Death of an Intern (35 page)

Max grinned. “Sometimes we can live without the media, and other times, we cannot.”

“And the second reason?” Lance asked unperturbed.

“We are in possession of the killer's vehicle. But ownership does not construe guilt. It could have been borrowed.”

“That's a tough one,” McGuire said.

“I'm for saying nothing,” I chimed in.

“You think Carr may have been set up?” Lance queried. “That may sound conspiratorial, but you've put me in that mood, wanting to withhold relevant but, as you call it, secondary information. What could be so severe that would—Oh, oh man, of course! I think I just answered my own question. It could involve the Vice President.” He looked at me. “That's what you uncovered?”

“Yes, but that still needs to be fully corroborated.”

“You're pregnant, right?” McGuire asked.

“Yes.”

“Didn't chasing down a serial killer who goes after pregnant women give you the shakes?”

“More my husband than me. I may have felt a greater empathy for what was lost.”

“I can imagine,” McGuire said.

“I definitely don't think you should say anything,” I said again. “That telephone tap tells me Grayson is worried and that Carr is innocent. You probably can't tap White House phones.” I looked at Mr. Brown, who didn't flinch. “I'd wait to see who shows up to help out. They don't know what you know. Maybe it's better that way.”

Lance looked at me. “I tend to agree with Laura.”

Max looked around. There were no objections. “Okay. I'm happiest with that arrangement. I want to thank all of you. I know the chief plans to meet with Mr. Freeman and Mr. Harold, so why don't we adjourn.”

We all stood. There was a buzz of little conversations as Max picked up the receiver to the console phone and punched a number.

“Delia, we're through here.”

“Ah, Chief,” William Harold, the assistant attorney general, said holding up his cell phone. “Ms. Grayson called our office a few minutes ago wanting to know why a friend and former employee was being questioned by the FBI. She was told someone would get back to her.”

“Let's talk about that after these folks leave,” the chief of MPD said. “Maybe Mr. Brown could join us.”

“What's next?” Lance asked Max.

“Sounds like the natives are restless, if Grayson's call is any indicator. Make sure we've got your private line or cell, whichever is better.”

Lance and McGuire both pulled out cards and gave them to the Captain of Homicide. Lance had to get back to prepare for his six o'clock news, and McGuire had an appointment on Capitol Hill. They said their goodbyes and left.

I turned to the FBI special agent. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Brown.”

He smiled. “You play the game very well.”

“I play it or find another job.”

The chief, with the two civilian men, moved to the end of the table.

“Looks like you get the final chapter, sir.”

“If we do, we do,” Brown said flatly.

I felt a twinge of frustration. “This is my story; don't I get an invite to the ending as well?”

“In on the capture? No. And that's policy, not personal.”

“I deserve this.” My pulse quickened. “I deserve to be there.”

“I agree, but the Bureau doesn't,” Max said diplomatically.

My intensity was already up. “You wouldn't have investigated the Graysons if I hadn't—”

“There's nothing I can do,” Brown said, in a quiet but firm manner.

“Have you considered twin brother? He has a sick hand in all this too.”

“Hey, that's pretty strong talk,” Brown accused.

“Really? The twins engage in ménage á trois with female employees and then turn to George Manchester to bail them out of their perverted problems.”

Some heads turned at the other end of the table.

“That's speculation.” Brown was trying to cut off the conversation.

“How about future blackmail?”

“Don't get carried away, there's no—”

“Not yet maybe, but it's sure an interesting chip to hold when Mr. Grayson becomes President,” I said sharply.

Max jumped in. “Did you tap Manchester?”

“We did,” the FBI man said, his irritation evident. “I have to meet with the others. You have our task force numbers?”

“I do. Your communications line still up and running?”

“Yes.”

Then Mr. Brown turned to me.

“Ms. Wolfe. Believe me when I say I am sorry you cannot be in on the end. Captain Walsh will be there. Maybe you and he can work something out.”

“I appreciate that.” I extended my hand and he took it. “Let's hope this is the day.” I decided to be polite. He shook my hand and joined the others.

Max smiled at me. “You don't let up, do you?”

I smiled at him. “Beth is a compelling story, don't you think?” I asked.

“You stay put or I'll sic an armed guard on you.”

“You know it's not fair.”

“I'll keep you up-to-date as best I can. Here's one right off the press. Delia gave this to me just a minute ago. Manchester is coming to town, arriving around 5:30 this evening.”

