D.C. Dead

41

Dino drove, while Stone worked the car’s navigator and Holly sat in the rear seat. The sexy woman’s voice directed them, turn by turn, to a pleasant street in Arlington, Virginia.

“Uh-oh,” Holly said, “look up ahead.”

There were two large vans parked on the street in front of a nice split-level house, and there were half a dozen other cars, as well. The lawn was populated with men and women with cameras, microphones, and notebooks. “Oh, Jesus,” Stone said.

“Pull over here,” Holly said, when they were three or four houses away.

“Aren’t we going in?” Stone asked.

“Are you kidding? After that story in the papers this morning, every reporter here has a photo of you and Dino in his pocket. You’d be manufacturing a whole new headline.”

“I see your point,” Stone said.

“Further to my point,” Holly said, “they don’t have a photo of me in their pockets, and I’m not going to give them the opportunity to take one.”

“So, what do we do?” Dino asked.

“Just sit tight for a minute,” Holly said, taking out her cell phone and dialing a number. When it was answered, she identified herself. “I need a street cleaned, and right now,” she said. She gave the address of Charlotte Kirby’s house. “Two TV vans, half a dozen cars, and a dozen reporters and technicians. Soonest. And I want the street blocked for the rest of the day, except for identified residents.” She hung up. “It’ll be a few minutes,” she said.

“You can do that?” Dino asked. “Block a street and throw out the media?”

“Let’s just say someone can do it,” Holly replied. “You and I don’t need to know whom.”

“Who,” Stone said drily.

“Oh, shut up.”

Stone leafed through his copy of the Times, folded the Arts section back to the crossword, uncapped his pen, and started in.

“He does that every day,” Dino said.

“Don’t I know it?” Holly replied.

“In ink,” Dino said, “just to annoy me.”

“I wish you two had brought your own crosswords,” Stone said. “Now, be quiet so I can think.”

“You need quiet to think?” Holly asked. “You wouldn’t make it as a CIA officer.”

“And you never finish a crossword,” Stone said.

They sat quietly in the car for another ten minutes, then two Arlington police cars drove into the street from opposite ends, their lights flashing, no sirens. The cars stopped, and four officers emerged and engaged the crowd on the lawn in conversations. Voices were raised, arms were waved, and insults were shouted, but the crowd eventually was swallowed up by their respective vans and cars and drove out of the block, whereupon the two police cars took up station at each end of the street.

“I think we can go in now,” Holly said.

“That was very n?eatly done,” Dino said admiringly as he drove to the house and pulled into the driveway. “If I tried to do that in New York, I’d end up in stocks.”

“We can do it in New York, too,” Holly said, getting out of the car.

The three of them walked to the front door of the house and Stone rang the bell. Nothing happened. Stone stepped back and regarded the house. A lamp was on in a window, but there was no other sign of life.

“She’s not going to answer,” Dino said.

Holly started to walk to the rear of the house. “Wait here,” she said.

Stone and Dino leaned against the wrought-iron railing of the porch and waited. “She’s going to break in,” Dino said, “isn’t she?”

“They teach them that at the Agency,” Stone replied.

The front door opened and Holly waved them inside. “Mrs. Kirby invites you in,” she said. “She’s in her bedroom, if you’d like to follow me.” Holly led them to a bedroom door, opened it, but stopped them before they could enter. “Let’s preserve the scene for the local cop shop.”

Charlotte Kirby was sitting up in bed, but her head had rolled to one side. The wall behind the bed and a picture hanging on it were spattered with blood and brain matter, and there was a hole in the picture.

“From what I can see,” Dino said, “self-administered gunshot wound to the head, via the mouth. Fairly small caliber.”

“I concur,” Stone said.

“So do I,” Holly replied.

“Why is it that everybody we need information from in this case either offs himself or somebody does it for him?” Stone asked plaintively.

“I’ve noticed that,” Holly said drily, taking out her cell phone and pressing a speed-dial number. “Okay,” she said, “time to get the locals in here. They’ll need a wagon and a crime-scene team. Looks like a suicide.” She hung up.

“I don’t see a weapon,” Stone said. “Can’t I just tiptoe in there and look around for it?”

“Absolutely not,” Holly replied. “They’ve been nice enough to clear the street for us, so we’re not going to fuck up their crime scene by way of thanks.”

“Oh, all right,” Stone said.

“If somebody fired the shot for her, they’ll still find a gun,” Dino said. “The March Hare is not stupid, that much we know.”

“Oh,” Holly said, “I think poor Charlotte had plenty of reason not to want to ever leave her bed again.”

“I’ll bet there’s a diary in the bedside drawer,” Stone said.

“I’d certainly like to find out,” Dino replied. “Holly?”

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Holly said. “You want to tiptoe in there and take a peek, it’s on your head.”

“Nah,” Dino said, “it’s on Stone’s head. He’s the only one here who doesn’t have a government job to hang on to.”

“Oh, all right,” Stone said. He slipped off his shoes and tiptoed across the rose-colored carpet to the bedside table and, with his pen, engaged the drawer pull and slid it open. He poked around in the drawer with the pen, then closed it and tiptoed back to the door. “No diary,? “No d” he said. “Just condoms, lubricant, and tissues.”

“Charlotte was ready for anything, wasn’t she?” Holly asked.

Stone started down the hall, back toward the front of the house.

“Where are you going?” Holly asked.

“I want to see what else is in this house,” Stone replied.

Dino followed, producing a pair of latex gloves from a pocket and donning them.

Holly trailed the two. The three of them stood in the neat living room and looked around, then Stone walked into what turned out to be a den.

There was a desk and some bookcases and a filing cabinet. “You do this one, Dino,” Stone said. “You’re gloved.”

Dino started with the filing cabinet. “Bills, tax returns, a file of clippings from travel magazines,” Dino said, after a minute’s look.

“Try the desk,” Stone said.

Dino walked to the desk and opened the three top drawers. “Bingo,” he said.