“It is always this busy this time of night?” Rita asked.
The clerk shrugged and said nothing, not even the amount she owed. Rita had to check the register screen to find out.
“Too much MTV,” Rita said as she opened the cupcakes.
She cruised the Jones Falls Expressway, a traffic horror story at rush hour, but quiet and toured only by police and drug dealers at this time of day. The city was a silent light show downtown where office towers glowed in other worldly orange and blue fluorescence.
On one corner across from her office were two men in sweatshirts, hoods up, who exchanged cash and plastic baggies. On the other corner, nestled on a cozy grate was a figure in a filthy overcoat, Chuck Taylors and a knit watch cap.
Rita slid the Jeep into a space directly in front of her building. Out of nowhere staggered a drunk reeking of dirt and Mad Dog 50- 50.
“Gotta dollar to spare?” The drunk pitched forward and clutched at her arm.
In reflex, Rita shoved him. The drunk flew helplessly backward onto the brick facade behind, his head butting and ricocheting off the wall. For an instant, Rita and the drunk eyed one another. Then the drunk bent his head and slunk away.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Rita thrust her hand into her pocket. “You scared me. I didn’t mean to push you.”
The drunk scampered around the corner like the Norwegian rats who ran the alleys at night.
Rita walked to the alleyway, but did not enter. “I said I’m sorry. Here’s a dollar. Come on back.”
A trash can lid dropped to the street and rolled to a clattering fall. Rita could see nothing in the darkness. She turned around and went to her building.
“I didn’t mean it,” she mumbled to herself. “He scared me.”
♏
Something was wrong. Rita knew it before she hit the lights. It was a disturbance in the air, a strange scent, a feeling.
Once the light went on, she saw it all. The waiting room furniture was tossed and every drawer in Bev’s desk was pulled out. Rita rushed into her office where the case files were housed in a credenza. These drawers as well as all her desk drawers were fully extended.
The TV was still in the corner. Her PC still sat on her desk. The petty cash box still had over a hundred dollars and the business checkbook rested in plain sight in her middle desk drawer. Not a robbery.
Cautiously Rita riffed through the case files, but none appeared missing. She realized the only real disturbance was in the case files. The other desk drawers were open to cover the target of the intrusion, but which files were they after? Impossible to tell.
Rita plopped herself into her chair and swiveled into deep thought. This was certainly not about the side case she’d just taken on, a woman searching for her birth mother. Bobby Ellis? The files on that case were at her house. Rita got up and flipped the manila sheaves in the E section. Nothing else seemed controversial enough to inspire mayhem.
She went to her chair. Round and round she swiveled. It could be that she’d scared the thieves off when she’d come up the steps. Maybe.
Two patrolmen showed up. One was a rookie, the other a couch potato old timer who yawned when she met him at the door. The young guy was thin and Italian looking. He kept a tight-lipped professional face while the chubby cop just seemed bored.
“What was taken?” The fat guy asked and nodded toward the rookie who was flipping over a notebook.
“Nothing I can see,” Rita said.
The young guy scribbled. The old guy sauntered around Rita’s desk.
“Damage?” he asked.
“None,” Rita answered.
The older policeman picked up the silver frame on Rita’s desk. Enclosed was an old photo of Rita and Diane on a Cayman beach. The old cop’s eyebrows danced a curious step.
“So you’re filing a report on house wrecking?”
“This isn’t a house and last I checked, this office fits a B and E description.”
The young cop looked up from squinting at his notebook.
“Lover’s quarrel?” The old cop asked.
Rita glared. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
“Just a thought.” The old cop stole a glance at the beach picture again.
“Look, I’d like to enter a report on this breaking and entering.” Rita walked to the young policeman and tapped an angry finger on his notebook. The officer said nothing, but did watch the finger poke his page.
“So what story you want in this little fairy tale?” The old cop went to the door. “No sign of forced entry.”
“Are you going to write this report or not?” Rita jammed her hands on her hips.
Chapter 25
Rita careened off the exit ramp onto the Jones Falls Expressway. It was a little after six and a hard bar of red streaked the black horizon as a promise of the approaching sun. A few more headlights bobbed on the other side of the highway where early commuters began their lemming-like trek into the city.
“Get the hell out of the way,” Rita screamed at a lumbering newspaper delivery truck. She veered to the left and zoomed past.
On her flight Rita kept a sharp lookout for police as she alternated irritating glances at her car clock. “Jesus.” Rita swerved for a motorist who idled along.
The Jeep nosed into the dip at the end of her driveway and bounced, gravel spitting backward, as Rita raced toward her house. She flung open the car door and without bothering to close it, dashed into her house.
Panting, she halted just inside. She closed the outside door, which opened onto her sunroom, leaned her back against the jamb, and held her breath to listen. The baseboard heat gurgled, but nothing else made a sound.
The wooden steps in the living room creaked. Every muscle tensed as Rita floated across the floor to the French doors, which opened onto the living room. The whoosh of brushed carpet. Rita flattened herself to the wall in case someone should come through those French doors. The Great White Hunter sauntered across the threshold. He stopped to stare at this unexpected visit from his owner.
