Deadly Sins (21 page)

“I was wondering about that, too.” Although Hedgelin skewered her with a glare intended to intimidate, Jaid didn’t back down. “Why is it missing from our report? Because I found a single mention of him on one of the pages buried in the DCPD report we received. But when I contacted Lieutenant Griega about it last night, he wouldn’t say a word about Harandi.”

“Perhaps because the lieutenant is better at taking orders than one of my own agents.”

“I still believe . . .”

“Agent Marlowe.” Hedgelin clasped his hands on his desk, his tone sharp. “The handling of Harandi is sensitive to our country’s security and way above your pay grade. I’m satisfied he has nothing more to share on this matter.”

Shepherd was looking from one to the other, obviously lost. “Okay, someone catch me up here. I have no idea who this guy is.”

“He’s an Iranian diplomat,” Adam answered. Irritation flared, because, wherever the information about Harandi had been buried in the DCPD report, he’d missed it. The realization rankled. “Been in our country for about a year, I believe.”

Shepherd laughed, but no one else joined in. “You’re kidding. We haven’t had diplomatic relations with Iran for what, nearly thirty years?”

“Before he came here he was the lead economist for President Rashid Akberi, making him the highest-ranking member of Tehran’s political elite to relocate here in recent history.” He stopped then as Harandi’s name sparked another chord of memory, and this time Adam’s irritation transferred to Hedgelin. Putting politics before an investigation was always a morass. “Who conducted the interview, Homeland Security? Do you think they can really set aside their agenda—pumping him for insights on Tehran’s decision making—to focus on finding information for a murder investigation?”

Hedgelin’s glare was furious. “The matter is off-limits. The man was one appointment in a day full of them, and DHS is satisfied with the answers he gave. So am I.”

“Would you be as satisfied if you knew that his name was on the guest list to Reinbeck’s party the night the justice was killed?”

Adam’s question seemed to stop Hedgelin short. He gave a slow nod. “I thought not. You charged this team with following up on the intersections in this case and then made damn sure we wouldn’t see an intersection, at least when it came to Harandi. That’s not playing political ball, Cleve, it’s effectively hamstringing your task force.”

The assistant director leaned back in his chair, his expression impassive. But that telltale tick was jumping near his eye. After a long moment he said, “You can probably get some information regarding his invite from Reinbeck’s widow.”

“And perhaps even more from Harandi himself.”

A single slant of watery light arrowed through the shade and dissected Hedgelin’s desktop. It wavered there like a fretful butterfly before fading in the next moment. “I have nearly three hundred agents assigned to these murders.” Hedgelin’s voice sounded tired. “That’s not counting the raft of DCPD, DHS, and USMS personnel involved in some capacity. The amount of intelligence coming in daily is staggering.”

Adam nodded. He could sympathize with the sheer enormity of the task. But his empathy stopped when it came to being shut out of a vital part of the investigation they’d been charged with.

“Harandi is attached to the Mortara Center for International Studies at Georgetown University as a visiting scholar. Of course, our country is interested in cooperating with him to expand our understanding of President Akberi’s administration. This is going to require a certain amount of finesse. If you’ve been following such things in the news, there’s been a series of Iranian elites seeking asylum in foreign countries in protest of their government’s regime.” Hedgelin’s smile looked forced. “Harandi is the highest ranking individual showing an interest in relocating to our country. But I’ll arrange an appointment for you with him. I have no idea of his schedule, so you’re going to have to head over to the university and wait for my call.”

Chairs scraped as everyone got up in unison. Before he walked through the door, Adam threw a last look over his shoulder and saw Hedgelin rubbing his head as if in pain. Adam slipped into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him. If Jaid was correct, the man had his eye on the top bureau job in the future.

If that was the case, he’d better get used to headaches.

The Mortara Center was located close to the Georgetown campus, a two-story cream-colored brick structure with dark green trim. Although there was nothing remarkable about its exterior, the inside was impressive indeed. The huge reception area was wood, gleaming acres of it as floors, paneling, and columns. A graceful matching stairway wound up to the second floor. It didn’t much resemble the dusty buildings Jaid remembered attending classes in. But she hadn’t spent her university years in such hallowed halls, either.

On the ride over Adam had tried to reach Mrs. Reinbeck, but in the end had to leave a message. Jaid would have preferred to have been armed with more information about the man they were about to meet, but Hedgelin had shown more cooperation than she’d expected in just arranging for them to speak with the professor.

The woman who met them just inside the hushed space was trim and blond, in her midtwenties, with a brisk friendly manner. She reminded Jaid of Kristin Temple a bit in manner, if not in looks. “I’m Carly French, assistant director of the center.” She’d obviously been watching for them. Shepherd’s and Jaid’s shields were scrutinized carefully before French turned her attention to Adam’s temporary ID.

Handing them back, the woman said, “Dr. Harandi’s class just finished. If we hurry, he can fit you in between his adviser/advisee appointments, but his schedule is quite full.” She turned, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way swiftly across the polished expanse.

They followed her up the open stairway, down another hallway only slightly less lavish than the one downstairs, and around a corner. The door she stopped in front of was standing half-open. French knocked anyway.

“The visitors you’ve been expecting, Dr. Harandi.” Her circumspection was no doubt for the benefit of the students moving through the halls.

“Please come in.” The man seated inside the office rose and came out around the desk he was seated behind. While introductions were made and they were getting settled, Jaid measured the man silently. Saeed Harandi was swarthy faced with a stocky build, not much taller than she was. Although his thick mustache was flecked with gray, his hair was still dark. And his expression when he regarded them was pleasantly quizzical.

