by Allan Topol
Ben waited for more. When it didn't come, he asked, "What's that prove? It could have been his wife's."
"Ann Winthrop has gray hair."
"Well, it could have been anybody's who visited the house in the recent past." Ben looked at him curiously. "I thought you found some evidence to help us locate George Nesbitt. He's the other suspect I've been worried about. We've moved heaven and earth to find him." He waved his hands, still nettled about the man's disappearance. "The blond hair doesn't do much for me. Did you tell Jennifer about it?"
"She was ecstatic. She has the idea that George Nesbitt was a woman dressed like a man who came ostensibly for sex and then killed Winthrop."
Ben rolled his eyes. "Other than one of Cinderella's blond hairs, does she have anything to back up that fairy tale?"
"She has a guard, Jeb Hines, who thinks Nesbitt looked effeminate. She has the stain on Winthrop's pants and the folder of condoms."
Ben gaped. "What are you talking about? What stain? What condoms?"
Campbell smiled. Usually Ben was the one in the know. "Yeah, that's the second thing that brought me here today. After I found the blond hair, I decided to read the FBI report. It didn't mention the two things I saw before the jerks arrived."
"Which were?"
"In a red file folder in a credenza, Winthrop had about fifty condoms stashed."
"Yeah, so the guy liked to fuck."
"And on the front of his pants, there was a fresh stain. It may have been semen. It could have been precoital fluid."
"Let me guess," Ben said. "The FBI report didn't mention the stain."
Art Campbell cocked his finger at him. "Even for a white boy, you're pretty damn slow, but eventually you get there."
Ben paused to consider these new developments. "Still," he said, "it might not have anything to do with the crime. Maybe Winthrop did have some blond bimbo in for sex, and his friends at the White House wanted to spare Mrs. Winthrop the brutal tabloid treatment. None of this tells me that Clyde Gillis didn't kill Winthrop."
Ben said it with bravado, but he knew the ground had shifted irrevocably. Even if this was the only evidence Jenny had alluded to on the phone, he'd have a problem with Judge Hogan. Plus, she might have something more that Campbell didn't know about.
"Now let me show you something," Ben said. "This seems to be my day for revelations."
He reached across his desk, picked up a copy of the confession, and handed it to the detective.
Campbell took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, studied it carefully, and returned it to Ben. "I don't believe it."
"Why not?"
"My gut tells me different, along with everything else I now know." Campbell looked at Ben thoughtfully. "We've been friends a long time. So I can be blunt with you. Right?"
Ben nodded.
"I think they're using you in their cover-up. Somebody at the White House. Maybe even Brewster himself. They know Clyde Gillis didn't kill Winthrop because they know who did it. Gillis just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Otherwise, they would never have even had a suspect. It would have gone down as an unsolved crime."
For a long moment Ben was too stunned to respond. "I don't know," he replied weakly.
"Then let's find out for sure before you take the confession to the judge, and the press gets hold of it."
"How do you propose to do that?"
"Without any fanfare, I'll get Winthrop's pants from the FBI lab and have our chemists analyze them. Then I want to talk to everybody who lives around Gillis's house. Maybe they saw someone plant the gun or money in his truck."
"The FBI already did that. They came up with nothing."
Campbell smiled. "We're talking southeast Washington. I know those people. They don't talk to the FBI. I'll send people they know. People they'll talk to."
"How long will it take?"
"Give me twenty-four hours."
Ben swallowed. "I don't know."
The telephone rang. When Ben ignored it, his secretary buzzed. "It's Ed Fulton on a cell phone up on the Hill. Returning your call."
Ben looked at the confession and then at Campbell's black, crease-lined face before picking up the phone. The moment of truth had come. How could he avoid telling Fulton about the confession?
"What's up?" Ben said casually.
"I'm returning your call."
"I just wanted to check in with you. We didn't have a chance to talk after court. What'd you think?"
