Dark Ambition (42 page)

Jennifer said, "Louise is making copies of the canceled checks. She'll deliver them to my house tonight. They should help when we visit Alexandra Hart Chances are, she never declared the income. It'll be nice to have evidence of tax fraud in our pocket when we pop in on her tomorrow. As I remember from my old government-prosecutor days, it loosens a witness's tongue real fast."

"Hey, maybe," Ben said, "we can use the bank-deposit information on those checks to locate Alexandra Hart."

"No need to, Ben." Jennifer smiled, ahead of him again. "Mark Bonner already found her. She lives at 420 East 64th in Manhattan. I have her telephone number, too."

"I'm impressed."

"Wait, there's more. A buddy of Mark's in the vice squad of NYPD told him that Hart runs a high-priced call-girl service. A madam without a bordello, as he described it. NYPD's willing to cooperate with us as long as we don't do anything to upset the New York tourist business. Mark and his buddy have a plan. All they need is a green light from you."

"What's the plan?"

"Tonight New York vice busts two of Alexandra's working girls. They can easily do it by having a couple of their guys pose as johns. Then they lock up the girls in separate pens. The only nearby phone will just happen to be busy all the time or out of service. So they won't to be able to make a call. Then tomorrow morning you, Mark, and I will pay a visit to the diplomatic madam. How's that sound?"

"I love it," Ben replied.

Ann was less pleased. "You two are supposed to be lawyers and officers of the court. What about the constitutional rights of those two girls?"

"C'mon, Ann," Ben replied, "we're doing them a favor. They'll be better off behind bars for the next twenty-four hours than whatever they'd otherwise be doing." He yawned suddenly. The lack of sleep and everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was catching up to him. "How about some dinner?" he said. "I'll order pizza."

"Sounds good to me," Ann replied. "I'll stay on here and take care of Amy until this is over and Elana's better, if that's okay with you."

"Are you kidding? I'd love it," Ben said, while turning to Jennifer. "Pizza okay?"

"Sorry, count me out. I've got something I have to do this evening, since we're going to New York in the morning."

Ben wondered what she was being so mysterious about. It was obvious that she didn't want to tell him. You can't push, he told himself. Let it go.

Once Jennifer was outside, alone in her car, she took out her cell phone and punched in the numbers of the White House switchboard. "Jim Slater, please," she told the operator.

Jennifer was passed along to Miss O'Brien, Slater's secretary. When Jennifer said, "I want to talk to Mr. Slater," the curt response was, "I'm sorry, he's in a conference. Can I ask who's calling, please?"

That was enough for Jennifer.

She parked a block from the White House on the street. Approaching the guardhouse, she steadied herself. A cold fury was gripping her. He had used, manipulated, and deceived her. No one had ever treated her like this before.

"I'm here to see Jim Slater," she told the guard.

"Do you have an appointment, ma'am?" he asked.

Jennifer lied. "I don't have a specific appointment. Mr. Slater asked me to come by today. It's an urgent matter."

The guard checked Jennifer's driver's license, then called Slater's secretary. For several minutes he held the phone up to his ear without saying a word, while the secretary must have been interrupting Slater, Jennifer guessed, in his conference. Finally, the guard said, "Miss O'Brien will meet you at the reception area." He pointed to the double doors at the end of the path.

Miss O'Brien was a wizened, gray-haired woman smartly dressed in a tailored suit. "I'll take you over, Miss Moore," she said in a New York accent. Jennifer deduced that Slater had brought Miss O'Brien with him when he had come down from New York. She followed Miss O'Brien along a series of corridors until they ended up in a reception area for a suite across from the Oval Office. The name plaque on the corridor outside said, James Slater, Chief of Staff.

Inside the reception area, there were two secretaries' desks facing each other, one on each side of the closed wooden door, guarding access to the inner sanctum of the second most powerful man in America. The other was occupied by Mary Jo Thompson, according to the name tag on the desk, whose short hair, tight blue cashmere sweater, bursting in the front, and brief miniskirt made a great contrast to Miss O'Brien. I wonder who does the office work? Jennifer thought contemptuously.

"He'll be with you shortly," Miss O'Brien said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks," Jennifer said, positioning herself in a leather chair that faced the closed door. She glanced at her watch, wondering how long he'd keep her waiting.

Exactly three and a half minutes later, the door opened and out walked a tall, dark-haired woman who not only had beautiful features but a striking sensuality. She was straightening her skirt as if she had just gotten dressed. She had fresh lipstick on her mouth and a smug expression on her face. She wasn't carrying any papers or files in her hands.

Jennifer had never seen the woman before but she gave Jennifer an embarrassed look as she walked past.

Following Miss O'Brien into the office, Jennifer detected the scent of sex in the air. Slater, sitting behind his desk, pretended to be looking at some papers. What struck Jennifer was that the immaculately dressed Slater was just a little messy.

Rising behind his desk, he gave a big smile. "Jennifer, what a nice surprise to see you," he said graciously.

She waited until the secretary had gone. "I obviously didn't pick a good time to come."

"Nonsense," he replied in his usual smooth voice. "Anytime you come is a good time. I was just meeting with one of my aides." Realizing how feeble that sounded, he added, "Going over the various alternatives for tax reform legislation."

Yeah, and I'm shooting up into space on the next NASA mission, she thought.

"Anyhow, did the girls offer you coffee?"

"I didn't want anything."

He came out from behind the desk and pointed to the sofa across the office. The cushions were nearly falling on the floor. That must be where he was screwing her, Jennifer decided. She refused to sit on it, taking a chair on one side, while Slater plopped down on the sofa.

"I don't want to take too much of your time," Jennifer said. "So I'll make this as short as possible."

"All right, I'm listening."

