Crown's Law (41 page)

He thought,
Bo’s group must be the investigating group de jour and they
seem to have no interest in the murder.

“I shouldn’t have taken you to the gala. But
I wanted to be with you one more time before I left town. I never
considered you’d take them down!”

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me. I’m
good at what I do.”

“I have from the beginning, I guess. Forgive
me?”

“Hell, of course! You’re not the first to do
that.”

“Do you have a hotel room? Maybe we could . .
.”

He interrupted. “No, Carole. I’m taking the
next plane home. Not that I’m not tempted. But I have a killer to
bring down.”

He kissed her gently on the lips.

“Be careful, Sam. Bill was good, and they got
him.”

“I’m not easy to kill.”

“Just don’t push too hard.”

He would, of course, ignore her advice.

Wednesday, June 20, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

After dinner on Wednesday the 20th, Becky
sprung her news on Sam.

“Sam, I’ve been scheduled to speak at
the
National Academy of Sciences
in D.C. on Monday. Professor Danforth says it’s a very
important time for me. It will be my first public appearance since
receiving my doctorates and he thinks I will have more credibility
now in most academic circles,” announced Becky. “You know how they
are about degrees.”

“Monday!” exclaimed Sam. “I’m scheduled to
cover a concert this weekend! I can’t take you to Washington! How
long have you known about this? I could have arranged
something!”

“Don’t get a hernia, Sam! I can travel alone,
for God’s sake!”

Helena interjected, “Rebecca, watch your
language, please.”

“Sorry, Nana, but I
can
travel by myself. I don’t see what the
problem is!” replied Becky.

“It’s not the traveling, Beck,” said Sam,
cooling down a bit. “I don’t want you staying in D.C. alone. Maybe
I can get Jane Robertson from the L.A. office to fly back with you.
I wish you’d given me more warning!”

“I have a better idea! I could stay with Bo!
She lives in D.C. somewhere,” exclaimed Becky, hoping her plan
would succeed.

“Bo has a job, Beck. I want someone with you
when you make your speech, or whatever it is you’re going to do,”
argued Sam.

“Well, just call her and ask her. If she says
no, then I’ll go with Jane. Have you even talked to Bo since she
left?”

“No. Been busy. Hate to bother her. If you
want, go ahead and call her and see what she says,” grumbled
Sam.

“No, you call her. She would need to know
that you approve of this before she would let me stay with her,”
countered Becky.

“OK. Give me the particulars and I’ll call
her tomorrow—see what she says,” said Sam.

Yes!
thought
Becky.
It’s working! I don’t know why they
haven’t been talking to each other.

***

When Bo had been assigned to the JTFE, the
Bureau had leased a condo for her in Falls Church, Virginia just
outside of Washington, D.C. It was cheaper in the long run than
putting her up in a hotel, since she was on loan from the Boston
FBI office, where she had been for two years. The JTFE expected a
life span of at least a year, maybe longer.

When Bo got home at 6:10 P.M. on
Thursday the 21st, she was not in a very good mood. It had been a
long, tiring day of useless meetings—and she kept thinking of Sam.
When Bo had delivered Katie Carlisle to Washington, Carlisle
spilled her guts, giving the FBI names and details about the people
at
Dynology
. The FBI had
increased its surveillance on all the appropriate people, slowly
building their case against them. It was driving Bo crazy! She
wanted to move in and close the case! She was getting full credit
for breaking the case—thanks to Becky’s equations and the mystery
video tapes, but she still wanted things to move more quickly. They
still hadn’t figured out who had killed Winston. It made her
grumpy. Sam not calling her made her grumpier. She knew that she
should call him, but she was waiting for him to call
her.

She kicked off her shoes, stripped off her
light green linen suit and white blouse, hung the suit up in the
closet, then went to the kitchen in her underwear and poured
herself a large glass of Chardonnay.

