D.C. Dead

51

Stone and Dino got back to the Hay-adams, and Holly followed close behind. Holly called her office from the bedroom and then made several other calls.

Stone went into the bedroom. “We’re ordering lunch. You want something?”

“A club sandwich on rye with mayo and a Diet Coke,” Holly said, covering the phone. “Let me know when it comes.” She went back to talking on the phone.

As Stone came out of the bedroom, Dino was hanging up the other line. “Shelley’s going to join us for a second farewell dinner. She insisted.”

“Okay with me,” Stone said, “but I know this is because you just want to get laid one more time before we fly out of here.”

“There’s that, too,” Dino said.

Lunch arrived, and Stone went to get Holly, who was still on the phone.

“Just keep a lid on the sandwich,” she said, covering the receiver again. “I’ll be there when I can.”

Stone went back to the room service table and watched as the waiter served his pasta. He was ravenously hungry, he discovered.

Dino took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger, then switched on the TV to find the Yankees game.

While Dino watched in silence, Stone ran over the whole of their s burger,tay there, looking for some glitch, some loophole they hadn’t covered. Apart from the missing cell phone, he could think of nothing.

Holly finally came out of the bedroom, sat down, and uncovered her sandwich. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I’ve been on a conference call with Tim Coleman at the White House and Kerry Smith. They finally hammered out a press release that we all agreed on. I represented the first lady in the argument.”

“Was it all that tough?” Stone asked.

“To get the White House, the CIA, and the FBI to agree on language? It doesn’t get any tougher than that.”

“Are you happy with what they came up with?”

“It’ll work, I think. The trick was to issue a statement that wouldn’t set off a wildfire of press questions. Everybody just wants this thing to die, now.”

“How about the D.C. and Arlington PDs?” Dino asked. “Were they consulted?”

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t about to open up that can of worms, and Kerry wasn’t either. He’ll call them and make sure they either decline comment or give bland answers, not disagreeing with the statement, if the media persist in going to them.”

“God,” Dino said, “this whole business has made me appreciate how simple being an NYPD lieutenant is. Detect crime, solve crime, hand over to DA. That’s so nice, compared to what you have to go through in this town.”

“I agree entirely,” Holly said. “I hate getting involved with police departments. We’re not supposed to dabble in domestic affairs, and it always makes me nervous when I have to talk to them, and especially ask them for favors.”

They finished lunch and watched the game for the remainder of the afternoon.

Shortly after five o‘clock Stone’s phone buzzed once on his belt, and a little chime sounded. “E-mail,” he said, pulling out the phone. He looked at the message. “It’s the statement from the FBI.” He read aloud: “‘Shelley Bach, assistant director of criminal investigation of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, announced today that the investigation into the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Brixton Kendrick and the subsequent deaths of four women-Milly Hart, Muffy Brandon, White House Deputy Chief of Staff Fair Sutherlin, and staffer Charlotte Kirby-has been concluded. Mr. Kendrick’s death has been confirmed as a suicide, as has the death of Ms. Kirby. It has also been concluded that the murders of the other four women were committed by Charlotte Kirby, before she took her own life.

“‘White House Chief of Staff Tim Coleman said that the White House concurs with the results of the investigation and will have nothing further to say on the subject. Assistant Director Bach said,”Our investigation is closed, and the FBI will have no further comment.”’”

“So they hung it on Charlotte, after all,” Holly said.

IT WAS NEARLY eight o’clock when Shelley bustled into the suite. “God in Heaven,” she said, dropping her large handbag on the desk, “my cell phone hasn’t stopped since the release hit.” As if to confirm this, a sound like an old-fashioned telephone was emitted from the bag. Shelley, rummaging inside, came up with the phone and switched it off. “Now,” she said, “the media can go straight to voice mail!”

Dino poured a scotch and handed it to her. “I think you need this.ith she

“Thank you, I certainly do,” she said, downing half of the brown whiskey in one gulp.

“Let me give you the other half of that,” Dino said, taking her glass from her. He replenished it, then returned it to her fist.

She downed half of that, too.

“Easy,” Stone said. “We don’t want to have to send you home in an ambulance.”

“It’s the only thing that will simultaneously stop the adrenaline and restore the soul,” she said. “I’ve been fielding phone calls for three hours, always saying ‘no comment’ in one way or another. These people are relentless.”

“Let’s get some food into you,” Stone said, handing out menus.

“First, I have to spend ten minutes in the ladies’,” Shelley said, “if you will excuse me.” She got up and left the room, taking the remainder of her scotch with her.

“That is one frazzled girl,” Holly said. “But by morning, it will be over, and her life will return to normal.” Holly’s cell phone began to ring.

“And when will your life return to normal?” Stone asked.

Holly checked the calling number. “It’s my office,” she said. “I have to take this.” She pressed a button. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “Where is it?” She listened again. “Hang on.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s our Tech Services,” she said. “They’ve got another hit on Fair Sutherlin’s cell phone.”

“Oh, no,” Dino said, putting his face in his hands.

“Where is it?” Stone asked wearily.

Holly turned back to her phone. “Where? At Sixteenth and H Streets?”

“That sounds familiar,” Stone said.

“It’s the Hay-Adams Hotel.”

Stone stared at her. “Here?”

Holly went back to her phone. “Call the number,” she said, then waited.

Stone and Dino waited, too.

Then, faintly, from across the room, came the tinny, electronic sound of a band playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” by John Philip Sousa.

The three of them turned and stared at Shelley Bach’s handbag.