got a heavy-duty lock. “We’ll have to go over.” He turned toward her. “Be quick about it.”
She reached up with both hands, grabbed the top of the fence and pulled herself up and over, vaulting a few feet away and landing on her feet. She crouched and surveyed the yard. Her right hand went behind her back and rested next to her pistol. No need to draw it here and alarm anyone who might have seen her jump over the fence.
“Clear?” Beck asked from the alley.
“Clear,” she said.
A moment later his head appeared over the top of the fence. He tried to remain low while swinging his right, then left leg over. He dropped to the ground and joined her.
“Watch the neighbors’ windows,” he said.
“I am.” And she had been. There’d been no sign of movement since she first looked up.
Another minute passed. “Let’s check for an alarm and then get inside.”
They ran to the power meter and found the connection for phone and internet. There was nothing to indicate an alarm system was present. Beck cut the feeds running inside anyway.
From there, they found an unlocked side door that led to the garage. The room was mostly empty, ten degrees hotter than outside, and smelled like paint thinner. They walked straight to the door leading into the house. Beck reached for the knob. It was locked. They both found it odd that Polanski would leave the exterior door unlocked, but not the interior.
“Stand back,” Beck said, holding both arms out and backing up. He took a stutter step forward, then drove his right foot into the door near the knob. It cracked and bowed, but didn’t open. Again he backed up and repeated the process. This time, when the sole of his shoe connected with the door, it snapped and popped open, whipping hard to the right on its hinges.
Clarissa moved to the left to cover the opening while Beck regained his balance. He entered the home first. A long, narrow hallway led from the garage to the kitchen area. The vent in the ceiling piped frigid air down. She wasn’t sure if it felt so cold because she had been outside in the heat so long, or if Polanski was part penguin. She caught a glimpse of the thermostat, noting it was set on fifty-eight degrees.
Apparently, Beck had seen it too. “Always thought she had ice running through her veins.”
Clarissa ignored his comment. A more pressing thought had come to mind. “Beck, does Julie have kids?”
He stopped, turned his head to the left and glanced back at her. “Don’t think so. I’ve never seen a picture of one on her desk or anything like that. She’s never brought a family to any of the functions we’ve held.”
His comment became relevant.
She said, “You just said she’s cold as ice or whatever. Maybe she likes to keep her office informal.”
“Yes, perhaps. Keep an eye out for photos, kids’ clothes and shoes, stuff like that.”
They were in the kitchen. Clarissa glanced at the microwave. The digital clock readout reminded her that school was out.
“If she does, they’ll be here soon, if not already.”
“Don’t worry,” Beck said. “It’s not like they’re going to pop out with guns and knives and try to take us on.”
“Okay. But they might’ve called the cops already.”
“Bikes.”
“What?”
“Did you see any bikes in the garage?”
“No. What difference does that make?”
“Who would have kids and no bikes?”
Clarissa shrugged. “My best friend growing up didn’t learn to ride a bike until we were in high school.”
“Okay, whatever then. We’ll be careful. Fair?”
They continued through the house. The downstairs consisted of four large rooms with stairs running through the middle. The dining room was formal and looked unused, as did the living room. They completed the square in the family room. There was a single couch, coffee table and television. Clarissa didn’t see any family photos or other effects to suggest that Polanski had a family.
From the family room they went back through the kitchen and dining room, then upstairs, checking the lock on the front door first.
Though the house looked like it had been built within the past ten years, the stairs could have been ripped out of a two hundred year old home. They creaked and popped with every step either of them took. If they had come at night, that would have been a dead giveaway. They wouldn’t have gotten near the woman before she armed herself and dialed nine-one-one.
Upstairs they found four bedrooms. Only two of the rooms had beds. One of those looke
d like it had been untouched for several months. Polanski’s room was neat and organized. The bed made. The furniture bare and dusted.
Clarissa searched through the drawers looking for anything out of place, but found nothing. Next, she investigated the closet, pushing aside clothes on hangers to investigate the wall. There was a chance the woman had a safe. If she had damning evidence, that would be where they would find it.
