Death of an Intern (34 page)

T
he decision of when to bring the media into an investigation, and when not to, was a delicate negotiation. It was the old battle of the people's right to know and the need for the police to operate covertly. As Captain of Homicide, Max faced that dilemma many times.

A hoard of news people camped in front of MPD headquarters on Indiana Avenue was waiting on him for any morsel of evidence that they could report to a nervous and eagerly awaiting public. Rumors of evidence found in Rock Creek Park abounded, mostly unfounded, and MPD's silence only fanned the flames of unrest.

He took calls from the seasoned reporters. He understood their frustration and would like to accommodate them, but not today. He put out a muzzle order to all his detectives and forensics staff. The chief did him one better and muzzled all of MPD.

That would tell the veteran media people something was in the air.

Beth Carr's van was in a private garage near Capitol Hill. It had a missing right side-view mirror. The alley where the garage was located had been cordoned off by uniformed police. Detectives from Homicide had supervised the investigation. People in homes that backed up to the alley were the only spectators to the commotion. They were told by police it was drug-related. Since the media wouldn't be able to get near the activity, they would certainly question residents and bystanders. They would hear it was a drug bust.

Detective Hayes called. They'd found dried blood and some rotting flesh in the van. “Blood samples have been sent to the lab for DNA testing.”

Max asked his detective. “Do you know the types?”

Hayes read off what the forensics people had given him. “It's preliminary.”

Max compared each to the three work-ups in front of him. “Bingo, it's the same combination of types. Not a word of this to anyone. Let the work continue, and then have the van wrapped and brought in. Get one of the flatbed service trucks. Once in the garage, quarantine it.”

“Yes sir. Ah, we found some other stuff, both disgusting and weird.”

“Let's not talk about it on the phone. Get to me when you can.”

Max hung up. This is where he had to tread lightly. Laura would be champing at the bit wanting to be with him, but that was not possible, no matter how much he might want that for her. He hoped Beth Carr would make some phone calls. He punched in Mr. Brown's private number.

“Special Agent Davis.”

“It is the killer's van, Reed. Preliminary blood samples match the victims' types. The lab is working on the blood now. We're finishing up at the site and will move the vehicle to our garage for further diagnosis.”

The FBI special agent had his own information to impart. “There's been one attempt to reach Sparrow, who was unavailable until after lunch.”

“That should be an interesting conversation,” Max said smugly.

He sat back after they signed off, his thoughts on Laura, who for the first time in this investigation was on the outside and wouldn't be let in by the FBI.

Nobody had investigated the Graysons except her. This investigation wouldn't be happening without her. She deserved to be in at the end. She would have more details than anyone else regardless. She deserved better.

When the facts of the Graysons' sexual activities eventually got out, the Vice President of the United States would be on the top of every journalist's list. The talk shows would go ballistic. Hell, they did that on a lot less. Less circumspect reporters would report every name they could find. Then the tabloids and talk shows would pay for their story, and the dirt would pile up.

To Laura, Frankie was the architect of the sexual misconduct. Now somebody inside the Vice President's inner circle could be involved in the killings. Max still had a hard time believing either Grayson twin was involved. That was more George Manchester's arena.

Carr had been mute about the van, except that she had not used it since October. But it was found, where Carr had last seen it, in her garage, and the killer had to have had first-hand knowledge of that location. If Frankie Grayson and Beth Carr were the only two who knew, who did they tell?

Max's mind flashed back to the Bannini accident. Manchester's involvement seemed more and more plausible. Grayson may have told him about the van. Maybe Bannini used the van for the first two killings. That could explain why Alvarado's killing seemed different, sloppier. A different wheelman? A different killer?

How could he keep Laura involved? Then it came to him, a way that would appear fair to all of the media, while giving Laura a huge heads up on the new, but unreleased evidence.

He picked up his phone.

I
directed the cab driver to the rear of police headquarters. Max's call was a bright light in a dull day. I had worked feverishly to assemble my story, as far as I could go, and delivered the draft to Lassiter. It was like an obit without the final details. Nobody else would see what I wrote, and it wasn't on my hard disk for someone to hack into. It was on two separate CDs. One I locked in my file cabinet; the second was in my traveling bag.

I did not tell my boss about the impending meeting at police headquarters, because I didn't know what would come out of it. I may still be on thin ice with her, but after that meeting in her office, I decided I needed to go solo right now.

