Death of Secrets (15 page)

Franken nodded. He could already tell how this story was going
to end.

"Anyway," the girl went on, "Earlier tonight I
came up to do my laundry. I'd gotten to be pretty friendly with the Conroys
over the past month or so, so I poked my head around the corner to see if they
wanted to talk while the clothes got washed. That's when I saw Paul
there." She inclined her head toward the male body in the hallway.

"So naturally I freaked out, and ran to him to see if I
could help. On the way there I caught sight of Linda on the couch, and that's
when I really screamed. I ran right to the phone and called 911, and here you
are."

Franken nodded. The scene couldn't be clearer. Paul Conroy had
opened the front door to a knocker and been shot in the head for his trouble.
The same knocker had then entered the house and done away with Mrs. Conroy
before she'd even gotten out of her seat. Why hadn't she risen in alarm at the
sound of her husband being shot?

"Did you hear the shots?" Franken asked.

The girl shook her head. "No, but I'm afraid I'm kinda
into my music. I'm usually listening to something with the headphones on."

The cop nodded and sighed. There'd be a lot of legwork in this,
knocking on neighbors' doors and asking if they'd heard shots. But none of that
put him any closer to knowing why the burglar had been willing to kill two
people to get into this house.

Franken got up and paced. It would be impossible to tell
whether anything had been taken without a full search of the house, but perhaps
something obvious would present itself. "Do you know if they had a
safe?" he asked the girl.

She nodded. "They offered to let me store valuables in
there if I wanted. But I don't really have anything that would be worth putting
in a safe."

"Know where it is?"

She nodded and stood up. "Upstairs in the bedroom. I'll
show you."

He followed her up the narrow staircase, catching a belt loop
on the end of the banister at the start. He grumbled. Everything in Georgetown
was built very narrow. For a man of Franken's girth, it was an inconvenience.

"They showed me this when I moved in," she said.
"Very trusting people, but I guess I look pretty harmless. They thought I
might want to store some stuff in it, and if I did I guess I'd need to know.
Actually, they gave me a tour of the whole house when I moved in. Seemed kind
of weird, you know? All I wanted to do was live in the basement. But I figured
it never hurts to be on good terms with the landlord, so I took the tour."

Sam Franken's mental picture of the Conroys as a friendly
elderly couple was solidifying. For a couple who would show a renter where
their safe was, it was no surprise they'd open the door when someone knocked,
even when it was a stranger. The surprise was that they'd survived so long in
the city, but then, as he knew quite well, Georgetown was one of the safest
places to live.

The staircase ended at a landing with three doors. Gina pointed
at the doors in turn, naming them. "Bathroom, spare bedroom, and the
master bedroom," she said, opening the last one. "The safe's in
here."

Franken walked in behind her and entered the room. It was
decorated in the same homey style as the kitchen, with homemade oil paintings,
needlepoint, and embroidery hung on the wall. The safe was off in a corner next
to a small television, and Gina walked over to it. "I don't know the
combination," she said, "but here it is."

The door was closed. Franken knew an experienced safe cracker
could have gotten it open and closed it again without leaving a sign.
Nonetheless, it certainly gave the appearance of remaining secure.

The bed, however, was a different story. The cover – which
looked handmade – was askew instead of neatly made up. Franken had a feeling
that this was a couple who made their bed every morning. More to the point,
though, the bed was pushed up against the wall, and deep indentations in the
carpet showed where the legs of the bed had stood for many years. Clearly, it
had been moved out of position. The surface of the bed was nearly level with a
windowsill. The window was still open. He didn't want to disturb the crime
scene, but by standing at the foot of the bed he could nonetheless look out the
window. Why had it been pushed there?

He leaned over to get a better look. The street below him was
pretty quiet at the moment, with most residents indoors, either studying or
watching television. Cars lined both sides, and several trees pushed up through
blank spaces of dirt left in the sidewalk. A lone empty can rattled a bit in
the light wind. But one thing leapt out at Franken right away.

