Dark Ambition

by Allan Topol

  Chapter 34

  Jennifer and Ben filed slowly into the attorney general's office. Hawthorne looked grim. On his desk was the morning Washington Post with a front-page picture of Ed Fulton and a headline that read, presidential aide takes his life, cause unknown.

  The White House spin doctors had worked late into the night. Just in time to make the Post's deadline, a nameless "White House source" had leaked the information that Ed Fulton had been overworked and depressed. In addition, the young man had unspecified personal problems.

  Ben said, "We should have known this would happen."

  "That's enough," Hawthorne replied. "You did what you thought made sense at the time. Hindsight's always twenty-twenty."

  "The issue is, what do we do now?"

  "I don't think there's anything left to do," the AG said. "The Winthrop case is closed."

  Ben didn't respond. Last night Jennifer had told him about Theo's connection with Slater. "I saw her coming out of Slater's office. She's involved sexually with him. There's an element here we're missing." Ben wasn't so sure about Slater's involvement with Theo—it sounded like female jealousy to him—but he was convinced that Slater has been Ed Fulton's puppeteer. He desperately wanted to continue with his investigation.

  At the same time, he feared that if he shared these thoughts with Hawthorne, the AG would tell him to stop further work on the case. The last thing the administration needed now after bad press from the Winthrop murder and Fulton suicide was a sex scandal involving the President's chief of staff and the wife of the aide who killed himself. So Jennifer, Ben, Traynor, and Campbell had agreed last night when they took stock over a nightcap at Ben's house to operate on the q.t. until they had more solid evidence.

  * * *

  "Where are we now?" Art Campbell asked.

  The four of them were sitting around Ben's kitchen table sipping coffee with glazed doughnuts.

  "If that were the clue for a seven-letter word in a crossword puzzle," Ben replied, "the word would be 'nowhere.' "

  Traynor and Jennifer laughed.

  Ann poked her head in the door. "Ben, can I talk to you for a minute?"

  He got up and followed Ann to the living room. "We've got a problem with Amy. She doesn't know that Gwen escaped, but she can see from her bedroom window in the back that the police have returned. She's scared to death. I offered to take her out, to get some air, let her sit on the swings. As soon as I suggested it, she ran into her bedroom and started screaming."

  "Let me talk to her," Ben said.

  With Ann behind him, he went into Amy's room. "It's going to be okay, honey," he said. "You can go outside with Ann."

  Amy's eyes filled up with tears. "I don't want to go. That bad lady could come back and get me."

  "She's not going to come back."

  His words did little to allay Amy's fears. "Do I have to go, Daddy?"

  "Honey, you can't stay in the house forever."

  A few seconds passed while she thought it over.

  Ben knew she loved her swing set. "Okay, I'll go," she said reluctantly.

  "I'll come out in a few minutes."

  Once Ben saw Amy sitting on the swing and Ann pushing her gently, he returned to the kitchen. "Poor kid," he said. "She's absolutely terrified."

  "We've got two men here around the clock," Campbell said. "One in the front and one in the back."

  "I know that." They exchanged grave looks, and Ben realized he couldn't sit there and bemoan his fate. He had to make things happen so it would all go away. "Now, where were we?"

  "We were talking about Gwen," Campbell said, "and how we might find her."

  Jennifer spoke up. "Donovan knows where. I'll bet he knows where she lives. We can shake him down by telling him the immunity's off because he lied. Let's at least go back and make another run at him."

  Ben looked at Campbell. "What do you think, Art?"

  "We've got nothing to lose. Only this time try talking to Donovan in the courthouse. You may get a little intimidation factor that way."

  Ben picked up the phone and called Joyner at the CIA. When he told her what they wanted, she was in agreement.

  "One of the FBI agents at the house just called me. Donovan has been inside the whole time. The lights have been going on in the morning and off in the evening."

  "Good," Ben said. "Have one of them tell him we want him down at the courthouse in an hour. And make sure they stick with him the whole time."

  "Will do."

  Ben gave her his telephone number. "Call me back when it's all set."

