Capitol Threat

12

Lieutenant Albertson of the DCPD pounded on his desk. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Trying to stay alive,” Loving grunted. “You got a problem with that?”

“I got a problem with three innocent spectators getting shot and a hooker getting killed. Miracle it wasn’t worse.”

“The miracle’s that I wasn’t perforated in a hundred places.”

“That’s your story.”

“That’s the truth.”

Albertson took a banana out of a desk drawer and began peeling it. “I really don’t need this right now. I’m in the middle of a very high-profile investigation.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

“Probably the same one. Lieutenant Fink has asked me to help him figure out what happened at the Roush press conference.” The police detective inhaled half the banana in a single bite. “Loving—walk with me.”

“Your wish is my command.” Loving limped beside him.

They left Albertson’s office and emerged on the busy streets of D.C. Loving knew Albertson from the work they had done on the Glancy case, and he liked to think the man trusted him, at least a little, but at some level the professionals were always suspicious of the amateurs. And when two thugs are so desperate to kill you that they open fire in a shopping mall, he was probably right to be suspicious. Loving still felt wobbly from the car crash, not to mention the bullet wound, but he managed to hold himself together long enough to walk. Outside, he breathed deeply of the fresh air—which was actually not all that fresh, given the heavy traffic whizzing down “E” Street. It was hot, too. All in all, Loving wondered why Albertson didn’t prefer the nice air-conditioned environment of his semiprivate office.

Albertson pointed and they strolled north. The aroma arising from a hot-dog cart on the corner was supremely tempting, but Loving supposed this wasn’t the time for chow.

“You’re trying to figure out who the girl is, right? The one who was killed at the Roush press conference,” Albertson said.

“As a starting point.”

“To what? Figuring out who killed her? Had to be Roush or his little boyfriend.”

“Killin’ her at their own home? When about a million people were visiting?”

“I’ll admit, that part is troublesome. Still, I think we could make it stick if we came up with a little proof.”

“Hard to prove who did the killin’ when you don’t know who the victim was. How can you prove motive?”

“Yeah. That’s also a sticking point.” Albertson finished his banana and, to Loving’s surprise, ordered a hot dog. Well, when in Rome. Loving got his loaded with onions and sauerkraut. “So—had any luck?”

“I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”

Albertson inhaled half his dog. “What do you want to know?”

“Why’s it so hard to figure out who the woman is? Doesn’t she have fingerprints?”

“Yeah, but they don’t match any prints on record. Something weird about them. My forensics boys think they may have been tampered with.”

“What about the face? Gotta be someone who recognizes her.”

“No one has come forward, discounting the cranks.” He devoured the rest of the dog in a single bite. Loving was no shrink, but this guy had to have a major oral fixation. “I’m surprised. The whole thing is weird, though.”

“How d’ya mean?”

“What was she doing at that press conference? Why doesn’t anyone know her? Why would anyone kill her there when, as you say, there were about a million people roaming about?”

“Maybe it wasn’t planned.”

“That would be my guess, too. Crime of passion, fit of anger, whatever. Were you there?”

Loving shook his head. Private investigators didn’t get invited to important political functions.

“Well, the million or so people in attendance present another problem. Too many suspects. Even the possibility that it was someone who wasn’t actually invited to the press conference. After all, the victim wasn’t invited. But there she was.”

Loving frowned. He had hoped this conversation would be useful. If anything, it was only making the case more complicated.

“But enough about me,” Albertson said, wiping his mouth. “I gave, now you follow suit. Who the hell was trying to kill you?”

“I wish I knew.”

“But you said they were professionals?”

Loving nodded. “At least one of them was. I think the other guy was some sort of keeper. He wasn’t as good; in fact, if anythin’, I think he was crampin’ the pro’s style. I probably wouldn’t have gotten away if he hadn’t had that clown weighin’ him down. I mean, come on. A machine gun in a shoppin’ mall? That’s like somethin’ out of one of them Terminator movies. No pro would ever do that.”

“Agreed. Where did they go after you crashed your buggy?”

“Don’t know. I mean, the pro probably knew how to roll with the car and land on his feet. That wasn’t so much of a shock. But the mall security men said the other guy was gone before they could even get to the scene, and I left him hurtin’ pretty bad. I think they must’ve had backup.”

“Cleaners?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Okay. Give me more.”

“I don’t have more to give.”

“Try. I got people breathing down my throat, expecting me to explain three wounded people and over a million dollars in property damage. What were they after?”

“Well, judgin’ from appearances, me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

“You were meeting someone?”

“Right. I’ve been trollin’ all the low-life hangouts in the vicinity, crook bars and pool halls and stuff. Finally found a guy who said he knew a guy who knew a girl…that sort of thing.” Loving made a strategic decision to delete the one identifying feature that helped him close in on the person he wanted—the red Ford SUV Ben had seen parked at the rear of Thaddeus Roush’s garden. “She was a workin’ girl who supposedly knew a woman who knew the woman who was murdered. Got the impression the victim has some kind of criminal past, so I’m surprised you didn’t get a match on her prints. Anyway, before this lady of the evening could tell me anythin’, those coldhearted assassins riddled her with bullets. Just because she was in the way.” Loving swallowed. “Looked like she wasn’t more than eighteen. Maybe younger.”