She padded barefoot to her living room and
plopped down on the couch. She grabbed the remote and turned on the
TV, flipping to the evening news, sound low. She put her wine on
the coffee table and lit a cigarette—only her fourth of the day.
She couldn’t smoke in the damned meetings! She put her long legs on
the coffee table, sank back into the couch pillows, and exhaled a
stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

“Shit!” she exclaimed aloud. “You are one
fucked-up lady, Rainbow Freakin’-Special-Agent Trout!”

She put her cigarette in the ashtray, then
reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra, tossed it on the
coffee table. She hated wearing bras, but convention and
regulations required that she do so. She rubbed her shoulders, then
her breasts, massaging them.

“That’s better,” she murmured.

Then she thought of Sam again. She wished he
was here to do the massaging—and other things he did so well! She
took another gulp of her wine and let the alcohol surge through her
veins. She smoked and drank and watched the news, her mind
wandering.

At 6:26 the phone rang, jolting her to full
consciousness. She picked up the cordless handset, annoyed. It must
be someone from JTFE calling another freakin’ meeting!

“Hello!” she snapped, intending to tell them
to shove it if they called another meeting this time of day!

“Bo?” said the voice in her ear.

My God! It’s Sam! Shit! What do I say? What’s
my excuse for not calling him?

“Yes! Sam?” she answered.

“Yeah, it’s me. You sound like you’re in a
bad mood. Did I catch you at a bad time? Or do you have Caller ID?”
he laughed, that laugh that made her tingle all over.

His laugh did put her at ease, but she still
grabbed her drink and swallowed a large gulp, nearly emptying the
glass.

“No, I just had a bad day.”

There was a long pause, then Sam continued,
“I hope you don’t mind me calling. I . . .”

She took a deep breath and interrupted
him.

“Sam! I’m sorry! I was just thinking of
calling you! I should have called you before now! I just didn’t
know what to say!”

“Calm down, Bo!” he interrupted. “I should
have called you, but I didn’t know what to talk about either. I
guess we’re acting like a couple of teenagers. But we’ve got to
grow up. In the meantime, I have a problem that maybe you can help
me with.”

Bo took another drag off her cigarette and
exhaled smoke into the phone.

“I guess we have been acting like children.
What kind of problem?” she asked finally.

“It’s about Becky.”

“Becky?
My
God! Is she all right?” she gasped.

“Oh, yes! She’s fine. But she has this
big symposium in D.C. on Monday. Something about her new
mathematics for post-Einstein crap. They just have to hear
from
Doctor
Crown. Anyway, I
usually go with her on these junkets, but I have a bodyguard gig
this weekend. Maria Montez and her group are doing a big concert in
the Coliseum, and I’m supposed to keep her safe.”

“Maria Montez? Isn’t she the Mexican
bombshell who’s the rage right now?” said Bo, wondering how close
Sam would really get to her. Real close, probably!

“Yeah. I can get out of it, but Maria asked
for me personally by name. I did her last concert, and I guess I
made an impression on her.”

Bo thought, with a pang of
jealousy,
Impression on her body, I
assume! My God! I’m actually jealous!

Sam continued without pause, “It’s real money
for the company—not like the penny-ante shit at Mickey’s. It’s what
they really hired me to do. Besides, Becky wants me to get Maria’s
autograph on one of the Montez T-shirts. I could send someone from
the company with Beck, but she won’t hear of it. She suggested that
maybe you could meet her plane and . . . sort of look after
her.”

Silence. She was stunned.

Bo said finally, “Becky suggested that?”

“Yeah. I told her you were a busy woman and .
. .”

“Nonsense! Of course I’ll do it!” interjected
Bo, extremely pleased that Becky had thought of her. “I’ll meet her
plane and she can stay with me. I’ll get her to her conference,
stay close by, and then back on the plane. It’ll be fun!”

“There could be trouble. There is a faction
of people in the physics world who don’t like Becky’s theories. I
wouldn’t want her hassled in any way,” explained Sam. “Not by the
press especially.”

“No problem! I’ll stick to her like glue! Any
son-of-a-bitch gets wise with her, he’ll have to face the Rainbow!
And you know how bitchy she can get!” she laughed. “Give me her
itinerary and I’ll meet her. Tell her she’ll stay with me in Falls
Church. I have plenty of room. I hope she’s coming into Dulles.
Less driving from my place, but it doesn’t matter.”