  He thought he'd be called back right away, but for the next fifteen minutes, all four people in his kitchen stared at the phone nervously, waiting for it to ring.

  "I don't like this," Ben said, now coming around to Jennifer's view that Donovan had deceived them.

  When the phone rang, Ben grabbed it.

  Jennifer knew exactly what had happened as she listened to Ben, with a sullen expression on his face, saying, "Yes. I see.... No, it couldn't have been predicted.... You shouldn't blame yourself.... We're all at fault... all four of us were there at the time."

  Ben slammed the phone down. "We're too late again. Donovan flew the coop. It had to be right after we left, before the FBI arrived."

  Jennifer looked away, angry at herself for not being more forceful yesterday about her distrust of Donovan.

  Ben continued in a mournful voice, "Margaret asked the FBI agents to break in and do a quick search. They couldn't find his passport or any cash. Margaret's guess is that he left the country because he knew that we'd find out he was lying yesterday and charge him in Winthrop's murder." In his frustration he banged the phone, making it rattle. "She's fit to be tied. She's screaming that the immunity deal's off because he ran, and she'll toss him in jail for the rest of his life for skipping out. Personally, I think that's the least of her worries. He knows lots of secrets. She's scared he may be taking them to a foreign government. For now, she's confining the news of his flight to CIA personnel. She's leaving the FBI people stationed at his house in case he shows."

  "Which will never happen," Traynor said bitterly. "Now we're finished for sure."

  "We still have Theo," Jennifer said.

  "That's right. We still got Theo," Ben said doubtfully. "Which only proves Slater is a crumb. You should have figured that out long ago."

  Campbell, who knew the history between Ben and Jennifer, said, "Knock it off, Ben. The Slater-Theo connection is the only horse we've got in the race right now."

  Just then Campbell's cell phone rang. As he listened, his eyes lit up. This time Jennifer knew they had something.

  "It was the medical examiner," Campbell said when he finished the call.

  "And?" Jennifer asked, holding her breath.

  "Fulton died from a lethal dose of amitriptyline." When the others looked at him, puzzled, he explained. "It's a strong antidepressant, available by prescription. In a large enough dose, it shuts down the heart. It was in the opened pharmacy container without the label on his desk. Fulton's prints were on the container. The water glass had his prints and saliva."

  "Which is consistent with the idea that he popped a bunch of pills," Traynor said.

  "Precisely," Campbell responded. "But here's the twist. The drug also showed up in the chocolate mousse."

  Jennifer pounced on that. "Which means that Theo poisoned him by grinding up the pills and putting them in the mousse. She staged the scene to make it look like a suicide."

  "Then why didn't she remove the chocolate mousse, discard it down the disposal, and run the dish through the dishwasher?" Ben said.

  Jennifer thought about that for a minute. "Suppose she didn't have time. We arrived without notice, and the doorbell rang." She looked at Traynor for support. "You touched the body first. Was it still warm?"

  He nodded.

  "What about fingerprints?" Ben asked.

  "Only Ed's on the pill bottle and water glass."

  "She could have used g
loves," Jennifer said.

  "Nothing on the computer keyboard on which he typed the note?"

  "Wiped clean. The rest of the room had a lot of other prints, as you might expect in a room in a house like that."

  Ben turned to Jennifer. "Isn't your imagination running wild? This was a suicide—"

  "Then why did Ed take the label off the bottle. What's the point of that?"

  Jennifer had that look in her eye, and he conceded, "I can't answer that one."

  "I can," she said. "Because Theo bought the stuff. She didn't want her name on the bottle."

  Campbell perked up. "Now we're talking. Pharmacies keep records of prescriptions. Let's divide up the local jurisdictions and start making calls."

  Three and a half hours later, Jennifer had a hit. A pharmacist near Middleburg, in Virginia's horse country, remembered selling amitriptlyine in generic form to someone named Fulton a week or so ago. "Let me go back to my records and check," he said to Jennifer on the phone.

  Horse country had to be familiar territory for Slater, Jennifer thought. She raised her hand high and gave a victory sign. The others stopped their calls and watched her.

