Dark Ambition (16 page)

Once Fulton had sanitized the office, he opened the door and met Traynor back in the outer office. "Any useful info?" Traynor asked.

"Not a thing," Fulton replied, lying without any qualms. He rationalized that what he had taken was irrelevant to the Winthrop murder. During the secretary's life, his whoring around had been one of Washington's best-kept secrets. With his death, it couldn't be permitted to rise up and bite Brewster and the administration on the ass.

* * *

Three blocks from Ann's house, she said to Jennifer, "Don't stop and look, but on the right, there's a maroon Camry parked. I'll bet it's my visitor from yesterday."

As they drove by, Jennifer glanced at the man behind the wheel, whose nose was heavily bandaged.

"Did you do that to him?" she asked.

"Damn right. I was furious. If he wasn't so strong, I'd have killed him."

Jennifer let out a long, low whistle. "He's obviously learned how to breathe through his mouth. I'm glad I'm on your side."

Ann looked fierce. "I'm ready for the second act, as you put it a few minutes ago."

"He's not Chinese."

"I didn't say he was. I said the Chinese government sent him."

"You may be right, but we've got to know for sure."

Ann stopped to talk to the two armed agents from the Secret Service in front of her house. Then she and Jennifer went inside. They stayed only five minutes—long enough for Ann to get the videotape from the safe upstairs and for Jennifer to call Mark in his car. "You in place?" she asked.

"A-okay," he answered in a curt military voice.

"The Camry's there too. Three blocks up on Ellicott."

"I know. I've got a bead on him."

"We're leaving in about five minutes."

"Gotcha."

Jennifer hung up the phone. Ann came into the room, nervously clutching the video in her hand. "You sure this is going to work?"

Jennifer looked confident. "Mark's good. He's never let me down yet."

"There's always a first time."

They climbed into Jennifer's car and drove back up Ellicott toward Connecticut Avenue. Through the rearview mirror, Jennifer watched the Camry turn around quickly and fall in behind them. She couldn't see behind the Camry. She was hoping that Mark's rental car was back there somewhere. Thinking about it, she realized that she shouldn't expect to see him, because he wouldn't want the driver of the Camry to know he was there. At Connecticut Avenue she turned left, and then a few blocks later left again and into the parking lot for a strip mall that included City Video Center, with a sign that said,
Tapes Rented. Tapes Sold. Tapes Duplicated.

The parking lot was only about a third full. Jennifer parked twenty yards from the entrance to the video store. She took the loaded .22 from her purse and slipped it into the pocket of her gray raincoat. She had last fired the gun at a practice range two months ago. She could use it if she had to. Then she looked at Ann. "Showtime. You ready?"

Ann emerged from the passenger side holding the video in her right hand, where it was visible. Jennifer kept her hands in her coat pockets. Side by side they walked toward the entrance of the video store. A light, cold drizzle was falling. When they were halfway there, Jennifer saw a white-bandaged face approaching to cut them off. Jennifer waited until he was ten feet away to pull out the gun. "What do you want with us?" she demanded.

He sneered. "Don't play games with me. I want the video."

"You can't have it," Ann said. "So fuck off."

He was seriously considering forgetting about his assignment, just for the pleasure of killing this bitch.

"You know I'll get it sooner or later. Once you leave it in the shop, it's as good as mine. The kids who work here won't risk a scratch for your video. If you take it home, I'll make your life miserable until I get it."

Ann was nervous, feeling uneasy about Jennifer's plan. This was taking so long. Each second increased the risk that this goon would blow up and try to get even with her.

Sensing Ann's anxiety, Jennifer glanced over the man's shoulder. Mark's car was in place. By now he had to be snapping away on his Nikon. She'd better move things along before they took an unexpected turn. She nodded to Ann.

"Let's take it back home," Ann said to Jennifer, following the script.

"Ah, screw it," Jennifer said forcefully, not giving away how she felt inside. Her hair was getting wet. A trickle of water was dripping down the side of her face. "It's not worth it. Give him the damn thing. You've got to get on with your life."

Ann hesitated. "Maybe you're right."

He took a step toward them.

"Stop right there," Jennifer barked, drawing and aiming the gun. "Toss it to him," she said to Ann.

Ann lobbed the tape in an underhand throwing motion. The man caught it with both hands.

"You got what you wanted," Jennifer said. "Now get the hell out of here fast, before I take target practice on what's left of your face."

He looked furiously at the two women. When Jennifer tightened her grip hard on the pistol, though, he reconsidered. He turned and ran toward the Camry. In an instant, he was roaring out of the parking lot.

Mark rolled down his window, gave them a quick thumbs-up sign, and drove after the Camry.

Back at Ann's house, they changed into dry clothes and waited by the phone. It was almost two hours before Mark called from the cell phone in his car. Jennifer grabbed it on the first ring.

"Your boyfriend made his delivery."

"Where?" she asked anxiously.

"Slow down. They're too professional to deliver straight there. He walked into Farragut Square with a white plastic bag in his hand. Left it under a park bench and sat there in the rain until the pickup man came."

"What happened then?"

"Patience, Jennifer. Patience," Mark barked, sounding like a drill sergeant. "The pickup man got into a car with diplomatic plates. He drove back to the Chinese embassy up on Connecticut Avenue."

A huge smile lit up her face. "Beautiful. I love you, Mark."

"I aim to please."

"And you got all of this on film?"

"I'm insulted that you asked. That's what you're paying me for."

"What's the number on the plates?"

"It'll be on your e-mail this afternoon along with the photographs, but I already checked. The car's registered to the Chinese embassy."

"Thanks, Mark. Great job."

