He broke for lunch, heating up the fried chicken and vegetables still in the fridge. Man, that woman could cook! He worked for another four hours in the afternoon, until he was certain that nothing of interest could possibly be hidden in the cabin. Finally, he took a walk around the perimeter of the house, looking for a tool-shed or other structure that might hide a filing cabinet. Finding nothing, he cleaned up after himself in the cabin, then drove back to Kimble House.
Nancy met him at the door. “You look tired,” she said, “and a little disheveled. What have you been doing?”
“Investigating,” Kinney replied. “It can be hard work.”
She went and poured him a stiff Laphroaig. “Here,” she said, thrusting it at him. “Drink this while you soak in a tub.”
He did so, and was the better for it.
The following morning, she walked him to the door. “You still haven’t investigated me,” she said.
“What was that I was doing for the past two nights?” he asked.
“I mean
really
investigated me.”
“I think I will need all the facilities of the Bureau’s headquarters for that,” he said. “Can you come to Washington soon?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I have a place you can stay. It’s very nice.”
“As long as it has a bed.”
“It does.”
She pulled him back inside the door and kissed him properly, then he put his bags in the car and turned it toward the airport. Then he stopped. He made a U-turn and drove to Elizabeth Johnson’s home.
She met him at the door. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Kinney?”
“Ms. Johnson, you may not believe this, but I’m here to do you a favor.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m here to take those files off your hands.” He quickly raised a hand before she could speak. “Please hear me out.”
“I don’t have any files,” she said adamantly.
“Please, Ms. Johnson, let me explain. The senator had a lot of enemies, some worse than others. If we interview every one of them, it will take us months, maybe years, to develop suspects.” He took a deep breath and told the lie. “Now, I think it’s very possible that, somewhere in those files is the name and the motive of the man who murdered the senator, and I can’t believe that you would do anything to stop us from finding out who that is. I’ve already searched the cabin thoroughly, and the only other place the senator would have felt comfortable leaving those files is here.” He stopped and waited, watching her think.
“I hadn’t thought about the killer being in the files,” she said finally. She turned and started into the house. “All right, come on in.” She got the key from the safe, led him down to the basement, moved some things out of the way, and pointed at the index card files.
Kinney dug them out and tucked the little four-drawer cabinet under his arm. “Thank you,” he said.
She led the way back to the front porch. “You know, Mr. Kinney,” she said, “I expect there are a lot of things in there that would hurt people. The senator had a mean streak. I wouldn’t like to think you were going to use those files to hurt anybody.”
“Only the man who killed him,” Kinney replied. “Thank you again.” He got into the car and drove to the airport, where the Lear was waiting for him.
* * *
BACK IN THE Hoover Building, Kinney made room in his office safe for the little filing cabinet, set it inside and locked the safe, then he went to see the director.
“Sit down, Bob,” Heller said, “and tell me what you’ve got. Tell me everything.”
Kinney sank into a chair and crossed his legs. “We’ve got what I told you yesterday,” he said, “and nothing more. There isn’t anything more. The guy is a pro.”
“You mean a hitman?”
“Sort of. I don’t think the Mafia did it, if that’s what you mean, but I think I can tell you something about the shooter.”
“Please do.”
“He’s a loner, but maybe with a support network. He probably learned to shoot in the military. He’s driving a nondescript vehicle—an SUV or a pickup or an RV—something that would blend in without attracting attention. It may not be the first time he’s killed somebody, but he only kills people when he feels some moral justification. He’s between forty-five and sixty-five. He’s well-educated, with at least a bachelor’s degree, maybe even with some graduate work. He’s not a hired killer or a sociopath, he’s doing this out of conscience. He’s methodical, patient, and cool-headed, and he’s going to be nearly impossible to catch, unless he makes a mistake next time, or the time after that.”
The director looked alarmed. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”
“There’s an outside chance that he bore some personal grudge against Senator Wallace, but I doubt it. He’s on a crusade, and he’s only just begun.”