  "It was exactly a week ago today," the pharmacist said. "Patient was an Edward Fulton. Prescription phoned in by a D.C. doctor, Dorothy Knapp, ID number 70452."

  Jennifer felt like a balloon that had just been pricked. If Ed Fulton had bought the poison himself, it had been a suicide.

  "You want to know who picked up the order?" the pharmacist asked.

  "What do you mean, who picked it up?"

  "I keep records of that, too. It was picked up by his wife, a Mrs. T. Fulton. She signed for it."

  "Please keep those records," Jennifer said. "Someone from the FBI will be out to pick them up."

  Putting down the phone, she shouted, "Yes! Yes!"

  Campbell called Dr. Knapp's office. The doctor's ID number was right, but she had never treated Ed or Theo Fulton. Theo had gotten hold of it or Slater had given it to her to phone in the prescription.

  "I think it's time we paid the grieving widow Fulton a visit," Campbell said.

  "Let's do one other thing first," Jennifer replied.

  Campbell looked at her. "You've got the hot hand here. Fire away."

  "Alexandra Hart, the madam in New York, told us that Mrs. Winthrop ordered up the prostitute for her husband by phone."

  "Uh-huh."

  "So that means a woman made the call. If—"

  Campbell cut her off. "I see where you're going. We'll put a tap on Theo's phone line and get a voice recording. Then we'll hop on a plane and take it to Alexandra in New York."

  "It was a long time ago," Traynor said. "You expect Alexandra Hart to remember?"

  "Can't hurt to try."

  "We'll lose time," Ben said.

  "One day doesn't matter," Campbell replied. "Without Alexandra Hart, we have a descent case based on the pharmacist and the chocolate mousse. If Alexandra Hart helps us out, we've got a lock. Right, Mr. Prosecutor?"

  Ben nodded enthusiastically. He was now on board. Theo was going down. Slater was going with her.

  * * *

  Donovan used a red public telephone box in Piccadilly far from the B and B in Belgravia where he had spent last night to call his home answering machine in Washington. He didn't care if the agency got his location from the call. He had his carry-on with him. If he had to run, it was a few yards to the Green Park Underground station and a short ride to Victoria Station. There, he'd take the Chunnel train to Paris.

  The phone booth was lined with pictures for escorts. Hot and Busty, Blonde Devil and All U Want were some of the messages. Donovan didn't pay any attention to them. His hand was firm, his blood cool when he placed the call. He hadn't been in the field for years, but an agent never forgot what he needed to survive.

  Once his recording on his home answering machine started, he bypassed it. Then he heard Ophelia's voice, "Mr. Donovan, this is Ophelia...."

  God bless her, sounding like a secretary concerned for her former boss and not a sensuous woman trying to help a former lover escape, though she knew if he succeeded, she'd never see him again.

  "Mrs. Joyner has been looking all over for you. I gather it's something urgent. I said that I would try to find you. I even went to your house in Georgetown in case you weren't answering the phone, but no one was there. Except two men in front of the house, which worried me. When I started up the stairs to ring the doorbell, they said, 'Don't bother. He's not home.' Anyhow, I'm leaving this message for you in case you call in. Please call Mrs. Joyner."

  He kissed the phone, whispered, "Thank you, Ophelia," and hung up.

  Donovan now had a clear picture of the situation in Washington. Joyner knew he was gone. She must have concluded that he had been lying when he told them his story yesterday. That meant the immunity deal he had made wasn't worth the paper it was typed on. Going home meant being charged as a conspirator in Winthrop's murder. There was no way he would let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

  That didn't worry Donovan. He wouldn't spend the rest of his life running and hiding. He had a safe place to go where he'd be welcome. The United States government, even with its long tentacles, would never reach him.

  Chapter 35

  "Both kids left for school," the guard in front of Theo's house said to Campbell on a cell phone.

  "Showtime," the detective said to Traynor, Jennifer, and Ben, who were in his car.

