Collateral Damage (16 page)

“We really have to stop meeting like this, Ms. Powell.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed, and she offered up a tight little smile. “I just have a few questions for your clients.” Of course, that was a lie, she had a whole list of questions, but seeing Woodley’s condition and Lizzie Fox at the same time, the list immediately dwindled down to just a few.

Excellent hostess that she was, Paula motioned to the sofa and chairs. The three women took their seats, but not before Paula turned her husband’s chair so he could face the trio. She sat back and waited for the agent to begin her questioning, the picture of complete cooperation.

Erin began by placing a small recorder on the coffee table. Lizzie held up her hand, then set a matching recorder next to Powell’s.

“What can either of you tell me about the night the vigilantes invaded your home?” Erin asked, not caring who answered the question.

Paula shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything. I wasn’t here. Actually, I was in the hospital. Your people have all my hospital records, my doctor’s affidavits. I see no reason to make me go through all that again.”

“I understand.” Erin turned and addressed Karl Woodley. “Is there anything you can tell me? I need to know how many women were here that night.”

Woodley stared at her but didn’t move or blink. His gaze immediately went back to the television screen.

“There were six women,” Paula said.

Lizzie chirped up. “That’s hearsay. Mrs. Woodley wasn’t in the room that night. She’s just telling you what someone told her.”

Erin nodded. She went back to Woodley. “Were there any men here? The reports say there were five or six men. Can you verify that?”

Karl Woodley ignored the agent and the question. Erin turned to Paula, but she was looking at Lizzie when she asked, “What did your husband specifically say to you about the home invasion?”

Paula looked at Lizzie, who nodded that she could answer the question.

“Nothing.”

Erin allowed her dismay to show. “How is that possible? When you recovered from your stay in the hospital, and Mr. Woodley came home, you must have discussed what happened.”

Lizzie nodded again to show Paula she could answer the question.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you? It didn’t happen. Believe me, I tried. I think the memory was just too terrible, and he blocked it out. All you have to do is look at him to know how badly it all went that terrible night. I’m really sorry that I can’t be of more help. If you recall, I did try explaining all that to you on the phone this morning. You could have saved yourself a trip out here.”

Erin didn’t think she looked sorry at all, and Lizzie Fox looked almost gleeful. Her stomach muscles bunched themselves in a knot. Her tone was surly, contrary-sounding when she asked, “Can’t he blink, wave his fingers?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Ask him yourself, Agent Powell.”

Erin knew when she was being taken down the garden path. Her shoulders stiffened. No smart-ass lawyer in a Chanel suit was going to get the best of her. She moved then, lightning quick, and asked, “Mr. Woodley, how would you like to come down to headquarters where we can ask you some questions? I can have your doctors standing by. I know you can communicate, we just have to figure out the best way to do it. Just blink if you want to do that.”

Karl Woodley blinked defiantly. Erin turned to the lawyer and Mrs. Woodley. “I’ll get the paperwork in order and have an ambulance to take Mr. Woodley down to headquarters.”

“I don’t think so, Agent Powell. I think we need to do another test before you put my client through any more misery. Paula, dear, I think you should be the one to ask your husband the question. Blinking is a natural occurrence, Agent Powell. We all do it a hundred times a minute or some absurd number like that,” Lizzie said.

A smile on her face, her voice gentle, Paula leaned over and touched her husband’s hand. “Darling, did you understand what Agent Powell just asked you? If you did, and if you want to go to the FBI Building, blink twice.”

Karl Woodley stared at the television screen. Satisfied, Paula took two steps backward, her gaze never leaving her husband’s face.

“Ask him again, Agent Powell,” Lizzie said.

There was a note of desperation in Powell’s tone when she repeated her question. Karl Woodley ignored her, his eyes glued to the television.

“Ask him something else, Agent Powell. I want you to go away from here knowing there is no point in tormenting these fine people.”

Not about to give up, Erin Powell dropped to her knees and with both hands turned Woodley’s face so that he was staring directly into her eyes. “Are you being coerced by these two women, Mr. Woodley?”

Lizzie sucked in her breath, and said, “That will be just about enough of
that,
Agent Powell. You have overstayed your welcome. Do not try to come back here unless I am present. Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to call Director Cummings myself and let him know about this little visit. There is cruel and then there is
cruel.
You just stepped over the line, and I will not tolerate it. Paula, show Agent Powell to the door.”

The moment the door was closed and locked, Paula ran back to the den. She was clearly rattled. “Is it okay? She can’t do that, can she? He can communicate with his fingers and by blinking. You can’t let that happen.”

“Why? All he can say is what happened, and that was a long time ago.”

“No! No! I told him the vigilantes are a few doors down. I told him they were going to come over here to see him. I was…I was…tormenting him the way he used to torment me.”