“Why the hell aren’t you a big ole mean dog?” Rita hissed. He yawned, stretched and padded over to the food bowl.
Rita took in a deep breath and crept through her living room, staying close to the wall. The dim light of morning gave her some cover, but a sense of otherworldliness as well. The steps in this old farmhouse were over a hundred years old. No way could she sneak up to her study without sending a signal.
She held the railing and ascended as softly as she could close to the wall. At the top step, she halted to listen again, but she heard nothing except her own shallow breathing.
A quick glance confirmed that her home office and files were intact. She checked the bedroom, behind the shower curtain in the bath, the closets and under the bed in the guest rooms. The house was empty.
Rita walked into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed. Her body trembled with the aftermath of rage. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Son of a bitch.” She picked up the phone on her night table and dialed Mary Margaret.
“Did you get anything on Miriam Blalock yet?”
“Rita?”
“Yes. Did you?”
“You sound funny, like you’ve been running or something,” Mary Margaret said.
Rita related the story about her office and her recent interviews on the Bobby Ellis case.
“You’re getting warm,” Mary Margaret said.
“I know. I’ve made somebody real nervous.” Rita watched the Great White Hunter jump on her bed and land like a feather.
“You gotta be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” She stroked the luxurious fur of the cat who nudged her hand.
“I didn’t find anything on that Blalock woman. Maybe it’s an alias.”
“Maybe.”
“I have friends in the State Police. I want to give you a name in case you need it.”
Rita took the name and thanked Mary Margaret. “Well, I’m going ba
ck to clean up my office.”
“Keep in touch, Slick.”
“Always.” Rita hung up the phone.
♏
The office was locked and still a mess as Rita tooled along I-95 toward Silver Spring. Rush hour traffic on this route was like a bumper car ride with drivers jockeying for position and thrusting within inches of major collisions.
The manager who had been on duty last time was gone. The new guy was older, a retiree who glared out at the world with suspicious darting eyes. He wore suede brogues and red suspenders over a wrinkled white shirt. He didn’t know who Miriam Blalock was either.
Rita fished Bobby Ellis’ keys out of her slacks pocket and went to the box Pete DeVane said he used to send information. She inserted a small key but the tumblers didn’t turn. She checked the box number and then tried a different but similar key.
Inside the mailbox were a number of papers that Rita pulled out. She went to her car to examine them. She had five committee meeting transcripts with highlighted sections. She had newspaper articles and a copy of a visitor’s log page from Senator Strutt’s office. She also had the Federal disclosure notice from Washington’s powerful public relations firm, Titleton Associates, which listed a major European pharmaceutical industry association and several foreign drug manufacturers as clients. Finally she had an extensive list of contributors to Charles Strutt’s political treasure chest.
She drove back to her disheveled office where she spent the next two hours putting things into order. With files and desks back to normal, Rita got on the phone.
“Pete DeVane,” she said. In the background she could hear Brett Hillman shouting.
“Uh, he’s tied up right now. Can I have him call you back?” The secretary asked.
“You idiot, are you trying to sabotage my career?” Hillman screamed.
Rita did not hear the reply. “I’ll hold.”
“It could be a while,” the secretary warned.
“You have to find out everybody’s position on that bill. You can’t guess. You can’t assume. Do you hear me?” Hillman yelled.
Again the reply was too low.
“I’ll hold,” Rita assured her.
“Now get out of here and get to each one of those committee members and ask how the hell they’re going to vote. Do you hear me?” Hillman was still yelling.
There was a pause and then someone picked up her line.
“Peter DeVane.” he announced.
“A staffer’s life must be an interesting one,” Rita said.
DeVane paused. “Yeah, a cross between that of God and a galley slave.”
“Well, I want you to feel as comfortable with me. Where were you last night and early this morning?” Rita asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said.”
“I was here in this office until after one a.m.,” DeVane said. “I was working on the voting profile for the healthcare bill. You’ve already heard what a resounding success my analysis was.”
“I did indeed. But what I really want is proof you were where you said you were.”
“I’ve got the building log that the guard keeps.”
“Good, then I want to see it. And I appreciate the help.” Rita hung up.
♏
The meal in Rita’s kitchen that night was strangely silent except for the scrape of silverware on plates. Rita told a joke about a vacuum cleaner salesman. She had to explain it to Karin. Then she asked Karin if she’d heard anything from her husband.
“Nothing,” she said. “I think he’s moved on.”
Rita stopped eating and looked up.
Karin cupped her chin in hand as she spoke. “I was thinking that work on my house should be done within the next week. I’m going to move back in there as soon as I can.”
“You don’t like my housekeeping?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Karin said. “I feel as though I’m in your way here.”
“Ah, yes, the line of women I haven’t been able to bring home and seduce.” Rita pushed a ravioli with her fork.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“You’re not a bother. You’re not in my way,” Rita said.
