Face of a Killer

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Sydney had worked in the federal building for six months now and never once visited Senator Gnoble’s office when he was here, or one of his other offices, and not in D.C. Of course, he lived in the same town as her mother, and she’d never visited him there, either, but it really had more to do with the fact that he was her mother’s friend, a generational thing. That might be why he appeared genuinely surprised when his secretary showed her in.

“Come in, sit down,” he said, waving her toward one of the thick-cushioned leather chairs. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” She sat in the almost silken leather, a bit beyond the government-issued chairs she was used to in the Bureau offices. Senator Gnoble smiled at her, waiting, and she wondered just what she really expected of him. He’d always told her that no matter where he was, what he was doing, his door was always open to her, because her father would’ve done the same if something had happened to him and he’d had children. When Sydney had graduated high school, her mother had said he’d even offered to pay her way through college, though she hadn’t needed it, because of her scholarship. But sitting here in the senator’s office, it was hard to think of him as her mother’s friend, the man she’d grown up calling Uncle Don. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes.”

“If it’s about that article, Sydney-”

“It’s about McKnight’s suicide.”

His gaze flicked to the open door. He got up, closed it, then came and took the seat opposite her. “How on earth did you hear about that?”

“The background the FBI was doing on him.”

“Of course. I forgot. For the confirmation.”

“He left a note. I want to see what was in it.”

“Sydney-”

“Do you know what it said?”

“I only heard there was a note…” His gaze drifted to the window, and he started turning a ring around and around on his finger. It looked like a class ring of some sort, red stone, antiqued gold, and brought to mind the rings all the men in the photo wore. When he noticed her watching him, he stopped, took a deep breath. “I, uh, think it was something about what was found in his background that would’ve precluded him from being appointed to the position.”

“Was it something to do with my father?”

“Why would it have anything to do with him? McKnight wanted one thing only, to hurt those of us he thought got in his way.”

“One of the agents who spoke to McKnight said he apologized about something he did to my father.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“They were in the army together. You all were. That’s where you met. Isn’t that why you all wore the same rings?”

He looked down at his hand. “Yes. I’d forgotten. But we met in basic training. After that, we all ended up in separate units, and I’m the only one who stayed in the service. But unless you count the time we got caught sneaking into boot camp drunk, there wasn’t a lot that happened between us.”

“What about after, when my father was a civilian employee? Was there something my father did that was wrong? Something McKnight did that he’d apologize for?”

Gnoble took a deep breath. “Your father was a good man, Sydney.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“A stellar military career for the short time that he was in. And then the contract work he did, the photography, the artwork… Had he not retired because of that tragic accident, who knows? Maybe we’d be viewing his work at some gallery.”

“Why would McKnight be apologizing?”

“I have no idea. Your father overextended himself, made a few mistakes when he opened up the pizza parlor. I think McKnight might have lent him money, money that didn’t come from the most reliable source, which is what was-I think that’s what was found in the background check. I don’t have all the details.”

That could possibly explain the note telling McKnight to send the money to her father’s pizza place, but not the reference about why it would be for the boat, Cisco’s Kid. Nor did it explain Scotty’s remark about her father’s manager, McKnight’s wife. “And Becky Lynn’s involvement?”

“Sydney. Don’t ask me about this.”

“I need to know.”

He hesitated, looked away for a moment, before saying, “I think your father and Becky Lynn were having an affair…”

The first thing she thought of was her mother telling her that her father wasn’t a saint. Then she thought about Becky Lynn’s connection to organized crime.

Sydney stood, walked toward the window, then paused at a photo of Gnoble shaking hands with the president. “Did McKnight have something to do with my father’s death?”

Silence reigned. She turned, faced Gnoble, who still sat, giving her a look of sympathy. Finally, he stood. “We know who killed your father. He’s in prison.”

“And he says he didn’t do it.”

“He has the burns on his hands.”

“Which I can’t explain. But he knew things.”

“What things?”

Suddenly she felt foolish for even bringing it up, but she was in it this far, and she wanted answers. She told him. And when she finished, his look once again held nothing but sympathy.

“You’re tearing yourself up for a few little things, coincidences, if that. I saw the evidence, Sydney. I read the investigation. He’s guilty.”

“But what if he isn’t?”

“A twenty under the till? A can under the counter? Even if it was true, there isn’t a court that would reverse it based on that.”

“No, but you could contact the governor and tell him there are doubts that need to be looked into.”

“I’ve publicly come out in support of his death sentence, and now you want me to approach the governor for clemency? Never mind that they’ll rip me apart on every campaign ad between now and the election, the man killed your father.”

“And if he’s guilty, he pays. But what if he isn’t? What if this has something to do with why McKnight killed himself? You might be the one man who can do something about this.”

“All right. I’ll look into it. But I want some sort of promise from you in return.”

She waited.

“You tell no one of this conversation. Not your mother, not your stepfather. No one. If this gets out before I have some proof, my opponents will ream me.”

“Agreed.”

“And I don’t want McKnight’s name brought up publicly. It’s already bad enough that he’s linked to me through the nomination process, then ends up killing himself.”

“I’d like to see this letter for myself-” She stopped when Gnoble’s secretary knocked on the door.

“Sorry to disturb you, but that call you were waiting for came through.”

“Yes. I’ll pick it up.” He turned back to Sydney. “Call me the moment you discover anything that… might help with your case. I’m here for you. You know that.”

“Thank you, Senator,” she said, then walked out the door.

As she left, she heard Gnoble say, “You can put the call through,” and she couldn’t help but wonder if he would really do as he said, look into the matter, or was it just another politician’s promise?