Delia met me at the rear door of MPD's headquarters and whisked me through security and down a long corridor.

“You're to meet the captain in
The War Room
.”

I looked around. “It's quiet and almost cold down here.”

“Only in the halls. There's a lot of stuff going on behind these closed doors, all having to do with the serial killings.”

I have a great deal of respect for the people in blue. I knew that the majority of their hard work went unnoticed and unappreciated by the media. Many crimes never took place, or were solved, because of these dedicated people. I needed to remember that more often. My mind was racing, and my anxiety grew with each step.

Delia stopped at a door and ushered me in. Max and four others sat at a big conference table with at least a dozen large executive swivel chairs around it.

Max rose to greet me. “Ah, Ms. Wolfe.”

I caught the formality. I only recognized two fellow news people, one TV and the other radio. I didn't know the remaining two men.

“I believe you know Mr. Lance and Mr. McGuire.”

We exchanged greetings.

“I'll introduce my other two guests momentarily. Please have a seat.” He indicated an empty chair to his right, between the two newsmen he'd named.

As I was about to sit, Chief Douglass and a man I did not know entered. Everyone stood. The chief took his seat immediately to Max's left. We all sat. Max introduced me, Lance, and McGuire to the chief, a Mr. Brown with the Justice Department, Assistant Attorney General William Harold, and Under Secretary Warren Freeman with the Office of Homeland Security.

Some real heavyweights, I thought.

“Chief Douglass has asked me to chair. This relates to the serial killings and is for background and discussion only. We are at the cusp of making arrests and asking for indictments. Not unusual in criminal cases. However, we believe this will reach deeply into the offices of the Vice President of the United States.”

The only two people who showed any visible reaction were Lance and McGuire. Everyone else already knew.

“The serial killings investigation began as just that. Janet Rausch was an employee in the Vice President's office and a Jane Doe until
Washington Daily Star
reporter Laura Wolfe, who knew Ms. Rausch from a social function they had both recently attended, ID'd her as ‘Janet who worked for the Vice President.' While those investigating the killings were looking for a serial killer, one amongst us began looking into who had fathered Janet Rausch's baby.”

There was a slight shifting in chairs by the male reporters. I kept my eyes on Max.

“In the process of that search, interviewees displayed strange behavior while stonewalling the interviewer. Ms. Wolfe, you see, had learned some things that none of us in this room knew. She had interviewed Rausch's roommate and learned of a woman who befriended Ms. Rausch in the early days of her pregnancy. The roommate said Ms. Rausch had no known boyfriend. She also said that the woman aiding Ms. Rausch took her to a clinic that subsequently turned out to be the 2nd Street Clinic for Pregnant Women. The same clinic Thalma Williams frequented.

“Ms. Wolfe brought her findings to my attention the afternoon of the same day we had discovered Ms. Rausch's body. We interviewed Ms. Rausch's friend that evening and corroborated the roommate's story. You may remember Ms. Wolfe's article the next day. It included speculations, for which she was roundly criticized, both in the media and by the White House.”

Again more shuffling.

“Without her diligence, stubbornness, and instincts, we most likely would not be sitting here right now.”

It was my turn to shuffle.

“She followed her leads right up to the Vice President and got stonewalled. No one would talk about Rausch or admit knowledge of her pregnancy.”

“May I?” the chief asked.

“Certainly.”

“It helps when you are not locked down by jurisdictions. Ms. Wolfe went to Virginia to interview the roommate. She gave us that information. Her articles interested the FBI in more ways than just the serial killing. They subsequently uncovered information we could not have come up with. Each piece of the puzzle gave us a bigger picture of what we were dealing with. We all began to suspect that there might be something more to the killings than a whacko serial killer, that the killings might be a coverup for one killing.” The chief sat back and nodded to Max.

“And today at 1:10 p.m., that might was upgraded. We have irrefutable evidence of the ownership of the van we believe was used in all three killings. We have two individuals under surveillance. We doubt, though, that either is the actual killer, more a person of interest.”

Max opened a folder on the table and took out a piece of paper.

“When we uncovered the ownership of the van last night, the FBI obtained a court order for a tap on the owner's phone.

“This morning, the FBI and I interviewed the van's owner, who had an ironclad alibi for the third killing and who, we came to believe, had no knowledge of her van being used in the execution of these crimes.”