“How do you know all of this?” the director asked.
“I don’t
know
any of it,” Kinney replied. “I worked in profiling for a while, and I’m an intuitive investigator, that’s all.”
“So you’re guessing?”
“You could call it that, but if I’m guessing, then I’ve guessed my way into this job.”
The director was turning red in the face. “Well, you listen to me, Kinney. You’d better stop guessing and come up with some real evidence that will help me catch this man, and you’d better do it quick, or I’m going to find myself a new deputy director for investigations.”
Kinney stood up. “No, you listen to me, Mr. Heller. I’ve got twenty-seven years on the job, and I could retire tomorrow and quadruple my salary in the private sector. I know that, because I’ve had offers, so there’s nothing you can do to scare me. In fact, you’re the one who ought to be scared, because you’re hanging on by your fingernails, and chances are you’re not going to be around long enough to fire me. Until you do, I’m going to run this investigation as I see fit, which is a hell of a lot better than you or anybody else in this organization can do, so stop trying to pressure me. When I have something more concrete, I’ll tell you. Until then, stay out of my way.”
Kinney, feeling enormously relieved, walked out of the director’s office, leaving the director agape, and went to his own office down the hall. Only twice before in his career had he spoken to a superior that way, and never to a director, but he was beyond caring now, and he was going to work his own way or not at all.
HE STAYED LATE at the office, went to another floor and copied the senator’s files, two index cards to a sheet. He placed the copies in a shopping bag and went home to the residential hotel where he had been living since his separation from his wife. There, he locked the copies in his personal safe. He was too tired to read them.
10
THE PRESIDENT AND the first lady got out of the presidential limousine, shook hands with the bishop and the greeting party, and walked into the National Cathedral.
Will had been in the building many times, usually for funerals or memorial services, and he was always impressed with its size. It was said that the Washington Monument, laid on its side, would fit inside the nave. He followed a priest down the center aisle and, before he took his seat, he and Kate went to Betty Ann Wallace and murmured words of consolation.
Freddie Wallace’s corpulent body rested in a mahogany coffin so large that it reminded Will of Napoleon’s casket in L’Ecole de Militiare, in Paris. He hoped the gravediggers in South Carolina had been warned.
The service began briskly and got slower, with each speaker taking more time than had been allotted, drawing out the sound bites for the media, who were represented by a pool camera set up to one side of the coffin. Will was the last speaker on the program, and finally, his turn came. He stood up and walked to the pulpit.
“I have known Freddie Wallace since I came to the senate to work for Senator Ben Carr, more years ago than I like to think about. The very first thing I remember about him was that he knew my name the second time I saw him. I was flattered, because I didn’t know at the time that Freddie had a prodigious memory, that he never forgot a favor or a slight, or the name of anyone who might be useful to him at some later date.
“Freddie and I spent the entire length of our acquaintance on opposite sides of nearly every political question that came our way, and yet he found time, even when I was a lowly senate aide, to share with me his extraordinary command of senate procedures. I confess I learned more about parliamentary obstruction than progress from Freddie, but that has its place in the senate, too.” He paused for a chuckle from the audience.
“In spite of our political differences, Freddie became my friend, in his way, and when I was elected to the senate he became a fount of good, if sometimes dangerous advice. I had to be very careful about taking Freddie’s advice, and careful if I didn’t, too, since Freddie was likely to take umbrage. Freddie’s umbrage was to be avoided.
“There are many in Washington, perhaps more than a few in this audience, who will not miss Freddie, but I am not among them. I will miss his personal warmth and his wit, and especially, his advice, which often pointed the way to a good decision, in either the positive or negative sense.
“Kate and I send out our hearts to Betty Ann, and our condolences, too.” Will returned to his seat and sat down.
AS THEY made to depart the building after the service, Will made one more move to console the widow. Betty Ann grabbed him fiercely by the elbow and drew his ear to her lips.
“I have his files,” she hissed, “and I’m going to use them.” She released him and turned to the next mourner.
