Death of an Intern (39 page)

T
albot was boring in on me. “Wolfe knows more than she's saying.” “Knows more about what?” Frankie spat.
“You and the girls,” I said as calmly as possible.

“Not from me she doesn't,” a frightened Beth said.

Frankie got in my face. “What are you after?”

“I started out with a murder victim and along the way uncovered some sexual misconduct. I don't know if one has anything to do with the other. That's what I'm after. Is there a connection?”

“You're barking up the wrong tree. We feel miserable over what happened to Janet. None of us had anything to do with that,” Frankie Grayson screamed.

“Why did someone in Janet's office, your office, tell her to get rid of the baby?”

“This is getting us no place,” an antsy Talbot said. “We're here because of Beth's van, and Wolfe has butted in. What's it going to be?”

“Hold on,” Frankie said to Talbot. She turned to me. “I'm the one who told Janet to get an abortion. I thought it was best for her and her career. She didn't make enough money to raise a baby as a single mother plus working the hours we work.”

“Well, whoopee-do,” Talbot ridiculed. “It's the public and the media we have to worry about. With Beth's situation resolved, we only have the reporter to worry about. Nobody can tie any of us to the serial kill—” Talbot stopped.

Bingo
, I thought.

“What do you mean the serial killings?” Frankie raged. “Who said anything…?”

“Somebody must have, otherwise…” Talbot's voice dropped.

This was too good to be true. “Nothing since I got here,” I freely offered.

Talbot squeezed my arm hard.

“Ouch. Let go of me, Donna!” I jerked my arm and to my surprise she let go. I shook it off. “Beth, did the FBI say anything to you about the serial killings?”

“No! They mentioned a crime and asked me where I'd been on a few nights.”

“And did you have an alibi?” I asked.

“For a couple.”

“Why would they ask her about the serial killings? Those women were raped and…” Frankie floundered.

I looked at her. “I have it on good authority the police suspect Beth's van was used in a crime. That's why I am here. MPD Forensics has the van.”

I looked at Beth with an expression I hoped conveyed a warning for her not to repeat what we had talked about. Talbot had combined the serial killings and Beth's van together. Maybe the Secret Service had learned something from the FBI. I knew Max hadn't released anything and wouldn't until everything was fully corroborated.

T
he FBI caravan had arrived and the agents had deployed. Their vehicles had been positioned out of sight, but used to block off both ends of the street. Agent Nielssen was with two agents up against the front of Carr's townhouse. Max recognized her from Kat's and Laura's accident.

Davis said. “Max, you and I will join the single agent by the front door.”

Two Arlington PD squad cars pulled up to the intersection nearest them. An FBI agent was coordinating with them. This had all the feelings of a major bust, Max thought.

Max and the FBI still did not know who the unknown person was inside with Carr, Laura, and Grayson. Who had yanked Laura back in? Grayson? Why?

He feared Laura was in big trouble.

“W
hy didn't you say something to me?” Frankie demanded of Talbot. “It was a slip. Seeing Wolfe put serial killer on my mind. The point is what do the cops think? Your prints and Beth's are in the van. If the media gets hold of…with the panic in the city over the three killings, they'll jump on any name that gets revealed.”

Talbot was making sense, so I decided on a
who else could it be
approach.

“According to Beth, she has an alibi when one of the killings took place. Maybe the others as well. Frankie, if asked, I'm certain you can come up with where you were at the time of the abductions. Donna, too, right?”

Neither replied.

Beth broke the silence. “Are we going to eat these heroes or what?”

“What about Wolfe?” Talbot asked Frankie in a low tone.

I didn't like that tone or Talbot's still-unholstered gun. It wasn't a 9mm. Smaller. A pistol. That was curious, but I wasn't going to ask about it.

“What about her?” Beth asked. “There's nothing that's—”

“I think she knows more than she's saying,” Talbot challenged.

“Like what?” Frankie asked.

“She made a lot of insinuations in those articles.”

Beth took the bag from Frankie, put it on the counter, and got two dishes from a cabinet.