“I am happy to be of help to you if I can. But if this is about Mr. Patterson’s unfortunate death, you should know that I spoke to agents from your Homeland Security once already.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that.” Although, Jaid thought darkly, they’d yet to see a copy of that report. She wondered if they would. “I hope you don’t mind the recap. We just have a few follow-up questions.” And she hoped she was able to step carefully around the minefield of off-limit topics the assistant director had imparted when he’d called.

“But of course.”

She flipped open a folder from the case file, pretended to consult some notes she didn’t have. “I understand you were among the last to see Mr. Patterson alive.”

“So I am told. But as I said in my earlier interview, our relationship was one of business. He didn’t mention to me anything about when he was leaving or who he might be meeting.”

“How long had you been in business with Patterson Capital?”

“Since before I came to this country. Two or three years.” He smiled a little. “They do business in most of the countries of the world. I found Oliver to be extremely knowledgeable, brilliant with finances. I was happy to meet him in person once I came to this country.”

“There are some who blamed him, and companies like his, when the financial crash happened a couple years ago,” Jaid observed. “Were you one of the lucky ones who rode it out?”

His slight grimace was her answer. “Luck is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? I prefer to consider myself a survivor. With Oliver’s help I hoped that my portfolio would fully recover quite soon. He built a solid company. I will be staying with the business, working with one of his associates, no doubt.”

“We understand that you also knew Justice Byron Reinbeck,” Shepherd put in. He sent the man a guileless smile. “His death occurred the week after Patterson’s.”

Harandi’s expression grew somber. “I did not know him well, of course, but we had met several times, yes. I was to be a guest in his home the evening of his murder.”

“Where had the two of you met?” Jaid sent a sidelong glance at Adam, who had been silent for the conversation. His attention on the man was intense. And from Harandi’s occasional glances Adam’s way, the Iranian was finding the scrutiny unnerving.

“I don’t recall the first time our paths crossed.” He gave a gesture with one well-manicured hand. “Perhaps at one of my lectures. I am a frequent guest speaker for many organizations. At any rate, we did meet on several occasions. I enjoyed speaking with him. He was a brilliant man. Your country will be the poorer without his wisdom and insight.”

“Do you remember the last time you spoke to him?”

He leaned forward, flipped through the calendar on his desk. “Ah. That would have been nearly three weeks ago. We talked briefly at a function we both attended at the Kennedy Center.”

“Did the two of you ever discuss Patterson Capital?”

The other man lifted a shoulder. “I do not think so. Our conversations tended more to international relations and the worldwide economy. Mr. Reinbeck was extremely well-read. It was always a pleasure to argue a viewpoint with him.”

“Can you tell us where you were Monday evening around six o’clock?”

His eyes widened slightly. He’d recognize the reason behind the question. No doubt DHS had used more finesse. If they’d leveled the question at all.

“Yes, I was home, readying for the dinner party at the Reinbecks’. I was nearly about to walk out the door, in fact, when I saw the horrible news on the television.”

“That must have been a terrible shock for you. Can anyone verify your whereabouts?”

“Does someone need to?” Harandi smoothed his mustache. “I do not spend time thinking of how to commit horrible crimes. But if I did, I can assure you I would plan not to be alone when the act occurred.”

After several more minutes of questioning, Jaid rose. Disappointment filtered through her, but she quashed it brutally. There was little more to discover here, especially given the firm parameters Hedgelin had dictated regarding the interview. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Harandi. I hope it will be all right for us to check back if we have more questions?”

“But of course.” He rose and saw them to the door. “You can reach me here weekdays.” His smile was brief. “Some evenings as well when I have a night class or a lecture, such as the one scheduled for this evening.”

They walked silently back toward the stairway, stepping aside for the occasional small group of students. “He had a relationship with both victims.” Shepherd spoke first, but not before flashing a second look at a leggy coed giving him the eye. “But nothing popped in there for me. Killing Patterson after taking a financial bath . . . maybe.” They headed down the steps. “But what possible motivation would he have for killing the justice? From all accounts they were friendly. I don’t see him appearing on the Reinbeck guest list otherwise.”

“Hard to say at this point. But, yeah, it didn’t yield anything new.” What it had elicited, Jaid thought, was only more loose threads that didn’t link to anything else in particular. “I feel better for having talked to him myself, though.” They were heading down the wide, ornate downstairs hallway again. Behind a plate glass door she saw the young woman who had shown them upstairs. Carly French.

She swerved in that direction, not waiting to see if the two men would follow. Pushing open the door, she gave the young woman a friendly smile. “Dr. Harandi said I could get a copy of his schedule in here.”

“Yes, of course.” The blonde turned to her computer and typed rapidly. A moment later, the printer in the corner of the room began to whir. She retrieved the printout and then brought it back to Jaid.

“He mentioned that he has night classes some evenings. That must get to be a long day. For the professors and the students.”

“Usually, if the professors are teaching more than one night class a week, they won’t have as many day classes, and they can adjust their hours here accordingly. But I think . . .” The girl slipped a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned over to look at the sheet she’d just handed Jaid. “Yes, he only has one this semester. It meets once a week on Tuesdays. But he also gives lectures occasionally that are open to the public. He has one tonight at seven.”

Jaid held up the sheet. “Thanks for this,” she said, and rejoined the two men at the front door.