Capital Crimes

12

BOB KINNEY ARRIVED at Burning Tree a little more than an hour after the bomb had gone off. The Arlington fire department and police were on the scene and Kinney found the detective in charge of the investigation talking to the fire department’s arson investigator.

“Thanks for the call,” Kinney said, shaking the hands of the two men. “We’re happy to help. There’s a vanload of people from our lab right behind me. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

The arson investigator led him over to the parking lot. “That used to be a Mercedes,” he said, “but, as you can set, not anymore.”

The car was a black hulk, still smoking. Not a single panel of the bodywork was still attached to the frame, and the engine rested a good twelve feet from the bulk of the car. Half a dozen other cars in the lot had been destroyed to varying degrees.

“We found the driver over there by the locker room entrance,” the detective said.

“How did you identify him?”

“The caddy shelter is over there about fifty yards,” the detective said, pointing, “and one of the caddies had been booked by Vandervelt. He saw the man get out of the car and was walking toward him when the car blew. The blast knocked him off his feet but didn’t hurt him.”

Kinney turned to the arson investigator. “Have you made any determination about the bomb?”

“It was under the driver’s seat, probably detonated by a squat switch, since it didn’t blow until Vandervelt got out of the car, but before he closed the door. And it was the work of a very sophisticated pro. That’s about it. I hope your people can learn something more from the pieces. How can we help?”

“I’d like you to assemble your people and have them do an inch-by-inch search of the parking lot and the area around it. Have them flag any spot where any piece of debris is found, but I don’t want them to touch what they find. Then my people can inspect each piece and determine what will be useful to the investigation.”

“Okay,” said the detective, “I’m formally handing off to you. I’m happy for my people to be of help, but the responsibility for this investigation is now the FBI’s.” He consulted his watch. “From this moment.”

“We’ll accept that,” Kinney said.

“I’ve got just one question.”

“What’s that?”

“I know what you do at the Bureau. Why are you dealing with this personally? Is it because Vandervelt was a celebrity?”

“No, it’s because this case may be connected with another case that we have under investigation.”

“Senator Wallace?”

“I can’t go into that.”

“You think they were both killed by the same perp?”

“I hope not,” Kinney replied.

“Why do you hope not?”

“Because if it’s the same man, he’s exhibiting all kinds of new skills, and that worries me.”

The detective nodded. “For what it’s worth, I checked with Right Radio, and Vandervelt’s secretary said he finished his show and left his office about forty-five minutes before the bomb went off, saying that he was rushing to make a tee time. If it was detonated by a squat switch, then the bomb was probably put in his car in the parking garage of his office building, since he probably wouldn’t have stopped on the way here.”

“That’s good work. Thank you,” Kinney said. “Anything else?”

The detective shrugged. “The man had a wife. Since you’re running the case, you get to break the news to her.” He handed Kinney a sheet of paper. “Here’s her name and address.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Kinney put the paper in his notebook.

TWO HOURS LATER, Kinney rang the bell of a Watergate apartment. A maid admitted him and showed him into the living room. “Mrs. Vandervelt will be with you in a moment,” she said. “Please have a seat.”

Kinney walked over to the window and took in the panoramic view of the Potomac River and the woods beyond. “Mr. Kinney?”

He turned to find a woman standing in the doorway to the living room. She was of medium height, her hair was very blond and carefully coiffed, and her breasts were large.

“Yes. Mrs. Vandervelt?”

“You’re with the FBI?”

“That’s correct.” He walked over and showed her his ID.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“May we sit down?”

She sat on the sofa, and he took a chair.

“Mrs. Vandervelt, I’m very sorry to tell you that there has been an attempt on your husband’s life. He didn’t survive.”

She sat, staring stonily at him, quiet for a long moment. “When did this happen?” she asked.

“About three hours ago. I was unable to leave the scene until now.”

“How did it happen?”

“Someone placed a bomb in your husband’s car, probably in the parking garage of his office building. It went off when he got out of the car at Burning Tree. The car was destroyed and your husband was killed instantly. He never knew what happened, never felt anything.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m glad of that.” She looked out the window for a moment, her face now drawn and sad. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

“Not yet, but if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Please go ahead.”

“Did your husband have any enemies that you are aware of?”

She suppressed a laugh. “About half the country,” she said.

“Did he ever receive any threats here, at home?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “It was known that we live in the Watergate, so he got a fair amount of mail here, mostly fan letters, but occasional critical letters, too. I read many of them, but I don’t remember a death threat.”

“Who might have benefited from your husband’s death?”

“Well, I suppose I’m your first suspect,” she said. “Van was quite rich, and I stand to inherit most of it. He made a new will less than a month ago. We were married six weeks before that.”

“Was your marriage a happy one?”

“We didn’t really have time to get unhappy. I’m not sure where it would have gone. We were starting to get on each other’s nerves.”

“That happens to a lot of married couples.”

“I suppose so. If it helps, I don’t know how to make a bomb, and I don’t know anyone who does.”

Kinney got to his feet. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Vandervelt, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He gave her his card. “Please call me if you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

“And for what it’s worth, you’re not a suspect,” Kinney said kindly, though it was not entirely true. She would be investigated very thoroughly indeed.