“Damn!” Lizzie felt a momentary flurry of panic. “I guess that means we have to relocate Mr. Woodley. Not to worry. I can have him out of here within minutes.

“That is,
I hope,
” she muttered under her breath.

Paula ran to the front window. “She’s just sitting out there staring at the house. She thinks we pulled a fast one on her. I saw it in her eyes. Damn, she’s on her cell phone now.” Paula turned around to see Lizzie whispering on her own cell. She strained to hear what Lizzie was saying.

“Like right now, Harry. A medical van. We’ll do our best to walk through the backyards and dump him with the Sisters. I’ll call you back to tell you where to meet us. Call Charles.”

Lizzie turned to Paula. “What are the backyards like?”

“Not good for a wheelchair. The second house up has a tall fence. Why?”

“Powell is going to get a warrant. We have to get him out of here. How much does he weigh?”

“Around a hundred and ten pounds. Why?”

“I know how to do a fireman’s carry. You need to go out there to distract Powell, and I’ll carry him over to 11063. Stay with her until you see me coming out your front door. The house with the fence, how do I get past it?”

“There’s a gate on the side, outside latch. Just open it. The Brants live there. They sit in the living room all day watching television, their kitchen overlooks the back, so I don’t think either one of them will see you. The people next door are at work, the house is empty. Do you need any help?”

Lizzie thought that was funny. She laughed. “No. Go out and keep Agent Powell busy. Get as angry as you want and make it good. Threaten anything you feel like threatening. Throw my name around as much as you want. Hurry, Paula.”

Lizzie sucked in her breath and approached the wheelchair. Before she could change her mind, she swooped down and threw Woodley over her shoulder. Paula was right, he was a featherweight, all bones.

Woodley’s fingers clawed at Lizzie’s neck. “Do that again, and I’ll tell your wife. I don’t think you’ll like that. I’m taking you to the vigilantes, so pay attention, you bastard.”

T
he kitchen door at 11063 burst open with a loud bang, the door hitting the wall with tremendous force. The Sisters came on the run, gaping at what they were seeing. Speechless, they could only stare. They all started to babble at once.

“Where do you want this guy?” Lizzie gasped.

They all continued to talk on top of each other until Annie whistled sharply and was rewarded with instant silence.

Unable to sustain Woodley’s weight on her slim shoulders, Lizzie dropped him onto one of the kitchen chairs. His legs swung crazily for a second, then he slid off to the floor. Lizzie shrugged. Yoko poked at his leg to be sure he was alive.

“Where are your shoes, dear? Your feet are full of mud,” Myra asked inanely.

“Myra, dear heart that you are, I couldn’t carry that piece of scum over here through the soggy ground wearing four-inch heels. Listen, as much as I would like to stay here and chat, I have to get back. Call Harry. I would have called Jack, but he’s due in court. I saw his name on the court schedule yesterday. He knows what to do. You don’t have a lot of time, ladies. I know Powell is sitting out there waiting for one of her guys to show up with a warrant. I’ll send Paula over here as soon as I get back. Look, I really have to go. Call me.”

The kitchen door opened and closed.

Lightning couldn’t have moved faster than the Sisters at that moment. They worked as one, with Nikki and Alexis carrying Woodley to the den, where they tossed him on the couch.

In the blink of an eye, Nikki and Alexis changed into their airline outfits. Their cosmetic transformation took all of eight minutes once they were dressed.

Five cell phones started to ring at the same time, but nothing deterred the women. If anything, they worked faster to hasten their departure.

“Wrap the guy in a blanket and dump him in the airline van,” Nikki shouted as she ran to the window in time to see Lizzie’s Porsche racing down the street. It was obvious she wasn’t obeying the posted twenty-five miles per hour speed limit. “Paula should be here in a minute. Someone call Charles so he can tell us where to take the two of them.”

“Pack up all the files, load them in the van,” Yoko screeched, as she tossed papers and files any which way into the cardboard boxes.

Karl Woodley’s eyes followed the scurrying women. His breathing was labored, but no one paid any attention. His eyes rolled back in his head when he saw his wife entering the room. He tried to bury himself into the thickness of the sofa, but Paula jerked him into a sitting position. “This is all your fault, Mr. Woodley. But don’t you worry, I have some wonderful plans for you. Right now I have other things to do, but I will get back to you, and that’s a promise.”

Paula dropped to her haunches to help the women pack up the boxes, which she then helped carry out to the van.

“Ten minutes and counting,” Nikki shrilled. “Who has a permanent Magic Marker?” Three different-colored markers sailed through the air and she caught them deftly. She raced to the garage and made the 6 on the license plates into an 8. The 9 became another 8.