"I came to compliment you." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

That put him on the defensive. He didn't know where she was going with this, and he didn't like it. "Compliment me?" he said weakly.

"Yes, I have to hand it to you. You manipulated me with such class and charm that I never had an inkling of what you were after. I see why you're the second most powerful man in the United States."

"What are you talking about?" Slater asked, bemused.

"In plain English, you've been using me from the get-go, and I've been a complete sucker the whole time. Now I know why you were so interested in me."

"Using you how?"

"Don't play stupid. It's insulting. I just found out about Ed Fulton. You had him feeding you information about the Gillis case from Ben, while you were getting it direct from me."

"Whoa," he said, trying to calm her down.

"Don't try to sweet-talk your way out."

"I don't have to." Slater took a deep breath. "Are you ready to stop talking and start listening?"

"Yeah," she said grudgingly.

"Have I ever asked you one question about your defense of Clyde Gillis? Even one?"

She tried to think. She couldn't recall any.

"And have you ever told me anything about the case? Think about it long and hard. Even a tiny morsel?"

"No, but—"

"But nothing," he said, sounding vindicated. "In fact, I've deliberately avoided talking about the case so you wouldn't be able to jump to the conclusion you now did."

He paused for a moment, challenging her with his eyes to dispute what he had said. When she didn't respond, he added, "If I were interested in you for information, I would have tried to extract it. Sorry to disappoint you, but my interest in you is more primitive than that. I've been strongly attracted to you since I first saw you at the funeral chapel in New York. I'd give anything to spend time with you, to get into bed with you, and to show you how a woman can be loved and pampered. Accuse me of those things and I'm guilty."

She sighed. "I knew you'd sweet-talk me."

"Seriously, Jennifer, the proof is that I never asked you about the case."

Partly persuaded by what he had said, she admitted, "Maybe I reacted too strongly."

"You did. Tell you what. I won't call you again until after the Gillis case is over. How's that?"

Furious, thinking about the woman who had just left his office, she didn't respond.

"Then we'll go to London," he added.

She thought about Ben, what had happened to them in London. His offer to go back. She didn't know whom she'd rather go with. So much had happened in the space of a couple days. She needed time to sort it out in her mind.

"Let me walk you out," Slater said, trying to sound caring.

She didn't want him to think he'd won her over. "Thanks, but I can find my own way."

* * *

After he and Ann finished the pizza, Ben, dead tired and thoroughly drained, took two more painkillers, went to bed early, and fell into a deep sleep. Yet it seemed as though he'd only started to dream when a tapping on the bedroom door woke him.

Through a crack in the door, Ann whispered, "Ed Fulton's downstairs. He says it's urgent."

"To hell with him," Ben shouted at Ann. "Tell him to come back in the morning."

Ben buried himself under the pillow and blankets, trying to tune out the world, but he knew he couldn't do that. He was feeling a little guilty. He had just gotten Fulton fired from the case. God only knew what the AG had told Slater. Ed's career would be hurt, and the guy wasn't that bad. Granted, he was an arrogant jerk. So were lots of bright young lawyers in Washington. He'd even had Ben out to his house for dinner. Reluctantly, Ben stumbled out of bed and grabbed a robe on the floor. He opened the door just as Ann was reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"Wait a minute, Ann," he called to her. "I'll talk to him."

Fulton was sitting on the sofa in Ben's living room, looking contrite. "Mr. Slater told me I'm off the case."

For a second Ben thought Fulton was going to cry. "Yeah, well, the AG got back from Japan, and I had a review session with him. Of course, I had to tell him you were working with me. He exploded."

All the arrogance was gone. "Did you tell him I was always in the way?"

Ben dodged the question. "It's nothing against you personally. There's a turf battle going on between the AG and your boss. These things happen in government all the time."

From Fulton's expression, Ben knew that he wasn't buying it. Fulton was too smart for that. He could read between the lines of what Ben had just said. It wasn't simply a turf battle. Ben's words to Hawthorne must have been repeated to Slater, and then to Ed. Ben was sorry he hadn't spoken more carefully.

Fulton stared long and hard at Ben. He knew now that Ben had turned on him. The accusation of betrayal showed in his eyes.

Finally, Fulton changed the subject. "I heard about your daughter, and I'm really sorry. I know how I'd feel if anything like that happened to one of my kids."

Ben grew more cautious. "What exactly did you hear?" he asked.

"The AG told Mr. Slater that George Nesbitt was a woman, and she tried to kidnap your daughter. Somehow, I feel responsible."

"Why you?"

"Because I was so certain Clyde Gillis was the killer that I wouldn't even let you consider other alternatives."

"Oh, don't give yourself a beating over that. I thought we had our killer behind bars as well."

Yet Fulton wouldn't be drawn off track. "What I want to know is why the blond woman killed Winthrop."

Ben shrugged. "At this point, I don't have the vaguest idea. But I sure intend to find out."

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

"Wow, three of you," Alexandra Hart said. "I feel mighty important. How about coffee and a piece of danish?"

"We're not here for fun and games," Ben snapped. "You're in trouble, Ms. Hart. Big trouble."

She wasn't fazed. Surly prosecutors didn't intimidate her. Alexandra was about thirty-five, busty, with curly bleached-blond hair. She wore large round gold-framed glasses that made her face look bookish. As soon as she had opened her mouth, her Boston accent had been obvious.

"Well, at least sit down and tell me why you are here."

Ben waited until they were seated. "Trish and Sabrina send their regards from Manhattan South," he said.

She sneered. "That was a stupid trick, not letting them call. You guys must think I'm a babe. I know exactly what goes on at NYPD when it concerns me. Trish was arrested at eleven-ten and Sabrina at eleven twenty-five. The arresting officers were Murphy and Rolfe."