Death of an Intern (31 page)

F
rankie walked into her brother's office and closed the door. “I just had a visit from Lisa,” she said deflated.
“Oh?” he asked guardedly.

“She's not a happy camper.”

He showed surprise. “But—”

“Fun is fun. She feels we're using her, taking advantage of who we are.”

“I thought she was enjoying—”

“I don't know why she changed. She felt compelled to be with us Saturday night, which took the fun out of it for her.”

His face showed concern. “Nobody ordered her. Tell her that's not true.”

“I did tell her, but she's upset enough to want to quit. We've lost three girls. She's a good worker. She came onboard because of her skills in finance. With Kat out a few months, we can't afford to lose any more.”

“Should I talk to her?”

“Absolutely not. That's my job. Don't you worry about it; I just wanted to tell you, that's all.”

“I know, but I feel responsible…”

“No. None of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong. I'll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?”

She saw the worry on his face. “Hopefully convince her to stay. Persuade her she does not have to participate and that there will be no recriminations.”

“You're not calling George?”

“No reason to.”

“Good. I like George; he's done a lot for us, but after what happened with Kat, I'd rather keep his involvement to fundraising.”

“We may never know why that happened to Kat. But that won't matter once the media starts putting things together, once someone investigates who Milo worked for.”

He perked up. “Now that is something George can take care of. Oh, I stopped by to see Kat on Saturday.”

“How's she doing?”

“Improving. Mildred Turner was there, of course, but so were that attorney friend of Ralph's and his wife.”

“The reporter? Wolfe?”

“That's right, Laura Wolfe and Jerry Fields.”

“Damn,” she blurted.

“What?”

“She was in the accident with Kat.”

“Oh no, I completely forgot. She'll wonder where my manners went, not asking her how she was doing.”

“Don't worry. I'm sure she gave no thought to it,” Frankie said somberly.

“They seemed very nice. Mildred appeared to like them. Kat too. They left soon after. Everything was very cordial,” he said straightforwardly.

“I don't think outsiders should be visiting Kat. She needs all the rest she can get.”

“You'll do your best with Lisa?”

“I'll take care of it. I always do, don't I?”

He nodded.

“T
his is fine as far as it goes,” I told Lassiter, as I handed her my draft on the serial killings and a separate draft of the sexual liaisons the Graysons were having with employees. “My more personal insights and the stuff I can't write about are not in here.”

“I understand, but what makes you you is your formidable ability to get inside people. When this story goes to press, our readers will be dumbfounded at your revelations about the Graysons. Would you work up your ‘personal instincts' as purely background for me?”

I was agape at Lassiter's comments and could barely say “okay.”

“I suggest you go home and put your insights down on paper. You don't need to be in the flow of activities around here.” She didn't move to another activity as she usually did—her signal that a meeting was over. Instead, she was looking straight at me, a faint smile on her lips, and then gave me a slight nod.

I was able to muster up a stronger “okay” and left her office.

I told Mary that Lassiter wanted me to work from home the rest of the day, and then took off for the apartment. I was going to call Jerry while driving, but decided to wait until I was inside the apartment.

Once there, I got a bottle of water from the fridge, made myself comfortable on the sofa, and called Jerry.

“That's what she said,” I said, after giving him a detailed description of what Lassiter had said to me.

“I am speechless.”

I could hear in his tone my husband was elated. “Don't get carried away. I know I have some writing to do, but yuk it's going to be really dull here.”

“Dull sounds wonderful,” he cooed.

“I know you and Lassiter mean well, but…”

“Look, she wants you to do your best, and right now that's not out chasing ambulances. If I remember, this is what you wanted; the green light to go deep into a story.”

“You remember too much. No, you're right. I'll get on it. Thank you, dear. Where are you taking me to dinner?”

“Let me think on it. Bye.”

We hung up, and I assembled some reading material—police reports and articles from other media on the serial killings. I had to immerse my brain into the events of the story before writing down my insights. I studied the photos of Janet, Sarah, and Beth, wishing they could talk, and thought about the Vice President's reception—Janet so young and charming, her grandmother's pin. Whatever happened to it? Its value was certainly more sentimental than monetary. I'll have to ask Kat.

I reflected on Janet's sadness at the anniversary bash, not knowing then the cause. Then there was Sarah McDowell, not the same cut of person as Janet. Sarah sat with the Vice President, his parents, and daughter. She was procured by George Manchester.

Beth Carr was under investigation by the FBI. Money? Tax fraud? Gifts? I wasn't familiar with what laws she might have broken. Jerry would know.

Janet Rausch, pregnant. Marsha and Tishana didn't know of anyone she had dated or picked up. No, Marsha said she didn't do pickups. Janet lied to Marsha about staying over at Kat's on occasion. What was true?

I picked up the picture of Janet with the Vice President. “Somebody didn't want you to have your baby. What hell you must have been going through. I want my baby so much. For it to end so horribly, so alone, nobody there…”

Tears came to my eyes. “Well, I'm here for you now,” I stammered.