“What about that?” Frankie stared threateningly at me. “What were you doing with Kat the night of the accident? Why were you around her at all?”

“I'm a newspaper woman, Frankie. That's what I do. A woman in your employ was brutally killed and her fetus was stolen. We wanted to know about the paternity, see if that would shed light on anything.”

“What about the paternity on the others?” Talbot demanded.

“Mrs. Alvarado? That's a no-brainer. Ms. Williams? It was her husband-to-be. Janet? We don't know.”

“Why,” Talbot asked, “is that so important when she was a victim of the serial killer?”

“It would give closure to the Rausch family. Janet's roommate knew she was pregnant, but Janet hadn't told her who fathered it.”

Talbot shrugged. “Maybe she never told anybody.”

“She was a very private person,” Frankie added.

“Yeah,” Talbot added, “she made a mistake, a pickup. She wanted to keep it a secret for a while.”

“Janet had planned to tell her parents about her pregnancy after she went to the clinic,” I said. “The clinic's director said Janet was putting the baby up for adoption.”

“Adoption?” Frankie's voice rose. “She never said—”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Talbot interrupted, her voice raised.

“You're protecting your brother, aren't you?” I blurted out.

“From bad publicity, yes,” Grayson shrieked, red in the face.

“How about for impregnating Janet?”

“You're crazy.” Frankie was getting scary. “That's what makes you so dangerous. You come up with wild ideas and then try to convince everyone you're right. My brother—”

“He did the same to Sarah McDowell, who is now working for George Manchester in Atlanta. Only, she had an abortion.”

“Where do you get this stuff?” Frankie raged.

“It's not very difficult, Frankie. Any investigator worth their salt can find those things out. And DNA can prove it.”

“Why can't you stay out of our personal affairs? Rick did nothing wrong. What is your agenda, Ms. Wolfe?” Frankie said accusingly.

“What is yours? If you're not involved and nothing is wrong, why are you two here in Beth Carr's house trying to get her to go to a meeting with the Vice President, his attorney, and the man from Atlanta?”

“How do you…we want to help her,” Frankie said exhaustedly. “Her van may have been used in a crime. Maybe, as you say, in the serial killings.”

“I didn't say that!” I firmly corrected Grayson. “I said MPD was examining a van. It is probably one of several vans, or trucks, they are looking at. They have tire tracks. They are searching for clues. They were doing a DMV search when they found Beth's name. They interviewed her because she knew Janet. A coincidence like that could not be ignored, excused as an aberration.”

“I'm taking this food into the living room,” Beth said, walking between us into the living room. “Frankie, grab the drinks.”

I was surprised by Beth's nonchalant attitude. Hopefully, it might break the tension. Frankie followed Beth, forgetting the drinks. Not wanting to be left alone with a gun-toting Talbot, I fell in with Frankie and started out of the kitchen.

I'd gone only a couple of steps, when I felt a searing pain in the back of my head. I saw flashes of light, my knees gave way, and I crumbled to the floor.

Beth was the first to see Laura on the floor. Frankie turned at the sound. Donna Talbot stood back holding her gun. Frankie yelled, “What did you do?”

“Enough talking. We've got a lot to do and not much time to do it.” Beth started toward the fallen Laura.

“Leave her, Beth,” Talbot ordered, waving her gun. “You wanted to eat. Eat.”

“Get out of here, Donna,” Beth snapped. “Put that thing away.” “This thing is what's going to bring sanity to this messy situation,” Donna said.

“What are you talking about?” Frankie asked incredulously. “Rick losing everything he has worked for.”

“O
versight! All four are in the front,” Wallace reported, observing the townhouse's living room through his binoculars from the third-floor window across the street.

“The reporter was just knocked down by visitor, possibly from a blow to her head. She's not moving. Visitor was behind her coming into the living and has her handgun out. Number One is sitting on the sofa. Sparrow is talking animatedly to visitor.”

“Dog, get close to the rear door. We're going in. I'll give a one, two, three. On three make a big noise against the rear door,” Agent Nielssen quietly directed. “When all are in position, we'll go.”

Max Walsh and Reed Davis drew their guns.