Split Second (16 page)

Michelle slammed her fists against the steering wheel. “Damn it, what a time for the local cops to show.”

As one of the car doors opened and the man got out, King shook his head and said, “It’s not the locals, Michelle.”

The man came over to the driver’s side and motioned Michelle to put her window down. She did so, and he leaned in and looked first at her and then at King.

“You two mind stepping out of the vehicle?” said Jefferson Parks.

T
HE INTERROGATION WENT
on for most of the night. The police refused to listen to Michelle’s pleas to allow her to leave to try and find the man she had seen in the truck. They clearly had other priorities, and when she tried to explain about the man being the person who’d kidnapped John Bruno, their expressions grew very skeptical. “That’ll keep,” the sheriff said firmly.

She then spent a very unpleasant hour having her pride wounded by Walter Bishop of the Secret Service. After being told of her detainment by the North Carolina police, he’d flown down to read Michelle the riot act.

Bishop thundered, “I thought when I reminded you of how fortunate you were to still be with the Service that it would have made an impression on you. Now I find you’re involved in things that don’t concern you. I don’t see how you could have messed up any more than you have.” He looked at King. “Oh, but I’m wrong about that, because now you’re keeping company with one of the Service’s legendary losers. You can start a club, the screwup club. You have the
king
of them right here. Isn’t that right, Sean?”

King had loathed Bishop when he was at the Service, and Bishop had been one of the loudest voices in crucifying King. The intervening years hadn’t mellowed the ex-agent’s feelings one jot.

“Careful, Walt,” said King. “I won a libel case and I can win a slander case, and the pleasure it would give me to pickle your teeny-weeny dick in a jar, I can’t begin to tell you.”

“I’ll have your soul!” Bishop roared.

“I’m not with the Service anymore, so save the histrionics for somebody who actually cares, if you can find one.”

“You can’t talk to me that way!”

“I’d rather talk to a pile of horseshit than waste one minute of my life with a lightweight peckerhead like you!” King snapped back.

“I never let a presidential candidate die because my head was up my ass!”

“Your head’s always been in your ass! At least I came up for air.”

And the conversation pretty much went downhill from there. To such an extent, in fact, that just about everyone in the building, prisoners included, strained to listen.

Michelle had never heard anyone talk to Walter Bishop that way, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing at some of the things coming out of King’s mouth. It was as though he’d been saving up verbal ammo for the last eight years.

After Bishop stormed back to Washington, Jefferson Parks and the local sheriff joined Sean and Michelle as they sipped bad coffee from the vending machine.

“So what are you doing down here?” King said to Parks.

The deputy marshal was visibly upset. “I told you not to leave the jurisdiction. And then my men tell me you’re not only in another state, but you’re nosing around the town where Clyde Ritter bought it. And on top of that, I get a message that your partner over there”—he inclined his head at Michelle—“is mixed up in some murder involving a local woman. Now, one more time: you left the jurisdiction after I asked you not to because…”

King snapped, “I wasn’t under arrest. And it’s not like I jumped on a plane to Fiji with my retirement plan in cash. I went to North Carolina in a truck filled with sporting equipment and half-eaten energy bars. Big deal!”

“And we were fortunate enough to be able to capture those convicts,” said Michelle. “We did help you out there.”

“I do appreciate that,” said the sheriff, “but I’d also like to understand better your connection to Ms. Baldwin. We haven’t had a murder down here, well, since Clyde Ritter, and I don’t like it one bit.”

Michelle explained once more her conversation with Loretta.

The sheriff rubbed his jaw and hitched at his pants. “Well, I just don’t figure it. Loretta didn’t seem to say anything to you that implicated anybody.”

“Right.” Michelle had fibbed a bit and left out the part about the black lace panties and the activity the night before in King’s room, for which King gave her a grateful look. “So I’m not sure there is a connection to my meeting her. It might just be an enormous coincidence.”

“And the money in her mouth, you said that was your cash?”