A shiver shot through me when I conjured up a mental picture of Janet staring at a knife blade about to cut into her. I reached for my bottle of water, but it was empty. I got up and went to the fridge for another one. I would write about Janet. Lassiter was right. I needed to get deeply inside the Graysons, but also Janet and Kat.

I had been at it for some time when a call from Max interrupted my almost trance-like state.

“The chief just left my office after reinstating me. As soon as he left, Delia came in and asked whether I was still her boss or did she have to retire? I told her that if she retired, I'd fire her.”

I laughed, happy for him and thankful for the comedy break.

Max continued, “Then she gave me the good news; there was a code in that mirror and the manufacturer's been identified.”

I nearly leapt out of my chair.

“We now have a list of the automakers that were supplied that mirror. The deputy chief has taken over the DMV search and ordered a half-dozen officers on full overtime to get the job done. Hopefully, we'll find the vehicle in D.C. and will not have to ask our friends to expand the search to Maryland and Virginia DMV.”

It was good to hear him so pumped up. We chatted a moment longer, but he had to go. I turned back to my computer and began writing with a little more gusto.

A couple of hours later, I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. My back ached and I needed to stretch my legs. I checked my watch; it was after 5:00. What I needed was some diversion and Jerry was my perfect source of amusement. I punched in his private line and he picked up.

“Jerry Fields.”

“When are you coming home?”

“What time—oh my gosh, I didn't realize how late it had gotten. Getting antsy?”

“I've been buried in my computer all afternoon. I need sustenance. Sounds like you do too,” I said sweetly.

“Have half an energy bar. I'll be home within the hour. Anything from Max?”

“Yes. Very positive stuff I am itching to share, but will wait until I see you.”

I next called Kat, but she was in x-ray. I had a nice chat with her mother, who seemed optimistic about her daughter's overall progress. Mr. Turner would be flying in on Thursday.

F
rankie heard Donna talking with Maude outside her office. “Donna, where've you been all day?”

The agent came into her office. “Advance planning. The President's got that trip to Europe coming up. We were reviewing all of the protectees' areas of activities during that time. Setting up contingencies.”

“It's nice to hear of some normal stuff going on.”

“There was certainly a lot of activity over the weekend.”

“I'll say. That storm was huge.”

“Yeah, and the third killing in Rock Creek Park.”

“They both washed the Bannini accident and our worries right out of the news. I didn't see Wolfe's byline in the
Star
.”

“Her accident may have been more serious than reported. Being pregnant and all, they—”

“We had a little problem with Lisa. I thought it was going to be Beth all over again. She seemed to enjoy being with us. She and I finally resolved it. It got a little hairy, she was talking about quitting.”

“But she's okay?”

“Yeah. Rick and I want her to stay. She's very good at her job. Lisa and I won't see each other.”

“Good idea. The Vice President's detail thinks somebody was sniffing around your townhouse.”

Frankie was shocked. “Who?”

“You know us, we suspect everybody and work down from there.”

“Who?”

“Don't know. The advance team saw a sedan that looked government. Two guys were trolling. They passed our SUV, then sped up east, turned the corner heading north. A few minutes later, the sedan crossed your street heading south with only the driver in it. Right after that, they saw a guy with a cell phone, real casual-like, hanging out on the southeast corner, looking back at the townhouse. They were about to check him out when he walked away.”

“Could have been anybody.”

“Once, yeah, but they were back Saturday night. This time parked in a gray SUV. Probably a personal car. When the Vice President arrived, it pulled out and turned south, like on Thursday.

“That was too much of a coincidence. Two of our agents set out on foot going in a wide sweep, two blocks to the east and south. They found the empty SUV parked two blocks away near the apartment building south of you.

“They came back and got out night-vision and ultraviolet glasses and scanned the apartment building. There were two bodies at a window on the fifth floor. One looked like he had a long lens camera.”

“A camera? Who?”

“They think FBI.”

“Whatever happened to privacy?”

“It could be worse. They could be private, like tabloid.”

“Visitors to a townhouse. What can that prove? They can't see inside.”

“That's not true. The high-tech electronic stuff is pretty sophisticated. They can read shapes, get a pretty good idea…”

“You think that's what they were using?”

“Doubtful,” Talbot said. “Our agents thought the two were doing outside surveillance with a regular night-vision camera.”

“That's scary, thinking they can see through walls. That's worse than wiretapping. I think I'll stay at Rick's house for a while.”

“I think that's a good idea, an especially good one for the Vice President.”

“He won't be happy with that. Maybe he can use George's apartment in the Watergate.”

“Not a good idea right now. If the media got wind of that, it would bring the Bannini accident back into play.”

“Damn, you're right. I'll talk to him.”

“I'll check around, see if I can pick up on what the FBI is doing.” Talbot started to leave.

Frankie stopped her. “You're still on that serial killer task force, right?”

The agent turned. “Yeah. They think they have a tire track or something. It's all kind of vague. I'll check on it again.”

“I wish the whole thing would go away.”

“Yeah,” the agent said offhandedly.

“Thanks, Donna.”