D.C. Dead

50

Stone, Dino, Holly, and Shelley dined at Clyde’s,in Georgetown, just to get out of the hotel suite. As they entered, Stone whispered to Holly, “Don’t tell Shelley about Fair’s cell phone. We’re meeting with Kerry Smith tomorrow morning, and we may not want to introduce that information into the mix.”

“I’m invited, too,” Holly replied, “and don’t worry, I don’t want to bring it up either.”

Everybody ordered a steak, and Stone ordered a bottle of a good California Cabernet. The mood was less festive than it usually was.

A camera flash went off, temporarily blinding everyone.

“Who the hell was that?” Dino demanded.

“I can’t even see you,” Shelley replied, “let alone whoever pulled that trigger.”

“My vision is coming back,” Holly said, “and I don’t see anyone with a camera, or even anybody looking at us.”

“I didn’t know Washington had paparazzi,” Dino said.

“Forget that,” Holly said. “Kate Lee got back this afternoon, and we had the conversation.”

“What conversation?” Shelley asked.

“The one where I told her that the investigation is over, that we all think Charlotte Kirby is the March Hare and that she killed herself.” She explained their thoughts about the lack of fingerprints on the magazine and ammo.

“Is that what you’re telling Kerry tomorrow morning?”

“Yep.”

“I’m on board with that. I’m as sick as you are of this whole business.”

“Unanimity can’t hurt,” Stone said. “You think Kerry will back us?”

“Stone, if you believe it, and if I believe it, we can make him believe it, too.”

“That’s fine, unless Kerry suddenly comes up with some evidence we don’t know about.”

“Kerry has been up to his ears with our new budget since you got here,” Shelley said. “He hasn’t had time to deal with anything else.”

“Good. My son is opening his first play at Yale this weekend, and I want to be there.”

“I want to be there, too,” Dino said, “since my boy is the producer. I’m counting on him to make a big success so he can take care of me in my old age.”

“I want Kerry to issue a press release,” Holly said, “saying that the investigation is now closed. We need that.”

“That’s problematical,” Shelley said. “Kerry is a cautious man. He’s not going to want to nail himself to that kind of statement. I think it’s better if the White House issues the announcement.”

“I don’t think the president is the person to issue a statement about a criminal investigation,” Holly said, “and I don’t think the first lady will think so, either.”

“The attorney general, then,” Shelley said.

“He’s not involved in this,” Holly pointed out. “This should be done at Kerry’s level. I’m not suggesting that the director of the FBI put his imprimatur on it.”

“You can try, but I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’m going to be the one to carry the water on this.”

“Maybe an assistant director is good enough,” Holly said, “but Kerry is worth a shot.”

The following morning, Stone and Dino drove over to the Hoover Building, parked in the basement garage, and took the elevator up to the executive floor, where Kerry Smith received them. Holly and Shelley were already there.

After offering them coffee, Kerry tossed a copy of the Washington Times onto the coffee table, open to an inside page. “You all look as if you’re enjoying yourselves,” he said.

Stone picked up the paper and saw the photograph taken of them the previous evening. They were all named, except Holly, who had a menu in the way, and she was called “an unidentified woman.”

Stone passed the paper around.

“Why couldn’t I be the ‘unidentified woman’?” Shelley asked.

“We were just having dinner, Kerry,” Stone said. “We can’t worry about some gossip guy with a camera.”

“Of course not,” Kerry replied. “Okay, tell me where you are and where you’re going with your investigation.”

“Where we are is at the end,” Stone said. “Where we’re going is back to New York.”

“Have you told the president this?”

“We thought we’d let the first lady do that.”

“She told him last night,” Holly said. “He apparently took it well.”

“And who’s going to explain all this to the media?” Kerry asked.

“That would be you,” Holly said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“It shouldn’t come from the director, nor from someone any lower than you.”

“Just what would you like me to say?”

“Send a fax to the AP and Reuters, and to the big papers, if you want to, saying that an investigation has determined that the probable murderer was Charlotte Kirby, who then took her own life.”

“The ‘probable’ murderer?”

“All right, the likely murderer. Or just the murderer. You shouldn’t sound uncertain.” She explained about the absence of fingerprints on the gun’s magazine and the ammunition.

“I guess that’s a decent theory,” Kerry said. “Where is the Arlington PD in all this?”

“I took it away from them as soon as I heard about it, I heardt i” Kerry Shelley said, “on the grounds that Kirby was a federal employee. Dave King and his people own the case.”

“Have Dave King write a memo to you, recommending that the case be concluded, and copy me.”

“I’ll get it done this morning,” Shelley replied.

“I’m going to have to run this by the director.”

“Of course, Kerry, by all means,” Holly said. “Nobody’s trying to hang you out to dry. We’ve all bought into this.”

“Is that true?” Kerry asked, looking at the group.

Everybody nodded.

“Okay. You all have a second cup of coffee while I take this down the hall to the director.” He put on his coat and left the office.

“I thought that went well,” Holly said.

“It went well only if the director buys it,” Shelley said.

They chatted desultorily for the minutes before Kerry returned.

“All right,” he said, “the director is on board. As soon as I get Dave King’s memo and Shelley’s written recommendation, we’ll get it on the wire services, probably around five. Everybody, and that includes all of you, will be unavailable for comment. Clear?”

There was a murmur of assent, then everybody went their separate ways.

Back in the car, Dino drove out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. “I feel relieved,” he said.

“I’ll feel relieved when we’ve got wheels up,” Stone said. “It’ll have to be in the morning. There’s a line of thunderstorms between here and New York that I’m not going to fly through, because I don’t want to die.”

“Once again, we agree,” Dino replied. “I don’t want to die, either.”