Capital Crimes

26

JEB STUART CALHOUN of South Carolina, newly that state’s senior senator, rose in the well of the Senate to address his colleagues.

“Mr. President,” he intoned, bowing slightly toward the senator who was presiding that day, “we have now reached a new low in the meanness of politics. The left in this country is now stooping, almost weekly, to actual political assassination!”

A dozen senators were on their feet, shouting “No!” and “Shame!” above a general uproar, as the presiding senator banged his gavel for order. Nearly ten minutes passed before quiet was restored.

“And,” Calhoun went on, “responsibility for these acts must be laid squarely at the feet of the president of the United States!”

This time the uproar was so loud and the epithets hurled so abusive, that the chair was unable to restore order. After all else had failed, he declared the Senate in adjournment, banged his gavel, and walked out of the chamber. Capitol guards were called in to protect Senator Calhoun and walk him back to his office, while other senators threw newspapers and other trash at him.

WILL AND KATE watched the scene together on the evening news. “I don’t believe it,” Will said. “I knew it was coming, but I still don’t believe it.”

“I think it might actually help,” Kate said.

“How?”

“Calhoun has disgraced himself by uttering those words, and that will make it more difficult for others to utter them. By the way, did you know that he and Dr. Don are first cousins?”

“No, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Their daddies are brothers. That kind of insanity must run in the family.”

“Dr. Don is recovering nicely after the injection of the British antidote,” Will said glumly. “But Kinney reports that the security camera tape from Atlanta wasn’t much help in identifying the suspect.”

“He has hairy wrists,” Kate said.

“What?”

“The suspect has thick, gray hair on his wrists, unless he was wearing a wrist wig, too. That was the only part of his body, except for his neck, that was of any help to the FBI. I read the report this afternoon.”

“His neck and his wrists?”

“He was wearing two wigs, a false mustache, maybe false ears, and heavy, horn-rimmed glasses. It’s surprising how the glasses helped conceal his face. They made it difficult to tell much about his nose, which is normally a major ID point. They could tell from the size of his neck and wrists that he wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as he had made himself look with the padding, so they put his weight at between one-fifty and one-eighty.”

“Such a big range?”

“His neck and wrists may be larger than natural from exercise, but then again, maybe not. Oh, his height is about six feet. They got that by comparing him to Dr. Don, who is also six feet. That’s if our guy wasn’t wearing lifts in his shoes, which he may well have been.”

“I don’t believe it. They got the guy on high-resolution videotape and all they can figure is his neck, his wrists, and his weight within thirty pounds?”

“And that’s just a guess. This guy is very smart, Will, and he’s not going to be easy to catch. I feel sorry for Kinney, because the whole thing rests on his shoulders, and he’s got almost nothing to work with. I think the profile he’s drawn up is good, but since he was unable to find a current or recent employee of federal law enforcement or intelligence who matches it, he’s at a dead end.”

“He’s still got this guy in Silver Spring -what’s his name?”

“Coulter. Coulter died this afternoon.”

“What?”

“He had a second stroke, died before the ambulance could get there. He was getting out of his car, with his wife’s help, when he collapsed. The two FBI agents who were watching his house called an ambulance and tried to help, but it was no use.”

“So now we have no suspects at all?”

“I’m afraid that’s the case.”

“Poor Kinney. And I had such hopes for him.”

BOB KINNEY, drained of sexual energy, had kissed Nancy Kimble goodbye and put her in her car for the drive back to South Carolina. Now he was at his desk, staring straight ahead, when Agent Kerry Smith knocked and entered. “Good morning, sir.”

“Hmmm?”

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Just tired, Kerry.”

“You can’t let this get you down, Mr. Kinney. We’re going to get something on this guy soon, and when we do, he’ll be toast.”

“You know Coulter’s dead?”

“Yes, sir. I told you, remember?”

“Oh, yes.” Kinney made an effort to bring himself fully alert. “What have we failed to look at, Kerry? What have we failed to do?”

“I think we’ve looked at and done everything anyone could reasonably expect us to do, in the circumstances, sir.”

“There are two things wrong with your statement, Kerry: One, we are not expected to act reasonably, only effectively; two, nobody cares what the circumstances are, they just want results.”

“That’s unfair, sir. We have to work within the constraints of the evidence.”

“No we don’t. A prosecutor has to work within the constraints of the evidence; investigators have to be brilliant, even when there is no evidence.”

“Well, we have some, sir.”

“Oh, yes? Tell me.”

“He has hairy wrists and a strong neck.”

“That’s not going to look very good on a wanted poster. We can’t even put this guy on our list of top ten criminals, since we don’t have a name or a description. How do you organize a nationwide search for someone with hairy wrists and a strong neck?”

“Well, not nationwide, sir, just the Eastern seaboard, from Atlanta to New York. I-95, basically.”

“So we put out an APB to the state troopers along the route, telling them to look out for a suspect with hairy wrists and a strong neck, driving an RV?”

“Well, we’re not exactly sure about the RV, are we?”

“All right, Kerry, put out a bulletin to all the state police units that patrol I-95. Anytime they stop an RV, they’re to pay particular attention to the wrists and neck of the driver and report any similarities to our description at once. And for Christ’s sake, don’t put this out to the press. It’ll make us sound like idiots.”

“And what’s wrong with our computer people? Why haven’t they tracked down the ACT NOW website?”

“It’s not as easy as it seems, sir. The guy keeps changing things, so that we have to contact it through different servers.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s as if we went to search a house for him and he’d moved to another house.”

“Oh.”

“They’re still working on it, though. We might get lucky.”