“OK, thanks, Bo. I appreciate it. I know
Becky will just love having you with her. Let’s see, she’s coming
into Dulles on Saturday at . . .”

Bo took down the information, then said, “I
miss you, Sam. I wish we were on the beach together right now.”

“I miss you, too, Bo.”

“Oh, Sam! I really fucked up! I should have
called to say ‘hello’ or something. I want to see you! I miss our
little . . .”

“So do I! What are you wearing?” he
asked.

“What?”

“We could have some phone sex, since no other
kind is possible at this distance.”

Bo blushed. “Actually, I’m naked!”

She slipped off her panties so she wouldn’t
be lying.

“You’re kidding!” he said. “You don’t know
how to play the game! I’m supposed to undress you!”

“Well, I really am naked, but I’ll play
along. What should I take off?”

He talked her through the imaginary acts of
taking her clothes off, then said, “Now, put your left hand . .
.”

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed as she followed his
instructions.

She had never enjoyed a game as much as she
did this one, especially when it was her turn to undress him and
tell him what to do. The tension was all gone and they seemed to be
friends again when the game was over, but she wished more than ever
that she was actually with him.

What are we going to do
about this situation, Sam?
she mused.

Saturday, June 23, 2001

Washington, D.C.

Bo was on Cloud Nine when she met Becky
coming off the plane at Dulles Saturday afternoon. Becky was
dressed in a chic blue linen suit with a white blouse and blue
pumps with short heels. She knew the press would be there and
wanted to look as mature as possible. They hugged and kissed and
went to pick up Becky’s luggage. That was when the press made their
move—including a couple of guys with shoulder-held TV cameras.

Bo asked Becky, “Do you want me to run
interference? I can get rid of them.”

Becky smiled and said, “No. It comes with the
territory. And I could use some favorable press. I have some
enemies on this issue and I’m trying to win them over. I’ll give
them a couple of minutes.”

Bo was astounded as she listened to Becky! No
swear words, no slang. As she stood at Becky’s side and watched her
answer questions yelled by the various reporters, she was proud
that she knew this phenomenal child! She didn’t even understand
some of the big words Becky was spouting, and none of the technical
stuff.

When someone pushed forward and snarled, “So,
Miss Prissy, you think you’re smarter than Einstein? Go play with
your dolls! You’re just a little . . .”

Bo did not like his attitude or
aggressiveness. She quickly stepped forward and flashed her ID in
his face and whispered in his ear, “Get lost, asshole, or I’ll
arrest you for assault! I’ll take you downtown and interrogate you
for a week!”

He turned white and backed into the crowd and
disappeared.

Bo announced, “That’s enough, folks. Dr.
Crown will be available again Monday during the conference. Move
aside, please!”

Bo picked up Becky’s suitcase, and using it
as a battering ram, pushed through the crowd—pulling Becky along
with her. Bo’s car was parked in a Loading Zone with an airport cop
watching it for her. They piled in and sped away from the growing
crowd.

“I didn’t realize you were such a celebrity!”
gasped Bo as she wound her way out of the airport.

“Only in certain circles. The common
man has never heard of me—yet. But they will.
Rebecca’s Folly
will eventually affect them all
in one way or another, whether they like it or not.”

“I heard some of the reporters yelling
‘
Rebecca’s Folly
.’ What is
it?” asked Bo as she lit a cigarette.

“That’s what my detractors call my new
theory. There are some who believe that anyone who proposes that
Einstein made a mistake is a heretic. What I will show them on
Monday may change their minds! The mathematics are unbelievably
awesome! I’ve simplified my equations so they can grasp things more
easily.”

“Wow! I knew you were smart, but this is Star
Wars stuff! Where’s the Becky I know?” laughed Bo as she cracked a
window to let the smoke out.

“Shit, Bo! I’m right here! It’s cool that I’m
gonna stay with you! Is this your car, or a real FBI undercover
car?”