Deadly Sins (39 page)

“Someone leaked the warrant to Newell. They had to have.” He jerked his head toward the drive down the road. A long black luxury sedan was pulling into it. “I’ve been here twenty minutes, and six cars have arrived so far.”

Her stomach plummeting, Jaid stared up at the next house. “Did you recognize any of them?”

“Too far away. I called Hedgelin, and he said there’s nothing to do but go ahead with the process. But damn, I’d like to get hold of whoever leaked the warrant.”

“Given the circumstances, they probably outrank us.” The news was a bit deflating. But after last night, she had hopes of coming away with more than the high-powered rifle they’d seen in Newell’s campaign photo. “Let’s get it over with.”

Jaid was unsurprised when Joseph Bailey answered the door, dressed for the day in a Savile Row suit that rivaled anything she’d seen Adam wear, and Raiker was a known clothes horse. “Mr. Bailey.” She sent him a bright smile. “What a surprise to see you here this morning. We’d like to speak to your grandfather. Is he in?”

“I’m afraid he’s indisposed this morning.” Gone was the affable, candid young man they’d first spoken to at Dennison International. His manner was aloof. Cold.

“We won’t disturb him then.” Jaid took a copy of the warrant from the outside pocket of her briefcase and handed it to him. “We have a warrant to search the premises.”

He did no more than glance at it, which solidified Shepherd’s earlier assumption that Bailey had known it was coming. “This is absurd. Surely you can’t believe a sitting U.S. senator had something to do with those killings in DC.” When none of them said anything, his gaze narrowed. “Is this because of Lambert? Did he tell you something that incriminated my grandfather? Because if he did, he’s lying.”

“Lambert said he was able to access Patterson’s phone number from the business cell you carried with you in the locker room for basketball practice.”

His expression was arrested. “So? What does that have to do with this warrant?”

“Actually, nothing. The warrant has everything to do with this.” She handed him a folded-up copy of the campaign poster from a couple years ago. “Good likeness, by the way. Wouldn’t have figured you for an outdoorsman.”

Bailey looked at it, his expression growing more and more confused. “I’m not. It was just one of those photo-op things.” Another man approached, this one taller. Older. With a bearing meant to cow lowly public servants. Had to be the high-powered attorney.

“Joseph, I’ll take over from here.” He took the warrant and the sheet from Bailey but didn’t look at them right away. “Darren Smythe, of Smythe, Spencer, and Davies. I’ll need to see some identification.”

Jaid didn’t point out that Bailey clearly knew who they were. She’d expected to be put through a song and dance, although in truth she’d thought Newell himself would be calling the shots.

The IDs were presented, and either Smythe was an extraordinarily slow reader or he was trying to put them off. She suspected the latter. Finally, he handed them back and said, “Wait here while I go over the scope of the warrant.”

“You wait here.” The three of them stepped around him and continued into the house. “We’re conducting the search.”

“Now just a minute . . .”

But they’d already moved down the huge hallway, their footsteps sounding abnormally loud against the gleaming marble floors. Jaid sneaked a look up. The hallway was open to the second story, where a double-tiered chandelier was suspended, each crystal shooting prisms of color. She caught a glimpse of a stern-faced older woman watching them from behind a railing upstairs. Newell’s wife. From her demeanor the two appeared perfectly matched.

The first door on the left was a formal living room, with an accent on the formal. Jaid gave an inner shudder just thinking of the damage Royce could do in that room in under ten minutes. There were dark framed pictures of horses along with busts and statuettes, all hanging or sitting in a place that a carelessly thrown ball would find in an instant. There were no guns here. If Jaid didn’t miss her bet, this room was the jurisdiction of the senator’s wife.

Across the hall was a smaller study, and it was filled with the people Shepherd had noted coming this morning. Bailey had retreated there, as had Smythe, who was at a long conference table poring over the warrant with two colleagues. A couple of the men Jaid recognized. They’d also been armed in the campaign photo and captioned. Newell’s sons.

But it was the senator himself who addressed them. “Agents. Mr. Raiker.” His smile was chilly. “Enjoy your last day on the job. I will bury you for this.”

“I’m sure you’re willing to do your part to bring the DC killer to justice, Senator.” It was Adam who spoke. Newell might be the one who wielded the power, but it was Adam who seemed the more formidable. “Since you do run on a law-and-order platform.”

“I have a phone call into the bureau director. This search of yours will be over before it starts.”

“In that case we better get busy.” Jaid withdrew from the room and headed to the next. Shepherd hurried to catch up with her.

“Okay, I don’t think we need to go out of our way to irritate him,” he said in a low voice.

Throwing him an amused glance, she said, “You don’t think the warrant itself accomplished that? We can pretend we’re the lowly servants just following orders from higher up, but we’re the ones who brought the poster to Hedgelin’s notice. I’d like to see the sparks when Newell decides to take on Judge Carter for signing it.”

An elegant dining room with an acre-long table was situated next to the living room. They crossed the hall again and opened the door to the room next to the study, and Jaid’s breath caught. “Bingo.” If the living room was Mrs. Newell’s domain, this room was Newell’s. There was a large leather sectional situated around the requisite big-screen TV. Heads of dead animals stared balefully down at them from their mountings high on the wall. Stuffed birds appeared ready to take flight. But it was the gun cases that drew her eyes.

Although the wall of weapons couldn’t rival Sarah and Walter Vale’s in number, she’d be willing to bet the guns were all top quality. She followed the two men across the room, scanning the cases.

“There’s the Remington 700.”

