Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 60

NASH waited as long as he could for Rapp to emerge from the committee room, but he’d run out of time. His administrative assistant had come through as she almost always did and informed him that his wife was scheduled to meet with the dean at 11:45. Nash left word with Kennedy to have Rapp call him as soon as he got out and then he left to race across town. Sidwell was only five miles from Capitol Hill, but Nash knew it would take at least fifteen minutes to get there, and that was if he hit all the lights and traffic wasn’t too bad. As he pulled out of the Dirksen parking lot, he was relieved to find the street empty. Nash’s hopes that he would make it to the meeting on time were dashed a few blocks later as he reached a jam-packed Columbus Circle. With his options extremely limited, he nosed his way onto Massachusetts Avenue and headed northwest.

A cab cut him off a block later and he laid on his horn with everything he had. The cabby flipped him off. Nash looked through his windshield and for a split second imagined how satisfying it would be to run the guy off the road and whip him with his own antenna. He quickly banished the idea and turned his mind to his son. He could spend the next fifteen minutes getting angry about it and carefully plotting out the confrontation, but in the end this was about Rory. He and his wife would have to sort their problems out later.

The traffic was a mess at Thomas Circle, and for a minute Nash was tempted to take to the side streets, but he’d made this trip enough to know that could be a risky move. As he was nearing Dupont Circle his phone rang. The readout told him it was a private call.

“Hello.”

“Irene said you wanted to talk to me.” It was Rapp.

“Yeah,” Nash said, “How’d the rest of the hearing go?”

“Well enough. I’ll fill you in later. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a bit of a problem.” He paused and carefully chose his words, keenly aware that the call could be recorded. “That dinner we were planning… the one we canceled. I talked to everybody and they were fine with shutting it down, except Chris.”

“What was his problem?”

“He said he’d put too much effort into it to just call it off, and he felt like he was nearing a breakthrough.”

“So he’s still on the job?” Rapp said casually.

“Yeah, except there’s a slight problem. We had coffee yesterday, and he said he would check in with me last night and this morning.”

“And?”

“Nothing so far.”

“That’s not good. What are you doing about it?”

“I called Scott. He’s trying to track him down.”

Rapp didn’t answer right away and then said, “Irene said you had a family thing to attend to.”

“Yep.”

“When will you be done?”

“If all goes well, I’ll be back up there by one.”

“All right. If you hear anything, call me.”

“Will do.”

“And when you get back here, we might have to make a trip over there.”

“Over there?” Nash asked a bit anxiously. He wondered if Rapp meant the mosque.

“Yeah, I don’t like this. Chris is no flake. If he hasn’t called you back, we’ve got a problem.”

“I agree, but who in the hell are we going to bring it to?”

“We’re not. That’s why you and I are going over there. Get back here as soon as you can.”

“Will do.” Nash hit the end button and set the phone down.

Traffic eased up as soon as he crossed Rock Creek. A few minutes later he was turning on to Wisconsin Avenue and passing the National Cathedral. He checked the clock on the dashboard and swore. It was 11:51. Sidwell was the type of place where things ran on time, so there was no telling what kind of damage his wife had already done. Nash parked the van in the small lot in front of the school and raced in. He knew where the administration office was located, but not the dean’s office. A student pointed him in the right direction and a moment later Nash found himself standing in front of the dean’s door. He could hear people talking on the other side, but they weren’t clear enough for him to know what they were saying.

Nash tapped on the door lightly and then opened the door. He stepped into the room and said, “Sorry I’m late.” Nash gave his wife a fake smile and then approached the neat, organized desk of the dean. Sticking his hand across the desk he said, “I’m Mike Nash, Rory’s father.”

A serious woman with short salt-and-pepper hair offered Nash her hand and said, “I’m Peggy Barnum Smith, dean of students here at Sidwell. Please have a seat.”

Nash noted that there was no warmth in the woman’s voice. He grabbed a chair that was sitting near a bookcase and set it down next to his wife, who made no attempt to look at him. He glanced over at Todd and Kristy De Graff, whom he barely knew, and noted the tissue in Mrs. De Graff’s hand, as well as her red eyes and nose. “What have I missed?”

