D.C. Dead

10

Stone slowly brought Holly to a climax, and continued his ministrations until she stopped twitching, then he moved up a few inches and rested his cheek on her belly.

Holly’s breathing became normal. “I had forgotten how good you are at that,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“And I had forgotten how good a pillow you are,” Stone replied.

She pulled him up by his ears until his head rested between her breasts. “Have two,” she said.

“Gladly.”

“So what do you make of Dino’s running off with Shelley Bach?” Holly asked. “The word is that she and her boss, Kerry Smith, have been an item since before the last presidential election. Do you know their story?”

“Nope,” Stone sighed.

“They were assigned to find out if Martin Stanton, whom Will Lee had picked as his vice presidential candidate, was actually born in the United States.”

“I remember something about that, but I’m not sure what.”

“They determined that his mother, who was Mexican, gave birth to him in an ambulance shortly after they crossed the border, on the way to a maternity hospital in San Diego.”

“But he had an American father, didn’t he? Would it have mattered on which side of the border he was born?”

“I have no idea,” Holly said, “but you can be sure the Republican right wing would have had a field day with it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Where did you say Dino went with Bach?”

“To a cocktail party at the British Embassy. Why, do you miss them?”

She slapped him lightly on the cheek that was not pressed to her breast. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Listen,” Stone said.

“Listen to what?”

“I think I heard the front door open.”

“And I think I heard Dino’s door close,” Holly said, giggling. “Who knew Dino was such a swordsman?”

“Dino does all right with the ladies,” Stone said.

“Is this going to make for an embarrassing breakfast meeting?” she asked.

“It won’t embarrass me.”

“It might embarrass Shelley, to see me here.”

“So, let’s embarrass her.”

“Where do you stand on your investigation?” Holly asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, you want to talk dirty now, do you?”

She slapped his cheek again. “Just give me your opinion.”

“Well,” Stone said, “we haven’t been able to prove that Brixton Kendrick didn’t murder his wife, and, I must say, it was very unhelpful of him to leave a note taking responsibility for her death. Somehow, you didn’t mention that.”

“It was in the report I gave you.”

“Yes, I finally found it, afte ^siz a="1em"r I had been told it was there.”

“Don’t blame me.”

“Why not? I’m certainly not going to blame myself.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” she laughed.

“Somehow, I don’t necessarily equate his taking full responsibility with a confession of murder.”

“The FBI does,” Holly said.

“Shelley mentioned that,” Stone said. “Of course, the FBI wants desperately for it to be true, because that way they don’t have to find a murderer.”

“Have you got a candidate for that title?”

“Well, I don’t believe it was the president, the vice president, or the secretary of state-or either of the secretary’s associates,” Stone said.

“That’s very patriotic of you.”

“Each of them has the others for an alibi, and that’s tough to shake.”

“You have a point,” Holly said.

Stone crawled up the bed and rested his head on the pillow next to Holly’s. “Dino found the murder weapon, though.” He told her about the brick. “We’ll get the lab report in the morning, so I guess we can hope the murderer spat or bled or sweated on it.”

“That would certainly simplify things, wouldn’t it?” Holly said.

“Yes, but life is rarely that simple, and murder, even more rarely.”

“Can I quote you on that? Or are you stealing from Sherlock Holmes?”

“That was entirely original,” Stone said, “or at least, I can’t remember anybody else ever saying that, and I haven’t read Sherlock Holmes since about the eighth grade.”

Holly didn’t reply, and her breathing had become slow.

Stone’s breathing followed hers, and shortly, he was asleep, too.

Stone and Holly appeared for breakfast in robes and found Dino and Shelley, in robes, already attacking their meal.

“We ordered for you, too,” Dino said.

“Good morning, Holly,” Shelley said, without apparent embarrassment.

“Good morning, Shelley, Dino,” Holly replied, shaking out her napkin and pouring herself and Stone some orange juice. “I hear your conclusions in the investigation are holding up.”

Shelley nodded. “I expected them to, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Holly said. “This wasn’t my idea. Actually, Stone and Dino were my idea, but only after I had my orders.”

“I like your choice of investigators,” Shelley said, pulling Dino’s earlobe.

“So do I,” Stone said, helping himself from a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Then nobody has any complaints?” Holly asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Stone replied. “First, I want to see the lab report on the brick.”

Shelley got up and went to a telephone, held a brief conversation, then hung up and came back to the table. “The lab report is on my desk,” she said.

“And?” Dino queried.

“The blood on the brick is that of Emily Kendrick, so we have the murder weapon.”

“Okay,” Stone said. “What else?”

“There was no deposit of DNA by another individual,” Shelley said.

“Shit!” Dino muttered.

“However,” Shelley said, making sure she had everybody’s undivided attention before continuing, “there was something else deposited.”

Everybody stared at her in silence, waiting for the news.

“Lipstick,” Shelley said. “Don’t you want to know what kind of lipstick?”

“I’m just dying to know,” Dino replied.

“Pagan Spring,” Shelley said, “from a house brand made for a national drugstore chain.”

“What’s a Pagan Spring?” Dino asked.

“In this case,” Shelley said, “pinkish.”

“Pinkish?”

“Not exactly pink, but pinkish.”

Stone interrupted. “I take it this is a cosmetic used by potentially tens of thousands of women in the D.C. area?”

“Indeed,” Shelley said.

“Shit!” Dino said again.