"It went great. We've got an early trial date. Mr. Slater's happy. I'm happy. I thought you were calling about some new development in the case."
Ben sucked in his breath. "There hasn't been any new development," he said flatly.
The man whom Jenny said had no soul had just put his entire career on the line. Nervously, he put down the phone and looked at Campbell. "You've got twenty-four hours," he said grimly. "Aside from my secretary, Jennifer's the only other one who knows about the confession. There's no chance they'll tell anyone. But if nothing turns up before tomorrow at four o'clock, I'll have to take the confession to the judge. I'll say I just received it."
Campbell laughed. "You mean you'll lie, and I'll swear to it."
"Yeah, something like that," Ben said, joining in. "Then when we both get fired, we can get season tickets to the Wizards."
After Campbell left his office, Ben sat at his cluttered desk thinking about everything that had just happened. The detective's words, "They're using you in their cover-up..." kept popping into his tired brain, and made him feel very uncomfortable. Was he being paranoid? Was Campbell totally off the reservation, and was Clyde Gillis really the killer? He was so confused, he no longer had an opinion.
He remembered the words of Bill Dunn, a former colleague who had gone into private practice and was minting money. Dunn used to say, "When the going gets tough, the tough go for a drink."
Ben turned off his computer and took the elevator to the parking garage in the basement of the building. It was already dark outside, and it was raining again. Not paying attention to traffic and driving west on Pennsylvania Avenue, he almost hit a pedestrian at a crosswalk at Tenth Street. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop just in time. Happily, there were only seven more blocks to the Old Ebbitt Grill. Ben found a parking space on the street and went inside. Maybe I'll get lucky, he thought, after the way the rest of my day's gone. Maybe that blonde will be back.
* * *
Jennifer had the copy of Clyde Gillis's confession in her hand when she arrived at the jail.
"What's going on?" she asked her client, who stared up at the ceiling and refused to respond. "Did you actually sign this confession?" she asked, trying to sound sympathetic—which was how she felt, because she was certain someone had gotten to him.
He still wouldn't answer.
She waved the document at him. "Did someone coerce you into signing?"
More blank stares.
She asked the guard to show her the visitors log. At first she was told it would take a court order. Finally, the guard on duty, Harvey "Red" Dougherty, relented and showed her the log. Ben had been there Sunday night, and according to the log, no one else other than Jennifer, Lucinda, and the children had visited Gillis.
As she left the jail, she checked her cell phone, which she had turned off when she had been inside. There was a message from Ann.
As she drove in the pounding rain, she called Ann. "I got your message."
"We have to talk."
Jennifer looked at the clock in the car. Time was tight if she was going to meet Slater for the opera, but her defense of Gillis was now at a critical point. If Ann had something, she'd better hear it. Besides, she wanted to tell her about Gillis's confession.
"How about my house in thirty minutes?"
"I'll be there."
Ann was parked in front of the house when Jennifer arrived. As soon as they were inside, Ann told her what happened with the intruder.
"My God, that's horrib
le," Jennifer said. "Did you tell the police?"
"I haven't told a soul. I'm afraid if there's a police investigation, it'll come out that you've got a copy of the tape. That'll make you their next target." Ann's hands were shaking.
"You want something to drink?"
"Do you have any sherry?"
Jennifer fixed two glasses with ice and handed one to Ann.
"Where's your copy of the videotape?" Ann asked.
Jennifer pointed to the briefcase she'd been holding when she entered the house. "I've been carrying the video around with me. Never sure when I'll be able to use it."
"Well, watch your back because these people are ruthless. Since you were with me when we turned over the first one, they may go after you next."
Trying to sound brave, Jennifer said, "I've got the gun in my briefcase."
Ann wasn't impressed. "You don't want to mess with them."
"You're right. I'll get another copy of the video made in the morning and lock it up in my office." Jennifer shifted nervously in her chair. This whole mess was getting worse and worse. "I've got a development of my own to report to you," she said.