Dean Barnum Smith leaned forward and folded her hands, placing them atop her leather desk blotter. She tilted her head toward Nash and in a solemn voice said, “Kristy had just finished explaining to us the extent of Derek’s injuries. Your wife,” the dean said while gesturing to Maggie, “is hoping that we can find a middle ground short of expulsion. She has offered to pull your son off the lacrosse team and thinks that one hundred hours of community service, either here at Sidwell, or an organization of the De Graffs’ choosing would be fair.”

Nash took the anger that he felt toward his wife at that moment and set it aside. He looked back at the dean and said, “That’s not going to happen.”

“You would prefer he be expelled?” The dean asked sincerely.

“No.”

“I’ll be honest,” Barnum Smith said, “my hands are tied. We have a zero tolerance policy against fighting.”

“What is your policy for foul-mouthed kids?”

“Pardon me?” Barnum Smith said, looking very caught off guard.

“Have any of you bothered to ask themselves why a kid like Rory, who has never been in trouble before, would suddenly decide to beat up a classmate?”

“What are you trying to insinuate?” Kristy De Graff asked, obviously offended.

“There are two sides to every story, Kristy. Have you asked your son if he provoked Rory?”

“Provoked!” she said in shock. “My son’s face looks like something out of a horror movie. I can’t believe we are even having this conversation.” She turned to her husband. “I told you we should call the police.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Nash said as he sat back and crossed his legs. “I’m sure the administration here at Sidwell would love the P.R. they would get out of having D.C.’s finest on campus. The police can take statements from each of the boys and any witnesses, and then it will all go away because the D.C. juvenile courts have a hell of a lot more important things to worry about than a couple of wealthy kids getting in a fistfight, because one kid said he wanted to fuck the other kid’s sister.”

The word hit like a mortar shell. Barnum Smith sat back like she’d been slapped in the face, and both De Graffs sat in their chairs slack-jawed, not believing what they had heard. Maggie simply lowered her face into her hands and Nash said, “Yeah, your little angel was telling Rory about all the things he wanted to do to my daughter Shannon… who, by the way, is fourteen. Derek said she was really hot and that he wanted to fuck her.”

An appalled Kristy De Graff said, “My son would never say such a thing.”

“Oh… he did,” Nash said as lightheartedly as he could. “In fact, he said it several times. Rory told him if he said it again he was going to beat him up. Apparently, Derek didn’t take him very seriously, because he thought it would be funny to then insult my wife by telling Rory that Maggie here is a MILF. Which stands for Mom I’d Like to…” Nash didn’t want to push it, so he mouthed the word.

Dean Barnum Smith was seriously offended. She turned to the De Graffs and asked, “Have you talked to Derek about this?”

“I don’t need to talk to my Derek about this,” Kristy said. “He would never talk like that.”

The dean gave her a look that said, Don’t be so sure about it. She pressed the intercom button on her desk and said, “Please send word that I want Derek De Graff and Rory Nash sent to my office.”

As the dean took her finger off the intercom button, Kristy De Graff turned to her husband and said, “I told you we should have brought our attorney with us.”

Nash felt his BlackBerry vibrate. He reached into his suit coat breast pocket and grabbed it. It was an e-mail from Art Harris. Nash opened it and read the small letters: I think I found your guy. Not good. Call me ASAP!

The room suddenly got very hot. Nash pulled at his tie and stood. “I’m very sorry,” he said to the group. “I have to leave.”

Maggie looked up at him and saw what she took to be genuine fear on her husband’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Something at work. I’ll call you the first chance I get.” Nash squeezed her shoulder and left. By the time he hit the front steps of the school, he had Harris on the line. “Art, what’s up?”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end and then, “The D.C. fire department responded to a call last night just before four in the morning. There was a burning car in an abandoned lot. When they got the thing put out, they popped the trunk and found a body. Based on the coroner’s report, everything matched your description except one thing.”

“What’s that?” Nash asked, holding out a sliver of hope.

“He was missing three toes on his right foot. The doc said they looked like they’d been cut off one at a time, and not by a surgeon. He also said it looked like it had been done recently. Probably around the time of murder, but he wouldn’t know until he was finished with the full autopsy.”

“Shit,” Nash said as he lost all hope.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Forget we ever had this conversation.” Nash hung up and looked back at the school and then at his phone. He knew what he had to do and he hoped Rory would understand. Nash jumped in his car and dialed Rapp’s number. After six rings he got his voice mail. Nash hesitated for a second and then decided to call Kennedy’s office. When her assistant answered, he said, “This is Mike Nash. I need you to get Rapp on the phone ASAP. I have an emergency.”