“I know and you are very kind for saying that. But I really think Douglas is over it all. He’s not easily scared off, so if he were still interested in coming after me, I think we would have seen something.”
“He’s still Dr. Demento in my book,” Rita said.
“And he is in mine,” Karin responded, “so my theory is that he’s found some new potential victim he is in the process of wooing and wowing. He doesn’t have the time or inclination to punish me anymore.”
Rita put down her fork and leaned across Karin’s table. “You really believe that?”
Karin looked into Rita’s eyes. “I think that you can only obsess on one thing at a time. It is the nature of the condition.”
“That’s a profound but evasive response.” Rita said.
Karin picked up her plate and turned from Rita to take it to the sink. “Yes, I really do think he’s found someone else who has his full attention and focus. And speaking of evasive, I’d like to know what you’re not telling me about the Bobby Ellis case.”
Rita jerked her head up. “What do you mean?” She grabbed her own plate and followed Karin.
“I mean you’ve walked and talked like a robot since you came in. You’ve hardly said a word and those you did speak were not funny and easy like your normal self.” Karin turned to face Rita. “You’re all tucked in so as not to give something away.”
Rita’s eyes scanned Karin’s face.
Karin resumed dirty dish duty at the sink. “Your choice.”
“Somebody broke into my office.”
Karin spun around. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d be afraid for me.” Rita handed her the glasses from the table and the empty salad plates.
“I would like to know what’s going on,” Karin answered. “Especially since you’re wearing a gun all of a sudden.”
“You could tell that?” Rita patted the holster snugged under her left arm.
“I’m not blind and you were stiff as a board when I hugged you hello. Why should you be afraid and I’m not allowed?”
“I’m not afraid.” Rita picked up the bread plate from the table and emptied the crumbs into the garbage can.
“You always carry a gun for trust?”
Rita laughed. “Sure. It inspires me to trust people won’t do me in.”
“Well, you must not trust me very much.” Karin took Rita’s arm and made her look into her face.
“It’s not that.” Rita sighed. “I didn’t want you to worry. And, yes, I’m a little edgy that whoever broke into my office is the person who killed Bobby.”
She lowered her eyes from Karin’s. Then she revealed that the police had been more combative than helpful, that she had rushed home to make sure no one had struck there after she’d left, and that she was certain this was the first of succeeding incidents in an effort to destroy her case.
Karin made Rita sit down while she made coffee. “How are you going to protect yourself?”
Rita explained about the call to Mary Margaret and the offer of assistance from the local State Trooper. She also told her that increased vigilance was her only hope. “Even if I declared I was off the case tomorrow,” Rita said, “whoever is on my trail, feels I know too much. That’s why this thing’s gotten physical. There is no turning back.”
Karin nodded in agreement. “Do you think you’ll need a body guard?”
“Can’t do my work that way.” The gun felt heavier on Rita’s shoulder as she adjusted the leather strap.
“What about when it’s just you in the house?” Karin asked.
“I’ll be all right. Believe me.”
The two women stared at one another.
“I refuse to run or hide,” Rita said.
For a long time, Karin sat without speaking. At last
she said, “So where are you on this thing now anyway?”
Rita told her about visiting the mail drop and retrieving the items DeVane had sent Bobby. She went into the living room and returned with those papers from her briefcase.
“Everything is about that damned healthcare bill.” Rita waved the papers at Karin when she sat down at the table again.
“Any specifics yet?”
“DeVane thinks Charlie Strutt’s mixed up in some kind of scheme to bulldoze this bill through. These transcripts he gave me show how he did a complete about face within one month of total denouncement.”
“Do you think he’s alone in this?” Karin asked.
“I don’t know. But I know the most powerful lobby firm in D.C. represents some major foreign players on this, and I have a list of contributors to Strutt’s political machine. I’m going to have to go through each one of them for financials to find out.” Rita shoved the two-page contributions list toward Karin.
“Looks like a day’s work.”
“I’ll be a bleary-eyed accountant when I’m done.”
“Just make sure you’re alive when you’re done.” Karin looked at Rita.
“I’m going to do my best,” Rita replied.
Chapter 26
There must be a reason it’s always grey when I come to D.C. Rita thought to herself. She swung off DuPont Circle onto Massachusetts Avenue, the city’s Embassy Row. Flags, like jousting tournament banners, furled rippling color into the drab streets. Swarms of black Mercedes crouched along the curb and an occasional security guard in pressed suit and dark glasses stood on watch at a doorway.
She checked the address she’d scribbled on the back of her business card. The twin elephants at the Indian Embassy kept their stone heads down as she passed. The Iranian grandeur of a more flamboyant era had all been auctioned, replaced now by the stark facade of zealotry. It was such a contrast to the brilliant glass of the architecture across the street in the fortress of the wild Brazilians.
Rita glanced again at her street number and nosed her Jeep along the curb where the red, white, and green flag lay still in the November cold. The marble steps to the Mexican embassy were empty, but even before she was out the door, a cadre of dark suited men were beside the car.
DRIVEN: A Rita Mars Thriller Page 20