Myra and Annie were working feverishly with Clorox Wipes, trying to wipe down everything any of them might have touched since their arrival.

“Two minutes!” Yoko called out.

“Done!” Myra and Annie shouted breathlessly.

“Then let’s do it!” someone shouted.

“We’ll take him, Paula,” Nikki said, as she grabbed Woodley’s feet and Alexis held him under his arms. Paula held open the door leading into the garage, and they barreled through. Woodley’s arms flapped every which way.

“Go! Go!” Yoko shouted. A minute later she shouted again. “We’re clear and locked and loaded. Did I say that right, Annie?” she asked fretfully.

“Not exactly, but we get the message that it’s time to hustle our asses, dear. Does anyone know where we’re going?” she asked as she clambered into the van with the darkly tinted windows. “We should have just taken out Ms. Powell. It would have been so much easier,” she grumbled.

“She’s a federal agent,” Alexis said.

“And Mitchell Riley wasn’t the acting director of the FBI when we took him on? We didn’t worry about it back then. Powell is just a lowly agent. We should have just taken her out and worried about it later. Now she’s going to cause us trouble. I rest my case,” Annie snorted.

“She has a point,” Yoko said. “We still have time. I can render Ms. Powell unconscious in a matter of seconds.”

The momentary silence was palpable, then everyone was talking at once. Where to stash her car? What to do with her? Agents will be crawling all over the neighborhood asking questions.

“No, we made the right decision. The minute we start to second-guess ourselves is when we’ll run into trouble,” Nikki said. The others agreed. The remainder of the trip to Tysons Corner was made in silence.

Nikki spotted the ambulance at the far end of the mall lot. It was still early enough in the day that for the most part the lot held only workers’ cars. Even the hardiest of shoppers didn’t venture forth until late morning or early afternoon. She thought she’d read that somewhere once.

Nikki pulled the airline van alongside the ambulance and waited for Harry and two of his people to get out and walk over to where she was waiting.

The transfer was slick, fast, and efficient. As far as Nikki could tell, no one was paying the least bit of attention to any of them.

Paula Woodley was wringing her hands. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Nikki. Sometimes I just get so bitter and look at all the empty years to come staring at me, and I just lose it. If there’s anything I can do, just call me.”

Nikki patted her hand, remembering what the woman had been through at her sick husband’s hands. “We didn’t get caught, so that’s a plus. I’ll call you. Be careful, Paula.”

The women waited until the ambulance was out of sight before they all relaxed.

“Now what?” the ever-impatient Annie asked.

“We sit here and wait for further instructions,” Nikki said.

Maggie Spritzer looked at the gaggle of people who made the
Post
run effectively as they waited for her to say something. Once she had been one of them. Now, in her new glorified position, she could see the envy and the animosity in some of their faces. She risked a glance at Ted, who was in the second row, towering over everyone else even though he was sitting down.

Maggie read off the notes in her hand. She’d worked all night on this little speech. Finally, she decided the hell with it, and said whatever popped into her head, which was pretty much,
“Do your job and you won’t have time to resent me. If you don’t like your assignments, tell someone who cares. That means do not come whining to me, or you’ll be outside this building so fast your head will spin off your shoulders.”

“This is your ninety-day trial period. My own as well. I was told by the powers that be that if we don’t cut it, we’re all out. I urge each of you to think about your family, your 401k, your health insurance, and your expense account if you have one. If we all work together, we can make this paper stand out like a beacon. To that end, I want all of you to get me whatever you can on Martine Connor. I want mentions every day in this paper. I want op-ed pieces that show her in a good light. The new owners of this paper are behind her one hundred percent. That’s it for now. Go on, get out of here and get to work. Ted, I need to talk to you.”

Ted Robinson remained seated, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to find something witty or even charming to say, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He waited.

Maggie sensed her ex-lover’s discomfort and reveled in it. Not that she was exactly a woman scorned, but she was damn close to it. She felt nervous standing in front of him, knowing she had the power to fire him if she wanted to. Not that she would ever be that unprofessional. She corrected the thought. Maybe she would be that unprofessional under the right circumstances.

“Ted, did you just hear what I said about Martine Connor and the new owners of this paper?”

Ted nodded. His tongue was still glued to the roof of his mouth. He tried to bring up some spit from under his tongue, but it wasn’t working.

“Okay, because I believe you are the best reporter in the business, I am turning Connor over to you. I want you to be on her 24/7. You will be the go-to guy if any of your colleagues come up with something. I want every word to be glowing. I want to see Connor in the White House, and so do the new owners. The first time you step off the track and start that vigilante crap, your ass is out of here. As far as you’re concerned, those women no longer exist. Are you still with me?”

Ted nodded again.