Michelle nodded. “At least I think so. I gave her a hundred dollars in twenties because she’d helped me.” She paused and added, “I had nothing to do with her death.”

The sheriff nodded. “We’ve already checked your alibi. People remembered seeing you up in Virginia at the time Loretta was killed.”

“So what was the motive?” asked Parks. He held up his hands when they looked at him. “What you’ve just described is a motiveless crime. Unless the lady had some enemies you don’t know about. Or maybe it’s a random killer, but my gut tells me it isn’t. Money in the mouth: this was personal.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Loretta Baldwin was the last person who would have any enemies. I mean, okay, she had a sharp tongue, and the gossip that came out her mouth, it was eye-opening, though usually right on the money. But it was little stuff. Nothing anybody would murder her over.”

“Well, you never know,” said King. “What may seem little to you might be really important to someone else.”

The sheriff nodded but looked unconvinced. “Maybe.” He stood. “Okay, I’ve got your statements. You’re free to go.”

As they started to leave, Michelle went over to the sheriff.

“The Fairmount, do you know who owns it now?”

“Last I heard it was some Japanese company bought it, wanted to turn it into a country club with a golf course.” He chuckled. “I guess they didn’t do their homework. The hotel has a lot of land, but most of it is wetlands. And there’s not more than a handful of folks around here who know what a golf club even looks like.”

“Do you know the name of the security service that guards the hotel?”

He looked puzzled. “What security service?”

Michelle hid her surprise and rejoined King and Parks.

“So how’d you get down here so fast?” King asked him.

“My men were following you.”

“Take my advice, that’s a waste of resources.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty damn boring so far.”

Michelle said, “Marshal, there’s something that happened tonight. It has nothing to do with the murder of Loretta Baldwin, but I believe it has something to do with John Bruno’s disappearance.”

“Bruno?” Parks looked puzzled. “How the hell does Bruno figure into this?”

Michelle told him about the man she’d seen.

He shook his head. “How can you be sure it was him? You barely caught a glimpse of a man in poor light.”

“I’m a Secret Service agent. Reading and remembering faces is what I do.”

Parks still looked skeptical. “Well, okay, then tell the FBI. It’s their case. I’m just trying to find out who killed one of my witnesses.” He glanced over at King. “And also trying to keep tabs on this fellow, and he’s not making it easy,” he growled.

“You want me to wait around until you collect enough evidence to hang me?”

“I have enough to arrest you right now if I wanted to. So don’t tempt me.” He glowered at them both. “So you two heading back to good old Virginia?”

King said, “Well, I’ve pretty much had my fill of good old Bowlington.”

S
O I GUESS
you don’t believe me either.”

It was early in the morning, and Michelle and King were driving back to Wrightsburg.

“About what?” King asked.

“Simmons! The man I saw in the truck.”

“I believe you. You saw what you saw.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Well, Parks clearly didn’t, why do you?”

“Because a Secret Service agent never forgets a face.”

She smiled. “I knew I liked having you around. And look, there’s something else. There apparently isn’t a security firm guarding the Fairmount. So the guy who stopped me was a fake.”

King looked very concerned. “Michelle, it could have been the same guy who killed Loretta.”

“I know. I dodged a bullet there.”

“What did he look like?” Michelle described him. “Sounds like a couple billion guys walking around. Nothing distinctive.”

“That was probably intentional. So another dead end? That seems to be a recurring theme in this case.”

Later that morning, they pulled onto the drive heading up to King’s house. When they reached the top, King’s face darkened.

“Oh, hell,” he exclaimed as he looked up ahead. An annoyed-looking Joan Dillinger was pacing in front of his house.

Michelle had seen her too. “The esteemed Ms. Dillinger doesn’t look very happy.”

“I know you’re suspicious of her, but play it cool. She’s one sharp lady.”

Michelle nodded.

King got out of the truck and walked up to Joan.

“I’ve been calling you,” she said.