Jaid stopped beside Adam and looked at the case he was gesturing to. The weapon looked like a match to the one Newell was holding in the campaign picture. The same sort of weapon that ballistics said was used to kill Justice Reinbeck. Shepherd slipped on a pair of plastic gloves, went to open the case. Found it locked.

“Before you take anything out of this house, you’ll be signing a receipt.” Jaid recognized Bailey’s voice behind them.

“Of course.” She gestured toward the case. “Unlock it.”

His mouth tight, he stepped forward with a key. Shepherd moved forward as the door swung open, but the other man was already reaching inside. With one hand gripping the stock and the other the barrel, he handed it to Shepherd, his gaze meeting Jaid’s.

“There’s a soft cover for it that I’ll get for you. My grandfather isn’t going to stand for it being damaged while it’s in the FBI’s possession.”

While he went to some cupboards on the next wall and began to rummage through them, Jaid exchanged a glance with Shepherd. Bailey had gone to great pains to make sure they saw a reason for his prints to be on the gun, which was intriguing. They weren’t yet at the stage where they’d be asking for elimination prints, however. First ballistics would have to determine if this was, indeed, the weapon that had killed the judge.

Bailey came up with the case in question and handed it to Shepherd. “If you’d come with me, Mr. Bailey, we’ll rejoin the others in the library. I’ll write out a receipt for your grandfather,” Jaid said.

Although it was clear from the backward glances he threw over his shoulder that he was reluctant to leave the two men in the room, she walked him out the door and down the hall to the study.

The lawyer saw her first. Rising, he straightened his suit jacket, which was already precisely aligned. “Agent Marlowe. I trust you’ve finished this intrusion now?”

“I just wanted to write out a receipt for the senator,” she responded, neatly sidestepping the question. “And ask if perhaps the senator and his family would like to write a short description explaining the photo campaign in which they were holding the weapons.”

Although she was looking at Newell, it was Smythe who answered. “Absolutely not. No one is putting anything in writing.”

Shrugging, she set her briefcase on the corner of the conference table and opened it to take out a pad of blank receipts. “They certainly aren’t obligated to, of course. I merely suggested it as a courtesy. Things can look differently to those outside the political arena. I thought the senator might like to get his explanation for the poster into the formal report.” She stopped long enough to make out the receipt, before ripping it off the pad and handing it to the attorney.

“Father, that might not be a bad idea.” She made sure she showed no reaction when she heard the low murmur behind her. “It gives us the opportunity to offset any negative spin put on this.”

“Spin.” She turned slightly to see Newell glaring at her venomously. “I’m not afraid of spin. Miss Marlowe should be concerned, though. When I get through with the agency, she’s going to be looking for a job as a parking attendant.”

Her smile was beatific. “It’s Special Agent Marlowe. And some days that would seem like a step up, Senator. If no one is interested in the written explanation, I’ll join the others.”

“Clive’s right.” It was the second Newell son. It was difficult to tell the two of them apart. This one looked older. They both appeared like younger renditions of their father. “Darren, what’s the downside of this?”

Watching the lawyer hem and haw, then consult with his cohorts, Jaid knew the man had no real objection. He was doing what all good attorneys do—offering only what was legally called for.

After some wrangling back and forth, it was finally decided that the four who had posed for the poster, the senator, his two sons, and Bailey, would write a short paragraph about the intent of that particular photo campaign. Jaid agreed to the content of the writing with alacrity. The explanation would serve no purpose to the bureau, a fact she was certain Smythe suspected. But their communication samples could prove of great assistance when they were turned over to Macy Reid.

“What have you done with my assistant, Scott Lambert?” The senator gave his statement to the son who was collecting them, and stared at her.

“He’s being held without bond in federal lockup for conspiracy to commit murder.”

His narrow face didn’t show a flicker of emotion. She was willing to bet he’d known that much already. With his connections it wouldn’t have been difficult to discover.

“You’ve linked him to these DC killings, then? And because of his involvement you’re turning your interest to me because of my animosity toward Reinbeck.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward in the cushy recliner he was seated in. “If there are any links found to my office, they’d all be suspect. For all I know Lambert was operating some of sort of clandestine scheme out of my space.”

Because he’d opened the avenue of questioning, Jaid was more than happy to follow it. “How well did you know him?”

“Not well at all.” He silenced the words that his grandson would have spoken with merely a look. “He was just another employee. I can’t even tell you for sure who hired him. I think he was with me for about three years. I barely spoke to him in all that time. He certainly wasn’t in my inner circle of advisers or assistants.”

Jaid felt a tiny flicker of sympathy for Lambert. The senator would have made a powerful ally, but the man was cutting Lambert loose like he would a tangled fishing line. She was willing to bet, based on what Lambert had said and given the man’s friendship with Bailey, that there was a closer relationship between Newell and LeCroix’s son than the older man was willing to let on. But she wasn’t going to get confirmation of that here.

She put their statements into her briefcase. Locked it. Then looked up at the occupants of the room and said brightly, “Thank you all for your cooperation. We’ll be out of your way shortly.”

“Shortly?” Smythe rose, propping his fists on the table in front of him. “With all due respect, Agent, you’re done here. Joseph said he helped you pack up what you came for. I expect all of you off the premises in minutes.”

“Soon.” She nodded to the warrant unfolded on the table in front of the man. “After we make sure there aren’t any other weapons of that make and model on the property.”

As she walked toward the door, Smythe sputtering behind her, she heard Newell utter a word that his conservative base would surely disapprove of. She figured he was entitled. It had to be frustrating when his power and position didn’t insulate him from little things like the law.