But Clarissa found no evidence of a safe installed in the closet. It didn’t have to be there, though. The house was at least three thousand square feet. Lots of places to place things never meant to be found.
She left the room and found Beck sitting behind a computer in a bedroom being utilized as an office. Without looking at her, he nodded as Clarissa entered the room.
“Find anything?” she asked.
“Nothing. Computer was unlocked. Julie’s not a dumb woman. If she had something on here, she’d require a password at minimum as first line of defense. They’ve got people that can crack or bypass that easy enough. From that point, the files would be encrypted.”
She nodded, having been brought up to speed on these things during her indoctrination into Sinclair’s group. And being on the move, Clarissa always carried and used an IronKey USB drive.
“Do you think she’d keep it on the computer?” Clarissa asked.
Beck removed his hands from the keyboard and looked at her. “Something portable?”
“Makes sense. It’s what I do.”
Smiling, he said, “I’ve been out of investigation too long. Things have changed a lot in the last half-decade.”
“So what now?”
“We wait.”
Chapter 41
Clarissa stared out at the street through the spaces between the white plantation blinds. Little kids on bikes raced up and down the street. People on their way home cautiously passed them doing ten to fifteen miles per hour. A few ditched their work gear and returned outside with their dogs or in their running shoes. Why anyone would exercise outside on a day like this without being forced to, was beyond Clarissa.
She spotted Julie Polanski’s car a half-block away. Unlike the others, Julie gave the playing children little consideration. She honked her horn. Through the sun’s reflection on the windshield, Clarissa saw the woman gesturing wildly at the kids.
“She looks like she’s under major stress,” Clarissa said.
“The vice president was shot. That stresses everyone in our department out.”
“But aren’t you picked because you can handle it?”
He shrugged. “Things change, I suppose.” He paused a beat, then added, “Let’s head downstairs. Go for her after she enters.”
They waited until the car pulled into the driveway, then exited the room and went downstairs. Beck positioned himself next to the front door. It would shield him from Polanski’s view as she opened it.
Clarissa waited in the formal living room, using the wall to hide her presence. She remained close to the wide opening. As soon as the door shut, she’d whip around the partition and force Polanski to the ground.
She heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock and the latch sliding open. The door cracked as it moved the first inch. That, combined with the rickety stairs, led Clarissa to believe the house had settled considerably since being built. The door whooshed as it opened. She pictured Beck’s position and wondered how close the door would come to hitting him. Would Polanski notice if it did? It didn’t come to that. A moment later, the door hit the jamb and then clicked shut. Polanski’s heels cracked against the tiled entryway.
Clarissa took a deep breath, held it. She performed a quick scan of the area in front of her for the tenth time, ensuring there were no mirrors or other reflective surfaces that would give her position away. Secure in the feeling that her presence had gone unnoticed, she burst forward and around the wall.
Julie froze, dropping the mail in her hands. A magazine and three envelopes fell to the floor.
“Hands up,” Clarissa said.
Julie’s mouth worked to form words. She managed to create a few sounds, but nothing coherent.
“Hands up,” Clarissa repeated, then added, “And down on your knees.”
Julie’s eyes widened. Her cheeks reddened. Her hands and fingers, limp a moment ago, tightened and bent into claws. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Clarissa diverted her stare away from the woman for a moment to get a read on Beck. He stood in front of the door, blocking both the door and the stairs as escape routes.
In the few seconds Clarissa wasn’t looking, Julie sprung forward. Twenty years Clarissa’s senior, the woman moved as though they were the same age. Had she thought about it, Clarissa might not have moved in time. But instinct took over.
With the woman charging like a wild animal, Clarissa leaned back to her right, turning at the waist to bring her left shoulder back. Both arms, connected at the pistol’s grip, went into the air. Polanski didn’t adjust fast enough. The woman’s left shoulder caught Clarissa in the side, but the impact was not enough to take her down. Off balance, Polanski stumbled. Clarissa brought her elbows down, driving both into Polanski’s back.
The older woman grunted and crashed to the floor. Beck raced up and pulled both her arms behind her back.