“I want you to pick Pam Lock’s brain. Then I want you to play her off against the GOP’s guy, what’s his name? Yeah, yeah, Baron Russell, that’s it. I think there’s something funny going on where those two are concerned. Call it my gut instinct or a woman’s intuition, whatever feels right to you. Figure it out for me, Teddy.”

Teddy?
The only time Maggie had ever called him Teddy was in the throes of passion. He blinked. He nodded again.

“One more thing,
Teddy.
The first time I call you on your cell for whatever reason, and you don’t answer, will be the last time I call you. I know how slick you are, so don’t say you weren’t forewarned.”

He got it then. Maggie was being sarcastic. He thought about the lyrics to that old song they both liked so much. Maggie was definitely back in town. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, either to tell her to go to hell or to make some smart-ass remark or maybe even say something endearing. He finally got his tongue unstuck enough to say, “Okay, boss.” He thought she looked upset that he wasn’t going to give her a fight. He untangled his long legs and stood up. As he walked out of the conference room, he turned, and said, “Mickey and Minnie miss you. They sleep on an old shirt you left in the hamper.”

Maggie stared at Ted’s retreating back. Whatever she thought he was going to say, that definitely wasn’t it. A lump the size of a golf ball formed in her throat. She sat for a long time, thinking about the way it had been when she and Ted were together. They were some of the happiest times of her life. But he’d gone and ruined it. She wanted to cry so bad she had to bite down on her lower lip.

Maggie knew she had to snap out of her mood, or she’d start wailing like a banshee. It was almost time to leave to meet Jack Emery for lunch. He’d specifically asked her to get to the restaurant early if she could because he had only ninety minutes for lunch and had to be back in court in plenty of time.

Liam Sullivan, her old boss, never left the building for lunch. Well, she wasn’t Liam Sullivan, and she was going to go out to lunch every single day, even if it was just to walk around the block or grab a hot dog from a street vendor.

Maggie shuffled off to her private bathroom to repair her makeup and comb her hair. When she exited the room, she called ahead for the car service made available to the new EIC. She liked the perk. She liked everything about her new job. Well, almost everything. She sighed as she walked to the elevator. As she was riding down, she wondered what she should order for lunch. Should she go heavy and not have to worry about a good dinner and just have a sandwich later in the evening? Eating on the paper’s expense account would save a lot of money on her food bill, since she loved to eat. Or should she go light so she wasn’t sluggish all afternoon? She finally decided she’d make up her mind when she opened the menu. Doggy bags were good.

Just as Maggie was stepping into the town car waiting for her at the curb, across town Jack Emery was opening the door for Judge Cornelia Easter, who had reached it seconds before he did. They entered together and sat down together, even though that wasn’t the plan.
Screw the plan,
Jack thought. At the moment his thoughts were on Nikki sitting in a van at Tysons Corner.

Gabe’s Café wasn’t exactly a café. At one time it had been a diner. Then it was turned into a café and later a family bistro if there was such a thing. To Jack it would always be Gabe’s Café even though it was currently called Gabriel’s. The food was good and plentiful, with always enough left over to fill a good-size doggy bag. Nikki had always called Gabe’s fare stick-to-your-ribs food, but she loved it. He knew what was on the menu the moment he opened the door. Gabe’s specialty; bratwurst, sauerkraut, and some kind of dumplings. Homemade black bread with fresh-churned butter and a side order of mashed potatoes for anyone who didn’t want the dumplings. Most people took both, including him. No one was ever able to eat a whole slice of Chocolate Thunder Cake, which Gabe made himself. It always went into the doggy bag in a separate container for late-night sugar treats.

The judge sat down first and looked at Jack. “Is this wise, meeting like this and eating together?” She looked up at the waiter, and said, “I’ll have a double bourbon on the rocks.”

Jack ordered a mineral water. “I’m not even sure why we’re meeting. I think Maggie has something for us, or else she wants us to do something for her. Lean in closer, Your Honor, so I can tell you what just happened.” Nellie leaned closer to the table, and he filled her in. He finished up by saying, “The girls are sitting in the parking lot at Tysons Corner waiting for orders. This is not going according to plan, or at least what I was told was the plan.”

“It never does,” Nellie said as she tossed down her bourbon.

Back on Benton Street in Kalorama, Erin Powell watched the Woodley house. She was mad enough to chew nails and spit rust. She should have hauled Lizzie Fox’s ass down to the Hoover Building just for the fun of it. God, how she hated that woman, with her smirking, know-it-all attitude. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Fox would call the director, and she’d probably be out on the curb on her rear end by the end of the day. Maybe.

Where the hell were the guys with the warrants and the subpoenas? How long did it take a judge to sign off on one or the other? There was probable cause. What the hell more would he need?