“That seals it. They always turn to him when they're in trouble.”

“C
an you believe that?” Frankie said to Donna Talbot, as the two stood in Grayson's office trying to make sense of what Beth had said.

“They let her go, didn't bring any charges, right?” the agent asked.

“Right. She was home when we talked. They put the fear of something in her.”

“They must be doing a sweep of van owners, that's all.”

“Why would the FBI…Beth mentioned a registration discrepancy. But that would be an MPD thing…don't they maintain DMV records?”

“I'll see what I can find out. What about the van?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie asked tensely.

“Is your name on the registration?”

“No. A couple of years back, when we were still in the Senate, I mentioned to George that Beth and I were looking for something smaller than a camper or RV, a vehicle that could fit in a garage, yet be used for camping, and something I could afford. It turned out that one of his guys worked for a dealer and had a year-old cargo van. George wouldn't take any money. I didn't tell Beth. She thinks I paid for it.”

“Any reason why?” Talbot asked curtly.

Frankie shrugged. “Not really. I guess, well, she thought, you know.”

“Right. So, what now?”

“I need to find out what's going on,” Frankie said eagerly.

“Did they tell her why they were looking for a van?”

“No. She thought it had been used in some sort of crime. They were looking at a lot of them, I guess.”

“Did she give up the location, where it's parked?”

“Yeah.”

“That's too bad. Their only connection to the van is her; she didn't mention you?”

“No. Look, we've got to help her. You know her. There's no way…”

“Absolutely. You sit tight. I'll take care of Beth.”

“I can't sit tight. I have to tell Rick. I don't want him blindsided by a call from Justice. I called the AG. I'm waiting for a call back.”

“That was impetuous,” Talbot said, shaking her head and walking out.

Frankie went immediately to her brother's office. He was surprised because she hadn't been announced by Rochelle.

“What's up?” he asked concerned.

“Sorry for barging in.” She closed the door. “This is serious. Beth called me, all upset after the FBI interviewed her regarding the van she and I used to use.”

“The FBI?”

“I called the Attorney General to—”

“Isn't that overstepping things. I mean, you know Dick well, but…”

“I asked him as a personal favor, nothing from you.”

His concern showed. “Was he receptive?”

“He had no firsthand information, but did know that the FBI was looking for a van that may have been used in a crime. He said he'd have his assistant, Bill Harold, look into it and get back to me.”

“And?”

“Harold said Beth had been called in for questioning because her name had come up in a DMV search being done on vans, trucks, and SUVs. He didn't think she was being singled out. I told him Beth was a former employee and still a friend.”

Rick Grayson shook his head. “Beth involved in a crime? That's impossible.”

“I don't know what's going on. I mean, I guess someone could have used it without our knowing, but who? Where would they have gotten a key?”

“Did Harold say what she was suspected of doing?”

“No. He said if it were determined that the van had been used in a crime, Beth might become a person of interest.”

“Have you talked to Beth?”

“She called. That's how I knew and why I called Dick. I told her to hang loose, I'd see what I could find out. I called George; he's flying in.”

The Vice President became upset. “Do we need…?”

“I've covered it by setting up a fundraising meeting. We'll call tonight a pre-strategy meeting.”

He squirmed in his seat. “You sure we want to get him—”

“I realize, with the Bannini thing and all, but we need his type of experience. Besides, he's dealt with Beth before. She may need legal help.”

“Maybe I should ask Ralph,” he offered.

“I hadn't thought…that might be a good idea; let him deal with Justice.”

He picked up his phone and punched in a number. “Rochelle, would you see if Mr. Morgan is available and ask him to see me.” He hung up. “The FBI didn't tell Beth—” His phone rang and he picked up. “Yes. Fine. Thank you, Rochelle.” He hung up. “Ralph's on his way.”

“It won't look good if she gets arrested. That would come back on you and me, since…that's why I didn't want that reporter Wolfe around. Any little thing…maybe Ralph can help, but we still need George to strategize,” she said emphatically.

He was still unsure. “If they didn't tell Beth she was a suspect, maybe they think she's a material witness. But in what?”

Frankie walked around behind him and began rubbing his shoulders. He took a deep breath. “I don't have the details. I don't have an answer for this one.”

He nodded. “Beth being involved in a crime…that makes no sense.”

T
hanks to Max and his ingenious meeting, I picked up valuable inside information. I was constantly playing the phone conversation between Frankie and Beth over in my head. I felt vindicated on every speculation I had made about the Graysons and their minions. Max saw it and so did the stoic Mr. Brown.

