The Rose Conspiracy (27 page)

Blackstone paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

“Oh, my uncle, I suppose.”

Julia smiled.

“Good choice,” she said.

“Now you're being sentimental.”

“No, just logical,” she said. “Cutsworth is the natural first choice. He can dissect the note from a purely historical standpoint. But Reverend Lamb will be coming from a totally different perspective. He's like Blackjack—in other words, the dark horse—or should I say, the wild card…excusing the double pun.”

Blackstone smiled.

“Yeah. That's exactly why I decided on dear old Uncle as my second choice,” he said. “It really won't matter what crazy conclusions he arrives at. The fact that he's using a contrary paradigm totally out of left field for his evaluation, all that Freemason-Gnostic-mumbo-jumbo, will put some pressure on Cutsworth to really sharpen his game—he'll want to make sure that his scholarly, historical approach is the theory that we end up going with.”

“Anything else?”

“Check with Tully to see how his investigation is going into the two security guards who were on duty at the Smithsonian that night.”

“Will do.”

“Also, there's an issue with one of the FBI's 302 reports.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've been rolling this around in my head,” Blackstone said. “According to the FBI investigation at the scene, there was a drinking glass on Langley's desk at the scene of the crime.”

“So?”

“But when I looked at the physical evidence inventory sheet in the records that Henry Hartz turned over to me—there was no mention of the glass being bagged and tagged and put into the evidence closet. As you know, Hartz eventually did produce a copy of the crime lab report on
the glass—it showed no fingerprints. But why is the glass not mentioned on the evidence inventory? Find out what the deal is with that.”

“Okay. I'll get right on it.”

“Finally,” Blackstone said, “bring the files on Vinnie's case into my room here. I can't afford to waste time.”

Julia nodded, and then came closer to his bed. She bent over Blackstone and planted a single kiss on his forehead, then turned to leave.

As she left she said over her shoulder, “Glad to see you're still alive, Professor Blackstone.”

“Thanks, Julia,” he said. “Thanks for everything. Really. Oh, and Julia—”

She stopped and cocked her head a little.

“Please be very careful. Whoever came after me—it may have something to do with Vinnie's case. So, just be very cautious about your own safety. I'm thinking about having Tully hire a bodyguard for you, just in case.”

“First, someone tries to crush you with a two-ton block of marble—then you take a bullet—and I'm the one who needs security?” she said laughing. “No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

After Julia was gone, a nurse hustled into the room and took his temperature.

Then she looked at the little white thermometer.

“Huh. Ninety-eight-point-seven. Your temperature is right as rain now,” the nurse said.

Blackstone smiled.

“Of course it is,” he said with a measure of satisfaction.

“A detective with the DC police is on his way in to talk with you,” the nurse announced. “I guess about your shooting.”

“Yeah, I was told about that,” Blackstone said.

“Are you up to it?” the nurse asked.

“Sure. Send him in. What's his name?”

The nurse glanced down at the chart in her hand.

“Ah…here it is…Cheski…Detective Cheski.”

Blackstone's eyes widened.

“Detective Victor Cheski?”

“Yes. That's him.”

As the nurse scurried out of the room, Blackstone was left to ponder that one—why the chief investigator in the Smithsonian murder was now investigating the attempt on J.D. Blackstone's life.

CHAPTER 37

D
etective Cheski strode into the hospital room with a smile.

“May I shake your good hand?” he said, and reached out.

The men shook hands. Blackstone managed a courteous smile.

“I'm sure you're wondering,” the detective began, “why I'm here.”

“That, among other things, yes.”

“This is a little unusual, I admit,” Cheski continued. “So, maybe I can dive right in.”

“Be my guest,” Blackstone said, eyeing the detective carefully.

This was a good opportunity, the lawyer thought, to size up one of the chief players on the opposing team. He took in everything about the detective. He was good-looking and in good shape. Had an air of overconfidence about him. Wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Looked Blackstone right in the eye as he talked. Almost aggressively so.

“I had been called in to investigate your incident at that construction site,” Detective Cheski began, “involving the elevator and the block of marble. That must have given you quite a scare that day.”

“It elevated my blood pressure a little bit,” Blackstone said. “I never heard the results of the police investigation.”

“Some dead ends, I'm afraid. No question that the construction crane had been tampered with. We did check out a hopeful lead on a former, disgruntled crane operator, who had just been fired a week before the incident for stealing some construction materials and tools. But he had a solid alibi. So, we were back to square one.”

“Thus the question,” Blackstone replied, “where, exactly, is square one?”