Ann looked at her with her eyes wide open. "Am I going to like this one any better?"
"I don't think so. Clyde Gillis confessed. He wants to plead guilty."
Ann's head snapped back. "What?"
"You heard me."
"B-but that's impossible," Ann stammered. "You... you have evidence linking the Chinese government to the murder. Today's little episode—"
Jennifer interrupted her. "It's all good evidence, but it's circumstantial. With more time, I might be able to get direct evidence establishing that they were responsible for the murder. Unfortunately, time's not something I have. If I go to Ben with what I've got now on the Chinese government, Ben will wave Clyde's confession at me and laugh. I'd do the same if I were in his shoes."
"Jesus, what a mess. Was the confession coerced, or was Clyde paid off to take the fall?"
"Either way. But who's responsible?"
Ann pounced on the question. "How about Ambassador Liu?"
Jennifer removed her glasses and cleaned them with a damp kitchen towel. "That thought has been running through my mind. But how will I ever be able to prove it?" She shook her head. "I feel so bad about Clyde. I can understand what Judge Hogan did, but since I couldn't get him out on bail, how's his family going to get along financially? You told me one of his kids needs expensive medical treatments."
Ann slapped her hand against her forehead. "You're so right. I should have thought about that. I'll call Lucinda tomorrow and offer her some money. I hate it when people give to faceless institutions and ignore people they know. I could kick myself. Thanks for reminding me."
Reminded of something herself, Jennifer glanced at her watch and winced. "I've got the opera tonight." For an instant Jennifer paused, hoping Ann wouldn't ask whom she was going with, but she couldn't mislead her friend. "Actually, I'm going with Jim Slater."
Ann shook her head in disapproval. "The presidential box, no doubt."
"How'd you guess?"
"I figured he'd pull out all of the stops in order to snow you." Her tone was sarcastic.
Jennifer was ashamed to admit that the idea of being in the presidential box with the second most powerful man in the country was quite an aphrodisiac. "C'mon, Ann."
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I guess I'm just jealous no one has wanted to snow me."
Jennifer stared hard at Ann. "I know you too well. You're not jealous at all. You said it because you think I'm making a mistake with Jim, and you're feeling helpless to stop me."
Ann gave a short, sardonic laugh. "Okay. You're right. But you're a big girl. You must know what you're doing."
Ann waved her off. "Why don't you go up and get dressed? I'll drive you to the Kennedy Center. We can talk in the car."
"I was planning to drive myself."
"That's for the peasants," Ann said in a caustic tone. "Jim will no doubt have a car and driver to take you home."
Jennifer dressed quickly. For the evening, she had picked a gorgeous teal dinner dress that was just waiting for an occasion like this. Before going downstairs, she switched her purse for the evening to one large enough to hold the video. After what Ann had said, there was no way she was letting it out of her sight.
"Wow, you look smashing," Ann said to Jennifer as they walked to the car.
Once inside, Jennifer repeated her question. "What's bothering you about Jim?"
"Jim's debonair, suave, and attractive. He's bright and he's fun to be with."
"Sounds good so far," Jennifer quipped.
"He's also married. That's a prescription for disaster, and I care too much about you to want you to be hurt."
For several minutes, they rode in silence. Finally, Jennifer said, "I appreciate your concern, Ann. I really do. And I'll think about what you've said."
"That's all I ask." They were approaching the Kennedy Center. "Have a good time at the opera."
"I will. I love Verdi's music."
"What are you seeing?"
"Luisa Miller."
"Isn't that the one in which the two lovers die at the end?"
"Thank you, Ann."
* * *
Ben sat at the bar and sipped a frozen margarita slowly, thinking about everything Campbell had said. The drink tasted bitter, matching his mood. Campbell was probably right, he decided. He was being used by people in the administration as part of a cover-up. That was easy enough to figure out. Much harder was trying to determine who was behind it, and what he could do about it.