Jennifer put the phone down. "Mission accomplished," she said to Ann. "You got that creep out of your life, and we know that you were right. He was working for the Chinese government." Her mind shifted gears to the Gillis defense. "Tomorrow, I want you to go down to that bank vault, take out the video, make a copy, which you'll drop off at my office, and return the original to the vault."

Ann's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "You're going to use the tape in Clyde's defense. You do believe me that the Chinese killed Robert."

"Absolutely. I don't intend to let Clyde Gillis take the fall for it."

* * *

"Ann Winthrop asked me to represent you," Jennifer said to Clyde Gillis. They were alone in an interview room at the D.C. jail.

Before she said another word, Gillis blurted out, "I didn't kill Mr. Winthrop. I hope she believes that."

As Jennifer looked into his eyes, she was convinced that he was telling the truth. "Ann knows you didn't do it, and I believe you. We just have to convince some other people."

"You mean like that Ben Hartwell?" Gillis made no effort to conceal his animosity.

Jesus, Ben must have put a full court press on Gillis. She knew how frightening he could be to a defendant. "Convincing a judge and a jury," she said soothingly, "will be much more important." She reached into her briefcase and extracted a yellow legal pad and a pencil. "Okay, start at the beginning," she said. "Everything that happened to you from Saturday morning until this minute."

As he spoke, she took copious notes. His account of Saturday's events confirmed her belief in his innocence. His description of the jail interview with Ben infuriated her. It had been an effort at intimidation, plain and simple.

When Gillis finished his story, she dropped her pen on the table and squeezed her fingers, which were stiff from writing. Gillis sipped a glass of water as she leafed back through her notes, looking for any clarifying questions to ask.

He was feeling less nervous than when she had arrived, because she seemed to know what she was doing. Still, he didn't know what to make of this situation. It was odd that Mrs. Winthrop, whose husband died, had hired a lawyer for him. He felt as if he were a pawn being manipulated by so many forces. Nothing that happened now would surprise him.

"Go back to Saturday," Jennifer said. "Did you see anyone else go into the house?"

"Around two o'clock a funny-looking man in a brown raincoat."

"What do you mean, 'funny-looking'?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Sort of looked like a woman."

"Tall? Short?"

"Average."

"Did you see him in the house with Winthrop? I mean, through the windows?"

"Not really."

"What's that mean?"

"Through a crack in the curtains in the back room downstairs..."

"The room in which he was killed?"

"Yeah. That one. I saw a light go on a little after this man came, but that's all I saw."

As she leafed through her notes, what repeatedly jumped out at her was the money and the gun in Gillis's truck. That was powerful evidence someone had planted. But who? Somebody working for the Chinese government? That certainly seemed like a possibility after everything else that had happened today.

Did they have Ben on their payroll too? She dismissed that idea instantly. There was plenty that she disliked about him, but he'd never do anything like that. On the other hand, if he was being duped by the planted evidence, he'd do everything he could to persuade Gillis to confess.

Now that she had heard about this two-o'clock visitor to Winthrop's house, she was feeling more bullish about her case. Somebody else had been in the house at the time. She'd find out who he was and zero in on him. Of course, she still had the gun and the money from Gillis's truck to deal with, but all she had to do was create enough reasonable doubt for one juror to hold out.

"One other question about this two-o'clock visitor," she said.

Gillis gave her a pained look. "I didn't see him that well."

"White man or black?"

"White," he answered.

Good, she thought. If I zero in on this visitor, a mostly black D.C. jury will get the picture. It's the same old story: A black man's being nailed to cover up for a white crime. You're dead meat, Ben Hartwell.

As she thought about him, she looked up at Gillis again. "If that Ben Hartwell comes back, or one of his people, don't you talk to him."

He gaped. "You mean I don't have to?"

"That's exactly right."

"Good. I won't do it." He hesitated, then asked, "Are you going to get me out of here?"

"I'm sure going to do my best," she said. She stuck out her hand for him to shake. "And I'm feeling a lot better about the case now than when I got here."

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

She was asleep in her spacious Westport house when the phone rang in the den. Even though it was two-fifteen in the morning, she heard it immediately. All of those years working in the field had taught her to be a light sleeper. Her life had depended on it. Paul didn't stir as she slid out of bed. In her bare feet she raced lightly across the cold wooden floor. Goose bumps broke out all over her naked body.

She brushed back her long blond hair as she picked up the phone.

"Is this Nancy Burroughs?" the caller asked. The words were chopped and broken. From her training she knew they were using a voice scrambler again. That didn't bother her. People calling her had a right to protect themselves and their identity.

"It's a very proper British name," she responded in the prearranged code.

"We need your help again. Our business isn't finished. Washington has gotten more complicated."

"It always does."

"Reservations have been made for you at the Shoreham Hotel. Check in before nine o'clock this morning. Somebody will contact you. You'll get your instructions then."

"Understood."

The phone suddenly emitted a dial tone.

Gwen stood for a couple of minutes in the den looking at the sliver of moon outside, deciding how to get to Washington. Driving was clearly much better because she could transport her own guns and other equipment, but any car—even a rental car—could be traced. So she decided to fly unarmed. They would provide the equipment she needed. If it wasn't up to her standards, well, she loved shopping in Washington.

She went back to bed, but she couldn't fall asleep. Excitement was surging through her. She was like a warrior thrilled to be going back into battle. The suburban life was just a way to pass time. She lived for days like this.

Thinking about it made her feel randy. She considered waking Paul, but he was sleeping so soundly. Besides, she wasn't sure that he would be up to it without a major effort on her part. That was a price she had decided to pay when she married for financial security. So she reached into the night table on her side and removed the dildo. She inserted it with her left hand and massaged her clitoris with her right. To stifle her cries when she came, she bit her lower lip. Afterward, she lapsed into a deep sleep.