“I had the initial suspicion, Professor, that you might have been targeted in that elevator incident, but there wasn't a lot to go on. Just an idea. On the other hand, perhaps it was just a random act of vandalism. Now, with this shooting, it sure raises the stakes. Which is why I am involved.”

“Yes, explain that for me,” Blackstone said.

“I have two theories here. First, the perpetrator may be someone who's upset over one of your other cases. Lawyers, particularly controversial ones like yourself, make easy targets for some wacko or an angry opponent who you beat in court, that kind of thing.”

“And the second theory?”

“Perhaps you are being targeted by a co-conspirator in the Smithsonian crime. It's no secret that we believe that the murder of Horace Langley, and the theft of the Booth diary pages, was a group effort. Very unlikely that it could have been the work of a lone actor, unless…well…”

“Yes?” Blackstone said, inviting him to finish his sentence.

“I was going to say, unless it was a bad actor who was pretty talented, you know, skilled. And I'm talking about a very, very professional type—someone who can do a pretty complicated burglary.”

“And a fairly cold-blooded murder,” Blackstone said, looking the detective in the eye.

“No question about that,” Cheski said with a smile. “Look, I'm not here to discuss your defense of Ms. Archmont. That's your business. You've got a job to do, just like I do. But I want to find out who else was working with Vinnie, Vinnie Archmont, to do this crime. And if I can do this by tracking who has been coming after you, then I am going to do that. She was a conspirator all right. But I want to know who pulled the trigger. Could have been her. Most likely, though, someone else.”

Blackstone nodded, but said nothing, not at first. He was studying Detective Victor Cheski closely.

“So,” the detective continued, “you have some options here.”

“Options?”

“I understand my role as an investigator in the attack on you overlaps with my role as investigator in the Smithsonian case. There's a good part
in that. I can try to put the pieces together to see if there is a connection between the two. But there's also a difficult part.”

“Like, creating a possible conflict of interest?”

“Right,” Cheski said. “Now if you feel uncomfortable in the least with me investigating your shooting incident while I'm also working with AUSA Hartz on the Smithsonian prosecution against you, just say the word. Then I'll have the department assign another detective to work your shooting.”

“I've got no objections,” Blackstone said. “I'm convinced you'll do your job.”

“Okay,” Cheski said. “I've got a form here for you to sign, if you would. It simply indicates that you have no objection to my continuing to investigate the crime committed against you.”

Then Cheski pointed to the bottom of the form.

“Just sign here.”

Blackstone glanced at the form and then signed on the line.

“Is that it?” Blackstone asked.

“I have the report from the local deputy. That gives me a good start. But there was one area where I'd like some clarification.”

“Sure.”

“Who knew you were going to be at the horse stable that day?”

“My office. But they don't tell clients, or outsiders, where I am going to be. Especially if I'm involved in personal activities not dealing with my law practice or my teaching.”

“Anybody else?” detective Cheski asked, eyeing Blackstone closely.

Blackstone was aware of two others, but he wasn't about to share that with the detective. In a phone call once with Billy Baxter, the lawyer from the Judiciary Committee, he had mentioned he was leaving a horse stable, so someone there might have been able to piece together which stable that was. But there was no way he was going to alert Cheski to his recent dealings with the Judiciary attorney, as that would just lead him to investigate the meeting between Blackstone and Senator Collings and its explosive aftermath.

The other was Vinnie, to whom he had made a vague reference in his telephone call the day before he had driven out to the equine center. But for attorney–client confidentiality reasons, among others, there was
no way that he was going to open the door for the chief investigator for AUSA Henry Hartz to gain access to his intimate conversations with his client.

“Let me think on that,” Blackstone said casually. “But I have a question of my own,” he added. “How about the forensics on my shooting?”

The detective smiled at that.

“We've already retrieved a spent bullet at the scene. I rushed it right over to the FBI lab and told them to check it immediately. They say it was fired from an AK-47. Sad. There's a whole lot of those kinds of weapons out there in the wrong hands. So, as you can see, we are prioritizing your shooting, Professor.”

“Yes, thanks for that,” Blackstone said.

As the detective turned to leave, Blackstone asked one more question.

“I was also trying to figure something else out,” he said, stopping the detective in his tracks.

“Yes?”

“Considering the fact that the Smithsonian is a federal institution, I was just wondering…” Blackstone said, letting his voice trail off.

Detective Cheski was waiting patiently with the signed form in his hand.

“I was wondering why,” Blackstone continued, “a District of Columbia police detective would be placed at the head of the Smithsonian investigation, rather than someone from the FBI?”

“Actually,” Cheski replied, “Special Agent Johnson from the FBI is working this jointly with me.”

“Oh,” is all Blackstone said to that.

CHAPTER 38