From this window he had a clear line of sight to the place
where Kathy Kelver said she found the body.

He turned back to Gina. "You heard nothing at all unusual
two nights ago?"

"Two nights ago? You think they were shot that long
ago?"

Franken nodded. "I'm thinking probably, though we won't
know for sure until the forensics people do their work."

She shrugged. "Well, I still didn't hear anything like a
gunshot. But really really late that night – actually early in the morning – I
thought I heard a girl screaming. I sorta wasn't sure what I should do, you
know? So I didn't go look immediately. But after a minute I got up and looked
out the window, but no one was there."

Franken's thoughts immediately turned to Kathy's story about
finding the body. She'd claimed she screamed when she saw it, right?

"About what time was that?"

"Not sure," Gina replied, "But after one in the
morning. I remember having looked at the clock at 1:05 and wondering why I was
still awake."

Franken turned back to the bed and looked out the window. This
was starting to look like something
really
unusual.

Premeditated murder was by far the least common of that crime's
many faces. Most killings were crimes of passion, committed with a knife, bare
hands, or whatever blunt object the enraged killer could lay his hands on. When
guns were involved, they were usually fired from close enough range that one
could find gunpowder burns on the victim.

The exceptions were drug and gang related shootings. But those
were often targets of opportunity, spraying an entire neighborhood with bullets
just to kill one member of a rival gang.

This now had the look of something entirely different.

Franken cast his eyes around the room and found what he was
looking for. A small brass cartridge rested on top of the pillows at the head
of the bed.

The officer grimaced. Someone had broken into this house, and
killed its occupants, all for one single purpose: to lay on this bed and take
advantage of a uniquely clear shot at that spot of ground. And they'd hit
somebody who happened to walk there, at least according to Kathy Kelver.

But of course, he hadn't just "happened" to walk
there, had he? Whoever had picked this spot wouldn't have bothered if they
hadn't known they'd be able to get their victim here.

Franken had to wait here for the forensic team. But once they
arrived, he knew where he'd start his door to door work.

***

Michael held the door open while Kathy and Colleen walked into
the hotel, then followed them in. Ahead of them was a man in a dark suit,
wearing dark glasses despite being inside. He had his hand up near his mouth,
and his lips were moving. Mike had seen the same thing numerous times before,
generally by Secret Service agents when he was at a political function attended
by the President. Whoever the man was, he had a radio.

"Um, Colleen?" He began. "Should this guy we’re
supposed to meet come looking for us inside the hotel?"

"No, why?" She asked, not stopping. "He’s supposed
to meet us in front of the front door."

"Then stop and come with me."

"Michael, what…"

He grabbed Kathy’s shoulder and tugged, manually turning her
direction. "Colleen, come on!"

She turned around to see Michael heading back out the front
door, rapidly breaking into a run. She muttered, "What the…?" but
then she looked back where she’d been headed. A man in a dark suit was heading
rapidly toward her, pushing his way through the small crowd in the lobby and
reaching inside his suit coat. Colleen had seen enough movies that that last
behavior was inherently threatening to her. She dashed to keep up with Michael.

When she reached the other two she panted, "Um, there’s a
guy back there who looked like he was pulling a gun."

Mike said, "Come on, keep moving. Even if they’re going to
shoot us they probably won’t want to do it through a crowd. Let’s try to keep
people between us and him."

Out on the street, he pushed his way through shoppers and
businessmen getting off duty for the day. As the crowd protested in a myriad of
voices, Kathy looked over her shoulder and shrieked. "Mike, there are more
of them!"

The Congressman quickened his pace, and the two girls sped up.
Colleen looked at her watch and asked, "What are we going to do? We’ve got
only five minutes ‘til we’re supposed to meet Jakarta’s people out front!"

Over his shoulder, Mike replied, "How do we know these
people aren’t Jakarta’s?"