“I’ve been out of town,” explained King.

She started when Michelle climbed out of the Land Cruiser.

Glancing suspiciously at King and then back at Michelle, she said, “You’re Agent Maxwell?”

“Yes. We actually met a few years ago when you were still with the Service.”

“Of course. And you’ve certainly made a splash in the papers recently.”

“That’s right,” Michelle said. “Coverage I could do without.”

“I’m sure. What a surprise to see you here,” Joan said as she looked at King intently. “I didn’t know you and Sean even knew each other.”

“It’s a recent thing,” said King.

“Uh-huh.” Joan touched Michelle on the elbow. “Michelle, would you excuse us? I have something to talk about with Sean that’s very important.”

“Oh, no problem. I’m pretty beat anyway.”

“Sean has that effect on lots of women. In fact, he could even be considered hazardous to some people’s health.”

The two women engaged in a stare-down. “Thanks for the tip, but I can take care of myself,” said Michelle.

“I’m sure. But given the right opponent, you could find yourself out of your league.”

“Actually that’s never happened to me.”

“Me either. They say the first time is truly memorable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe you should too.”

“Good-bye, Michelle,” said Joan. “And thanks so much for letting me take Sean off your hands,” she added icily.

“Yeah, thanks,
Mick,
” muttered King under his breath.

Michelle drove off, and King walked up the steps, with Joan marching right behind him. He could feel the white heat of her anger on the back of his neck. The condemned man going the last mile was the closest analogy he could come up with, and right now it seemed far too close.

Inside, Joan sat down at the kitchen table, while King put on some water for hot tea. Joan’s expression brimmed with fury. “So would you care to tell me about you and Michelle Maxwell?”

“I already did. She’s a recent phenomenon in my life.”

“I don’t believe in phenomena like that. She loses Bruno and then shows up on your doorstep?”

“What do you care?”

“What do I care? Are you insane? I’m investigating Bruno’s disappearance, and you pop up with the detail leader who’s on suspension for losing him.”

“She looked me up because we both lost presidential candidates, and she wanted to compare notes. That’s it. Bruno really doesn’t enter the equation.”

“Excuse me for saying, but my bullshit meter is clanging so hard it’s popping some springs.”

“That’s the truth, accept it or not.” He held up an empty cup. “Tea?” he asked pleasantly. “You look like you could use some. I’ve got Earl Grey, peppermint or the old standby, Lipton.”

“Screw the tea! Where were you and she coming from?” she demanded.

King kept his voice calm. “Oh, from about eight years ago.”

“What!”

“Just taking a walk down memory lane.”

“Eight years ago?” She looked at him incredulously. “Did you go to Bowlington?”

“Bingo. Sugar and cream?”

“What the hell did you go there for?”

“Sorry, I don’t think you’re cleared for it.”

Joan slammed her fist on the table. “Cut the shit, Sean, and tell me!”

He stopped making the tea and stared at her. “It’s none of your damn business unless you tell me you have some interest in the Ritter assassination that I don’t know about.”

She looked at him warily. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t
you
tell
me
what it means?”

Joan sat back, took a deep breath and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Does she know we spent the night together at the hotel?”

“It doesn’t matter what she knows or doesn’t know. This is between you and me.”

“I still don’t know where all this is going, Sean. Why are you raking all this up now?”

“Maybe I don’t know why. And maybe I really don’t care to know, so let’s just drop the whole damn thing. Water under the bridge, right? Sleeping dogs lie, okay? Let asshole Ritter rest in peace, right?” He prepared the tea and handed her a cup. “Here, peppermint, drink it!”

“Sean—”

He grabbed her arm and leaned very close. “Drink your tea.”

His very low voice and intense gaze seemed to calm her down. She picked up her cup and took a sip. “It’s good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, about your Bruno offer. Suppose I say yes. What’s the first step in our little partnership?”