Albertson was silent for a moment. “Well, I have to assume you were getting too close to something someone didn’t want you to know.”

“Like the person who’s really behind the murder?”

“Maybe. Or someone who sent the victim to the press conference to be killed. Or someone who doesn’t want you to know who she is for some other reason. Point is—it’s big. Whoever was behind this has some serious money and serious crime connections. Sufficient to bring in a very serious hit man. And a keeper.”

“Yeah. That’s a problem.”

Albertson raised a eyebrow. “Getting scared?”

“Nah,” Loving bluffed. “Gettin’ curious. And a little depressed. If there’s major crime figures in this—maybe even the mob—it’s gonna be a tough nut to crack. Those boys are very good at keepin’ their secrets.” He stopped walking. “So what are we doin’ here, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Why are we out here soakin’ up the sunshine instead of inhalin’ the asbestos fumes in your office?”

Albertson smiled slightly. “Don’t you like to get out on occasion? Feel the rays of the sun warming your face?”

“Cut the crap. There was somethin’ you wanted to tell me in private. So spill already.”

Albertson rummaged through his pockets, presumably looking for something to put in his mouth. “I propose a deal.”

“And that would be?”

“We share information. We’re both working the same case, more or less. You learn something, you tell me about it. I learn something, I do likewise. Sound like a good deal?”

“Well,” Loving said cheerfully, “it sounds like a good deal for you. Since I appear to be on the trail of somethin’ big. And you got nada.”

“Look, Loving, I’ve cut you breaks in the past—”

“Never said otherwise.”

“And I got you that provisional P.I. license so you could work while your boss is playing senator.”

“Most kind of ya.”

Albertson’s eyes lowered. “But I could revoke it just as easily as I got it.”

“I qualified for that license. I’m over twenty-one, got no felony convictions. I passed the psych evaluation and I completed my twenty-one hours of trainin’ to get certified by the Oklahoma Council on Law Enforcement Education.”

“All of which might get you somewhere back home. But Dorothy—you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Oklahoma.”

“Same difference.”

Loving turned to face him squarely. His shoulders were about twice as broad as Albertson’s, so he made a particularly effective roadblock. “Now you’re playin’ dirty pool. I don’t take kindly to bein’ pushed around.”

Albertson stood his ground. “I don’t much care what you like. I got people breathin’ down my neck for a breakthrough in this case. So if you get one, I expect to hear about it. Understood?”

“And what do I get in return?”

“You get to keep your license.”

“Not good enough.”

Albertson frowned. “We’re bound to figure out who the victim was eventually. If we do, you’ll be the first one I tell. And if you get a name first, I’ll let you run it through the FBI databases. You’ll get more info in ten minutes online than you could get from a month of pounding the pavement.”

Loving considered. That was at least marginally tempting.

“And I won’t press charges.”

“Huh? For what?”

“Destruction of private and public property. Assault with a deadly weapon. Apparently you attacked two men and ran over one of them with your automobile.”

“They were tryin’ to kill me!”

“That’s your story. A lot of the witnesses thought you were the bad guy. Thought you were on the lam from the police.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Crazy enough to keep you in jail for a very long time awaiting trial. The D.C. courts are so overcrowded these days.”

“I don’t believe you’d do that.”

“But can you be sure?”

“You’ve always seemed like a kinda sorta honest person. So far.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Suit yourself.”

“But the threat still stands.”

“All right, already. We’ll share.” Loving poked him with a finger. “But don’t forget. This is supposed to be a two-way street.”

“I won’t,” Albertson said.

“Good. You’ve got my cell number.”

They returned to the police station, having circled the entire block.

“Enjoyed our little chat,” Loving said.

“Likewise, I’m sure. Stay in touch.”

Loving watched as Albertson trotted up the stairs. Albertson was desperate, plain and simple. Didn’t know what was going on, didn’t have a clue how to proceed, so he was grasping at straws. Even the particularly desperate straw of aligning himself with a private investigator. The problem was, Loving really didn’t know what to do next. His only lead was lying in the morgue. The pond scum who had put him on to her had disappeared. He had nothing, except a queasy feeling formed by the knowledge that someone had wanted him dead—and probably still did.

Well, he’d figure something out, right? Back to pounding the streets. He turned and—

The man was standing so close behind Loving that he’d bumped into him before he could stop himself. He took a step back to gain a clearer view.

The man in front of him raised his sunglasses slightly as a sort of salute. His right hand was in the pocket of his overcoat. There was a bulge in the pocket that resembled the barrel of a gun. “Hello again.”

It was Leon.