A television set was playing above the bar. Two ESPN announcers were prattling on about the Capitals hockey team. Suddenly from his left he heard a woman say, "I want whatever that man's having. It looks good."
He turned his head. It was the blonde, two chairs away. There was an empty chair between them. She was pointing to his glass. She had a warm smile that showed perfect teeth.
The bartender said, "Frozen margarita with salt."
God, she was beautiful, Ben thought. Her long hair hung down straight, kissing her shoulders and the jacket of the smartly tailored gray business suit she was wearing.
Before the bartender made the drink, Ben said, "You look more like the champagne type to me."
"Do you really think so?" she replied. He loved the sound of that voice.
"A glass of champagne for the lady," Ben said, "and a refill for me. Put them both on my tab."
"You don't have to do that."
Ben had a bedroom voice of his own. "With the kind of day I had, I'd like to do something nice for someone."
"Well, gee, thanks."
The bartender brought their drinks and then departed. Ben moved over and sat next to her. "Where you from?" he asked.
"Sunnyvale, California. I'm in the computer software business."
Ben laughed. "Do you know George Nesbitt?"
That came completely out of the blue, but she didn't move a muscle to show her alarm. "No, who's he?"
"That was a joke. He's somebody I almost knew from San Jose. He's in the computer business, too."
He raised his glass and tapped it against hers. "To the computer business."
"Is that what you do too?"
"Nope. I'm a lawyer."
She gave him a warm smile, indicating that pleased her. "I should have guessed that. In Washington, all the men I meet are lawyers."
Ben laughed and held out his hand. "Ben's my name."
She shook it warmly. "I'm Sally."
"You staying near here?"
"Are you kidding?" she said scornfully. "We're just a start-up. I'd never get reimbursed for the high rates in this part of town. I'm out in Virginia near National Airport at one of those no-name motels."
Ben sipped his drink, thinking. He wasn't sure what to do next. He hadn't picked up a girl at a bar since he was in law school. That just wasn't something he did. But there couldn't be any harm in i
t. There wouldn't be complications. She was probably going home soon. She didn't even know his last name. Finally he said, "What are you doing for dinner this evening?"
"I figured I'd go back to the hotel and order up from room service. I hate eating alone in a restaurant."
Well, that was certainly an encouraging response, he thought. "How about having dinner with me over at the Willard?"
"I'd love to. I'll bet they have great room service there."
Ben was startled. He actually had had the dining room in mind, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I've heard they have the best room service in town."
She skipped off the bar stool with her glass in her hand and said, "I've got to go powder my nose."
While she was gone, he thought briefly of Jennifer, then dismissed the idea. He didn't owe her a thing. The way she was acting, he had zero chance of getting back together with her.
A few minutes later when the blonde returned, her glass was empty. She was wearing a tan raincoat and black leather gloves, carrying the glass in her hand, which she deposited on the bar.
Outside, it had stopped raining. They walked the four blocks to the Willard. While he registered for a room, she waited for him near the elevators, out of sight of the desk clerk, who had no interest in Ben or why he needed a room without a reservation. Ben looked respectable. His credit card cleared immediately. That was all the clerk cared about.
A few minutes later, they were in 422, a deluxe room with a queen-size bed. Ben picked up the room service menu and started to open it, but she put a gloved hand over his and said, "Can we wait till later?" There was no doubt what she wanted first. "There's no way to say this, but I'm sexy as hell for you right now."
Ben could hardly believe his ears. Nor could he believe his good luck when she took her hand and fondled his crotch, holding it on his already swelling cock.
"Tell you what," she said, "you get undressed out here. I'll go in the bathroom. Then I'll come out naked as the day I was born."
"You don't have to undress in there. I wouldn't mind watching you."
She giggled. "I'm a little modest about undressing. Once I get my clothes off... well, I stop being modest. You'll see for yourself."
She held up a gloved finger to his mouth. He licked it eagerly and tried to embrace her, but she slipped away—heading toward the bathroom.