  In Ben's briefcase, he had the tape they had obtained from Alexandra Hart yesterday in New York. On it was the recording that she had made of her conversation with the so-called Mrs. Winthrop arranging Winthrop's Saturday afternoon treat. Defiantly, Alexandra had told them that she recorded all of her phone calls for protection, to have a hook to gain the help of important men if the cops tried to bust her. The voice on the tape was unmistakeably Theo's.

  They went up the walk and rang the doorbell. Dressed in a white terry-cloth bathrobe, slippers with bunny rabbits on the toes, and her hair up in curlers, Theo answered the door.

  "More follow-up on Ed's death?" she asked.

  She sounds sincere, Jennifer thought. And the other night she was convincing. I doubt if I acted that well when I was in the theater.

  "Afraid not," Campbell told Theo.

  "What then?"

  It was Miranda time. "Theodora Fulton, we have a warrant here for your arrest for the murder of your husband. You have the right to remain silent—"

  "I know what my rights are," she said flatly.

  "Then you know if you ever want to see your kids again, you'd better cooperate with us," Ben said.

  "I'm not talking without a lawyer."

  Campbell pointed to a phone on the table. "Better call him now and tell him you'll meet him down at the U.S. Courthouse cell block, because that's where we're going."

  For the first time she looked rattled. "Why don't we talk here?"

  "Because I don't want to do that," Ben said. "I'm running the show now, not you."

  In one short call Theo arranged to have Fred Talbot from Bishop & Talbot meet her at the courthouse. Ben and Jennifer were impressed: Talbot was one of the best criminal lawyers in town. Either on her own or with Slater's help she had made contingency plans if everything went south on her. "We may be a while," Ben told Theo. "What about the kids?"

  "A woman comes in" she said, worried. "She'll stay until I get back."

  The same woman, Jennifer thought, who comes when you go off to sleep with Slater.

  * * *

  Gwen laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. It was good to be home in Westport. Paul had been marvelous, not asking any questions, and getting her to the nearby Stone Manor Private Clinic, which had an excellent plastic surgeon whose specialty was facial and body makeovers for aging dowagers.

  He reset her nose and cleaned up her face.

  "You're going to look as beautiful as ever," Dr. Fairview said. "All of the faces I do are works of art... worthy of being i
n a sculpture garden."

  Gwen was less interested in being a work of art than knowing how long it would take to heal.

  "Use lots of ice," the doctor said. "The bandages will come off in five days."

  That meant Tuesday morning, Gwen thought as she lay in bed letting her ribs heal. She made plans in her mind for that day. From Dr. Fairview's office, she would go to the beauty parlor and have her long blond hair cut short, then dyed flaming red. After adding a large pair of black designer sunglasses to cover the bruises on her face and putting on a stunning Armani suit, she'd go to Washington to get revenge. No one would ever guess that she was the same woman who had escaped from G.W. Hospital.

  * * *

  It took an hour of legal jockeying in an interrogation room at the U.S. Courthouse to strike a deal. If Theo told the truth and implicated someone else as calling the shots, she'd get a lesser plea, but she had to do two years in jail. The jail time was the toughest part of the deal for Theo to take. Only after Talbot told her repeatedly that she'd be crazy to turn it down, did she swallow hard and sign the agreement.

  Now Ben had center stage. Picking up his pen, he turned on the tape recorder. Theo was sitting across from him with Talbot next to her. Jennifer, Traynor, and Campbell were at the far end of the table.

  "Please state your name and address."

  "Theodora Fulton, Ninety-five-twenty Western Avenue, Washington, D.C."

  "I'm here to ask you questions about the Winthrop affair. Do you understand that?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "On November tenth, did you call a woman in New York by the name of Alexandra Hart and ask her to send a prostitute to Robert Winthrop's house the day he was murdered?"

  "I did."

  "You want to tell me how you happened to do that?"

  She took a deep breath. "I'm not good on dates. A couple of months before that, Eddie, my husband, invited Jim Slater, his boss, over for dinner. I had never met the man before. After the main course, I went into the kitchen to make zabaglione for dessert...."