Frankie's vocal tone went from pleasant to tense in a flash when Beth mentioned the van. Beth's tone, on the other hand, was anxious throughout, and yet she had an ironclad alibi for the Alvarado killing. Where was Frankie those three nights?

Beth's involvement was a macabre coincidence. Could Frankie Grayson be capable of such vicious killings? Her brother is her life. Would she do
anything
for him?

Janet's disappearance or being a lone victim would have put too much focus on the Vice President. Some dirt, no matter how carefully guarded, would have come out. Therefore, something ingenious was called for. As much as I disliked what I saw in Frankie Grayson, I found it incomprehensible that she could kill anybody.

Would she hire somebody to do it? I saw that as a strong possibility.

Strong-minded? Truculent? Yes. If she were behind it, where would she find a killer? How would she even know where to find a contract killer? Manchester seemed the most likely choice. He was an influence peddler. He was convenient. He had the means, opportunity, and the resources. Yet did he deal in murder?

For Janet to be the target, though, it meant the killer had to know she would be at the 2nd Street Clinic that Saturday afternoon. No. Janet didn't know where Tishana was taking her. Somebody must have followed her. Tishana? Where was she Saturday night? No. Stop. That was going too far afield.

My mind was pulsating. Thalma was killed before Janet. How cold was that? What if Janet had changed her mind, had an abortion, and agreed to keep the whole thing quiet? There would be no serial killer. Thalma's murder would be forgotten. That hit the pit of my stomach. Ugh.

The killer needed to have followed Janet from her home or put a tracking device on her car. How far would that type of signal reach? That would have meant a stakeout at or nearby Janet's. Maybe someone in the development saw a black van. Max could ask Shansky or Mr. Brown to find out.

Supposedly, Janet drove directly to Tishana's. Marsha said Janet left around three that afternoon. Janet had told Marsha she had a four o'clock appointment and was picking up Tishana at her mom's house. It is doubtful Janet had time for any detours, like going to the office. The clinic's director reported Janet was given a complete physical examination and interview. Marsha said Janet called her around 6:00.

Janet was then abducted, raped, tortured, and killed, her fetus stolen from her eviscerated body. If the first killing was a random selection and Janet was a selected target, meaning she was followed, how ironic that must have been for the killer to be back at the same clinic three days later.

However, if Janet hadn't been the target and was random, then the killer had done as everyone thought and staked out the clinic. Target and random were two valid approaches to why Janet was killed, but that didn't shake my belief that Janet was targeted. She had to be.

Beth and her co-ownership of the van with Frankie said to me that Janet was targeted. Was Beth being set up as the patsy? She owned the van, like Oswald owned the rifle found in the Dallas Book Depository. Beth was scared when talking with Frankie. That made her a compelling figure.

I saved everything on the two CDs, then returned the discs and deleted my Word file that had not been saved to the hard disk. I stowed a water bottle and snacks in my bag and went to Mary.

“What are you up to?” my news assistant asked, barely looking up.

“I'm going to the apartment to rest. We don't know when the next shoe is going to drop.”

“Your pregnancy is the best thing that could have happened to you. It's given you a sense about how to take care of yourself. I take back all the nasty thoughts I had about you.”

I smiled. “You've taught me well. The credit is yours. I'm out of here.”

“I will call only if it is a real emergency.”

As I pulled my company loaner onto westbound Massachusetts Avenue, my cell phone rang. It was Max. “Hi.”

“Bad news,” he said dourly. “I tried one more time with our friends. They said no. Please get with Jerry or somewhere away from the office.”

“I'm on my way to the apartment.”

“Good. Find Jerry. I'll feel better knowing you are pinned down by somebody. I'll stay in touch best I can.” He disconnected.

He just told me something was imminent.

My anxiety flared. Fortunately, I had to stop for a traffic light. I used the time to take three deep breaths that hopefully would bring my anxiety level down to manageable.

I heard horns. The traffic was moving, except for me. I looked in my rearview mirror. The guy behind me didn't seem agitated. Anyway, he was lighting a cigarette. I started up. Maybe the FBI had heard more from Grayson and Carr by now.

At DuPont Circle, I took the outer ring to access Connecticut Avenue and go to the apartment, but suddenly my instincts said no. I didn't turn on Connecticut, but continued a third of the way farther around the circle and took New Hampshire Avenue going southwest.

I wanted to talk with Beth Carr.