"Why would he send someone in here when we were coming
right out anyway?"

"Who knows? One way or another we have to lose this crowd
before we can meet them."

They pushed their way into a restaurant, drawing alarmed cries
from the hostess as they scampered back into the dining area without waiting to
be seated. Looking over her shoulder, Kathy saw a man in a black suit elbowing
his way through the same crowd. "Mike! Behind us!"

"Hope there’s another exit to this place," he
replied, and pressed on through the tables and chairs.

Kathy felt her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest.
"Mike! What do we do?"

"Follow me," he replied. "This is going to seem
crazy."

He elbowed his way to the very back of the room, drawing
protests from early diners, and breathed a quick prayer of relief when he saw
the door to the kitchen. Mike charged through it, holding Kathy’s hand and
pulling her along. The smells of food preparation hit them.

Looking back as Colleen came through the door, Kathy saw the
man in the black suit scarcely more than ten feet away.

A cook shouted at them to get out, but Mike just kept on
moving. Kathy and Colleen followed not too far behind. In only moments, Mike
reached the back of the kitchen and got lucky a second time. There was a
service door leading out to the alley and he took it, leaving behind the loud
retorts of the kitchen staff.

He extended a hand to pull Kathy the rest of the way through
the door. Colleen followed right behind her. Ignoring curious glances from
indigents relaxing in the alley, Mike sprinted for the far end, yelling,
"Come on, we’ve got to get as far as we can while we’re out of their
sight!"

They rounded the corner out of the alley and returned to a
normal walking pace, trying not to call attention to themselves. Mike led them
back toward the street with their hotel on it, panting to regain some of his
breath.

"Come on!" Colleen shouted. "We’ve got to get
back to the front of the hotel!"

She pulled into the lead of their little group, and bolted for
the front door. Kathy and Mike ran behind her, and collided with her back when
she stopped. In front of them they saw a black limousine parked with the engine
running, and a young, fit, man leaning up against the door. His slacks, shoes,
and long-sleeve T-shirt were all the same shade of black. He saw them coming,
looked at his gold wristwatch, and asked, "Colleen Christina?"

"Yeah," she replied in between pants. "And
friends." She reached for the back seat door and yanked it open. "We
kind of need to step on it," she added. "Somebody’s following
us."

Kathy saw the driver hurry around to his door as Michael
followed Colleen into the car. She was watching the door for men in suits when
Mike grabbed her and pulled her in after him. Just as she pulled the car door
shut, she saw the hotel door open, and one of the men come out.

She shrieked, "There they are!" and the driver of
their limo stepped on the gas. Kathy fell backward into her seat and gave
another yell.

Colleen turned backward and stared out the rear window, looking
for signs of a tail. Kathy took a moment to collect herself and then said to no
one in particular, "Whoa. Hacking must pay pretty well."

A leather bench seat wrapped around where the left side door
should have been, making the right door the only way in or out. A TV in the
back of the partition between the driver’s seat and the passenger compartment
showed a local news anchor frowning sadly at some tragic report. The window
between the two compartments was down, and the driver looked back in response
to Kathy’s observation.

"Don’t get too comfy back there, folks. If you’re being
followed, we’ll need to switch cars before I take you anywhere important."

"And we
are
being followed," Colleen called
out, having caught sight of a suburban weaving dangerously in and out of
traffic behind them.

"Roger," the driver said, and stepped on the gas.
Kathy screamed again when the limo wormed its way into a gap in traffic that
actually looked a few inches shorter than the car.

***

The NSA wasn't exactly a place that cleared out when the union
bell rang. Still, being in on Sunday meant a slightly easier workload. Nathan
Jacobs leaned back in his chair and gave himself a few moments of relaxation.
His was a fast-paced, hard-working office, and law enforcement wasn't a field
with predictable challenges. He could make whatever plan he wanted, but by the
close of business his time would have been claimed by a dozen different minor
crises he'd never expected.