Joan still looked very upset, but she took out a file from her briefcase and went over its contents. She took a deep, apparently cleansing breath and said, “We need facts. So I’ve put together a list of people to interview.” She slid across a piece of paper that King looked at.

“And going to the crime scene and working the angle from there.”

King was running his eye down the list. “Okay, pretty thorough. Everyone from Mrs. Bruno to Mrs. Martin to Colonel Mustard and the butler.” He stopped at one name on the list and looked up at her. “Sidney Morse?”

“He’s supposedly at a mental institution in Ohio. Let’s verify that. I’m assuming you’d recognize him?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. Theories going in?”

“Do I take all this interest as a yes?”

“Take it as a maybe. Theories?”

“Bruno had lots of enemies. He may already be dead.”

“If so, the investigation is over before it started.”

“No, my deal with Bruno’s people is to find out what happened to him. I get the money whether he’s found alive or not.”

“Good negotiating. I see you haven’t lost your edge.”

“The work is just as hard if he’s dead. In fact, it’s more problematic if he’s not alive. They pay me for results, whatever those results happen to be.”

“Fine, understood. We were talking theories.”

“One side has him kidnapped to throw the election their way. From what I can gather, Bruno’s constituency might have been enough to swing the vote if he either withheld his support from or threw it to another party.”

“Look, I really don’t buy that a major political party kidnapped Bruno. Maybe in another country, but not here.”

“Agreed. It’s pretty far-fetched.”

King sipped his tea and said, “So let’s get back to more conventional malfeasance, shall we?”

“They kidnapped him for money, and the ransom demand will be forthcoming.”

“Or a gang he wreaked havoc on when he was a prosecutor took him.”

“If so, we’ll probably never find the body.”

“Any likely suspects on that?”

Joan shook her head. “I thought there would be, but actually no. The three worst organizations he helped break up have no active members on the outside. He did prosecute some local gangs in Philly after he left D.C., but they tended to operate within a two-block radius with little sophistication beyond guns, knives and cell phones. They wouldn’t have had the brains
or resources to snatch Bruno right out from under the Secret Service.”

“Okay, we rule out enemies from when he was a prosecutor and those for political gain, and we have left pure financial motivation. Was he worth enough to take that risk?”

“By himself, no. As I said before, his wife’s family has money, but they’re not Rockefellers either. They could pay a million dollars but not more than that.”

“Well, it sounds like a lot, but a million bucks just doesn’t go as far as it used to.”

“Oh, how I’d love to find out,” said Joan. She glanced at her file. “Bruno’s political party has funds, but still, there are lots of other targets with far bigger payoffs.”

“And ones that don’t have the Secret Service guarding them.”

“Exactly. It’s like whoever took Bruno did it for—”

King broke in. “For the challenge? To show they could beat the Secret Service?”

“Yes.”

“They must have had inside info. Somebody on Bruno’s staff.”

“I’ve got some possibilities. We’ll have to check them out.”

“Great. But right now I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

“I guess exploring your past is a dirty business,” she said dryly.

“Boy, it sure can be,” he shot back as he walked up the stairs.

She called after him. “Are you sure you want to leave me alone? I might hide a nuclear bomb in your sock drawer and get you into real trouble.”

King went to his bedroom, flipped on the bathroom light, turned on the shower and started brushing his teeth. He turned to close the door, lest Joan get any weird ideas.

As he put his hand on the door and gave it a push, he sensed it was heavier than it should be. Far heavier, as though it had been weighted down with something. His adrenaline instantly surging, he eased it open with his hand and as it swung by, peered around curiously. The door’s momentum, together with
its increased weight, caused it to come around and close firmly. He didn’t even hear the smack of the door against the jamb. His focus was entirely on the source of the extra weight.

He’d seen a lot of unsettling things in his life. Yet the sight of the Wrightsburg socialite and his former client Susan Whitehead hanging on the back of his bathroom door, her dead eyes staring at him, a large knife plunged right through her chest, almost dropped him to the floor.