“What did she say?” Kate asked.
“I’ll tell you later.” Will looked up to see James Heller in his path and offered his hand. “How’s the investigation going, Jim?” he asked quietly.
“Just great,” Heller replied. “I’ve put the Bureau’s very best man, Robert Kinney, deputy director for Criminal Investigations, in complete charge of the case.”
Will thought he had heard the name, but he wasn’t sure. “Good,” he said. “Tell Kinney to keep me posted.” He didn’t believe for a moment that Heller would do that; the director would preserve his own channel to the president, and he wouldn’t want a subordinate horning in.
“Yes, sir, I will,” Heller replied, then went on his way.
Back in the limo, Kate spoke up. “So, what did Betty Ann have to say?”
Will pressed the button that rolled up the partition between the front and rear seats. “She said she has Freddie’s files, and she’s going to use them.”
Kate laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Nor would I.”
“You think those files are as dangerous as rumor has it?”
“I think they’re dangerous to those Freddie didn’t like and maybe to a few he did like.”
“Like you?”
“I’m fortunate in having fewer secrets than a lot of people, and most of them have to do with what you and I do together in bed.”
Kate laughed. “You think Freddie knew about that?”
“I hope to God not,” Will replied. “One or both of us could end up in jail.”
11
AS THE MEMORIAL SERVICE for Freddie Wallace proceeded, Ted drove the RV across one of the Potomac bridges into Virginia. He found the office building in downtown Arlington, then drove around the area for a couple of minutes before he found a legal parking spot two blocks from the building. He slipped into the rear of the RV, pulling a curtain behind him to prevent being seen through the windshield, and got into a necktie and jacket.
He checked the device once more—every connection, every component, especially the squat switch—and found it in good order. He removed his aeronautical charts and books from their container—a salesman’s catalogue case— carefully slipped the device inside, and snapped it shut. Then he left the RV and walked briskly back toward the building, scanning the street for police cars, security guards, or anyone else who might take note of him.
He reached the office building and walked down the drive past the automated gate and into the parking garage. He kept up his pace as he searched for the car—a black Mercedes S600, with a vanity plate reading right. He found it closer to the elevators than he would have liked, but of course, Van Vandervelt would have a prime parking spot. Right Radio took up two floors of the building, spewing venom from a dozen shock jocks twenty-four hours a day, and Van Vandervelt was their star— the most popular right-wing talk-show host in the country.
Ted heard a car coming, and he devoted half a minute to inspecting the building directory beside the elevator until the car had left the garage. When all was quiet again, he walked quickly to the driver’s side of the Mercedes and checked the door lock. The button was up, the car unlocked, but Ted knew that, in the Mercedes, the alarm would go off at a predetermined interval after the door had opened, unless the key was inserted into the ignition lock. He reckoned he had at least a minute. He set down the catalogue case, unsnapped it, and had one more look around the garage. Still quiet.
He opened the car door and dropped to one knee. Carefully, he slid the device, which was no more than two inches thick at any point, under the seat and pushed it well out of sight of the driver. Then he pulled off the tape that held down the squat switch, closed the door, picked up the catalogue case, and walked quickly toward the exit. He was nearly out of the garage before the car alarm went off, but it was unlikely that anyone would report it, since people had grown so accustomed to car alarms going off randomly in big cities.
The device consisted of twelve ounces of his own homemade plastic explosive and nearly a quart of gasoline in a flat, plastic bottle, along with the requisite electronics, all mounted on a quarter-inch steel plate that would have the effect of directing the force of the explosion upward.
Ted reached the sidewalk and turned back toward the parked RV. From half a block away, he could see a policeman trying to look through a curtained window into the vehicle. He continued straight past the RV, while reaching into his pocket for the little remote control that he always carried with him when leaving the vehicle. It was good for up to a mile, and the entry of the code into its keypad would set off an explosion that would reduce the big RV to ashes in a matter of minutes. He turned left at the next corner and, without looking back, walked out of sight of the RV.