“Cuffs?” he said to Clarissa. It seemed something he should have considered earlier.
“No,” she said. “I can look for some zip ties or something.”
Polanski rolled her head to the side. Her face was red. Her gazed was fixed on Clarissa. “Don’t bother. I’m not going to fight you. I know why you’re here.”
Beck let go of the woman’s wrists. He rose and moved back toward the door. Clarissa took that as a sign to move back, so she did, stepping over the woman and blocking the hallway to the family room.
Julie pushed herself off the floor and used the wall to get to her feet. Her clothes and hair were disheveled, and her makeup smeared. One second she looked pissed, and the next defeated.
“What led you to me?” Polanski asked, looking over her shoulder at Beck.
“Logic,” he said.
“Then your logic is shit.”
“Perhaps, but my chances are fifty-fifty.”
Julie forced a puff of air through closed lips.
“Am I wrong?” Beck asked.
“Depends on what you’re accusing me of,” Polanski said.
“We just want some answers to some questions.”
“What if I can’t answer them?”
“Then I’ll assume you’re withholding information from me. And that won’t be good.” He took a step forward. “Would it?”
Polanski said nothing. Her expression never changed, and she made no gestures that gave her away.
“Why don’t you start by telling us about your relationship with Sinclair?” Beck said.
“We’ve used him in the past for some of our larger financial crimes. At times we needed more of a, I suppose you could say, criminal element in the investigation. He was good at providing that.”
“Did this ever occur when I was in the unit?” Beck asked.
Julie Polanski shrugged and offered no answer. Clarissa caught a glimpse of an eyelid twitch and presumed that the answer was yes.
“What personal contact did you have with Sinclair?”
Julie turned and leaned back against the stair railing. She looked up at the ceiling. “Not too much. We always kept contact minimal. A meeting would be arranged in Richmond or Charlottesville in Virginia, or Martinsburg in West Virginia. The meetings were brief, usually in a coffee house. We’d use a magazine to exchange information in the old days. Secure USB drives with data self-destruct mechanisms the past five years.”
“So you met with him?” Clarissa asked.
“A few times,” Julie said.
“What kind of relationship did you have with him?” Beck asked.
She took a moment to respond. “Minimal.”
Clarissa thoug
ht the delay indicated there was more to it than that. But searching Polanski’s face for any micro-expressions revealed nothing.
“Amy was shot,” Beck said, altering the direction of the interrogation.
For the first time, Polanski cracked. A layer of mist coated her eyes and her lips trembled. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “I heard.”
“She came over, upset. Her son was missing.”
The hardened look returned to Polanski’s face. “We received intelligence that indicated Amy was involved in the attempt on McCormick. Her son was taken into custody and is being held now. It’s for his protection. Whoever took out Amy might go after him if they think it can benefit them.”
Clarissa said, “We—”
Beck interrupted, “Where is the boy?”
“You’re as much a suspect in all this as I am,” Polanski said. “You think I’m going to reveal his location to you?”
“You know neither of us had anything to do with this. I didn’t even know why we were having that meeting when you brought Clarissa on board. I was told who she was, who she worked for, and where to pick her up. That was it.”
Clarissa recalled their meeting at the airport. “You said you knew Sinclair.”
“Did I?” he said. “Or did you interpret that I did. I only did what Banner told me to do.”
Her suspicion of Beck rose again, despite how she tried to divert it away. She wanted to believe in the guy. They’d been through a lot together. It still made no sense that he’d bring her along this far. Unless he planned to turn on her as a last resort. She backed off and allowed him to complete the questioning.
“Can’t trust any of us, can you, Clarissa?” Julie smiled for the first time. “You’d think the people tasked with protecting leaders and solving major financial crimes would have more integrity than this.”
“Screw you, Julie,” Beck said.
“It’s not me, Beck,” she said. “And you’ve wasted a lot of time by coming here. He already knows about the incident Clarissa had with Sinclair today. And he’s making preparations to move on all of us.”
Beck turned toward the door. Grabbing the knob, he looked back at Clarissa and Polanski. “Banner.”