Fingering the piece of paper he held, Max continued. “This individual's name is on the registration, but the van apparently was paid for by another. For a while, the two friends jointly used the vehicle for camping trips and the like, but that relationship ended last fall, and the registrant hadn't used the van since.”

Max picked up a briefcase from alongside his chair and opened it. As he did this, the chief spoke.

“What you are about to hear cannot be quoted or discussed outside this room. Understood?”

The chief looked squarely at me and the other two reporters. We nodded affirmatively and chorused “yes.”

Max placed a tape recorder on the table. “This conversation took place about an hour and a half ago. After which, I called you three.”

The sly fox
. Max had broadened the media exposure to allow me to gain advance information, which of course couldn't be used until an arrest was made. I had my foundation and he was adding the lumber.

I knew more than Lance or McGuire, and this new information would be instantly useful to me. Max was keeping me in the game. I guessed the Mr. Brown in the room was Max's FBI contact. Something neither Lance nor McGuire knew. Jerry would be impressed.

Only Max would have done this for me.

Max said. “Since potential arrests may be made in Virginia, the FBI has set up a task force that is prepared to move on a moment's notice. MPD will handle anything that takes place in the District. We are working closely with the Attorney General and Homeland Security, since a protectee of the Secret Service may become involved.

“The two women on this tape are Beth Carr, a former employee in the Vice President's office, and Frankie Grayson, twin sister and senior advisor to the Vice President, as well as being his office and campaign manager. Ms. Grayson placed this call in response to an earlier attempt by Ms. Carr to talk with her. Carr and Grayson were former lovers.”

That got a stir from all the men, except the chief and Mr. Brown. That confirmed to me who Brown was. Max depressed the play button.

The line went dead. Max turned off the recorder.

“Frankie Grayson owns the killer's van?” I asked, my voice pitched up. “You're certain?”

“We know,” Max said calmly, “that the van we have is registered to Elizabeth Carr and that it was used in the execution of the murders of Thalma Williams, Janet Rausch, and Julia Alvarado. The right side-view mirror on the van was missing. We have a side-view mirror that was found at the Pierce's Mill site, most likely broken off during the storm. We have matching tire tracks from the Mill with the RFK site, plus dirt and leaves from Rock Creek Park. And we have blood samples that match the three victims.”

“What's next?” Lance asked.

“We wait. We believe others may be involved. We are waiting to see what occurs between the two women you just heard in that conversation,” Chief Douglass said.

“We have a dilemma, which is why you three are here.” He was referring to me, Lance, and McGuire. “Do we protect our information and keep the public in the dark, or come forward with what we know, but scaring off the killer.”

“You are convinced by the material evidence you've collected that you are going in the right direction?” McGuire asked.

“Yes. There's more, too, that will come out later. It fits in neatly and supports why we believe we are on the verge of closing this case.”

“Anything you want to share with us now?” Lance asked.

“No. Because it is secondary to the killings, background that gives us a fuller and more complete picture of what we are dealing with.”

“If you think Ms. Grayson is involved, the next question is why?” Lance asked.

“Exactly what we are struggling with. This phone conversation only says Ms. Grayson and Ms. Carr were co-users of the van, not that they, directly or indirectly, were involved in the killings.”

“And we're here because…?” Lance injected.

“Two reasons. One is that Ms. Wolfe has information on this case no one else in the media has because she investigated a side no one else was interested in. She developed an inside track into the Vice President's office and that has helped us and the FBI to have a better understanding of what's going on over there. We hope, in turn, it will eventually help us answer your why.”

“Meaning there may be a reason why Janet Rausch was killed, other than being a serial victim?” McGuire asked, showing he'd caught on.

“Yes,” the chief said. “But you cannot talk about that. Not even as a remote possibility.”

“So Laura's got it and we don't?” Lance said a bit gruffly.

“Ms. Wolfe,” Max replied, “discovered it before we did and kept it quiet. She has not printed it, except for a minor speculation early on. She withheld her information on her own. She could have gone with this at anytime, up to what she knew before this meeting. She has speculated to me, more than once, that what she had uncovered made her believe someone in the Vice President's office could be involved and that it was something worth looking into.”

This was amazing to me. He was laying this out so carefully to them. He was letting everyone know this was my doing. I sat up a little straighter.

“Ms. Wolfe got Justice interested,” a heretofore-silent Mr. Brown said. “The FBI began its own investigation, exchanging what we learned with Captain Walsh. We've had no direct contact with Ms. Wolfe before this meeting.”