Hell's Corner (12 page)

“Well, I guess that’s all the explanation I need,” said Annabelle. She turned and walked out.

Reuben glanced at his old friend. “She didn’t deserve that, Oliver. None of us do.”

“This is just the way it has to be. I’m sorry, Reuben.”

“Fine. I’ll be sure and come to your funeral.”

Reuben also left. Caleb started to follow behind, paused and looked back at Oliver. “This is the only time I’ve been relieved that Milton isn’t alive. To hear this.”

Harry Finn said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Then he followed Caleb out.

Now only Alex was left except for Chapman.

Stone gazed at the Secret Service agent. “Do you want to tell me I’m wrong too?”

“No. I figure you know what you’re doing, even if I don’t particularly like it. But there’s a problem with your bomb plant scenario.”

“How do you know what our theory is?” asked Stone. “I didn’t think you were involved in the investigation.” “Technically, I’m not. But you still hear things.”

“So what’s wrong with our theory?” Chapman asked.

“The Secret Service canine unit did a sweep of the park earlier.”

“When exactly?” asked Stone sharply.

“I’m not sure of the precise time. But you probably noticed a canine unit at the north end of the park?”

“We did, on the video,” said Stone.

“They don’t bring the dogs out for their health.”

“Would they typically cover the entire park?” asked Stone.

“Yes. With a dog it doesn’t take that long.”

“So the dog would have detected a bomb?” said Chapman.

“That’s sort of the point,” answered Alex.

“Well, it’s also sort of the point that a bloody bomb did go off in the park,” she shot back.

“I’m just telling you what I know. I guess I’ll be going now.”

“Alex, this is not how I wanted things to go down,” said Stone.

“Yeah, but they did, didn’t they? I hope you make it, Oliver, I really do.”

A moment later he was gone. A few seconds later they heard his car start.

“Nice group of mates you have. Seems like they really care about you.”

“And I care about them.”

“Who are they really?”

“Not important.”

“Who was this Milton bloke the little fellow mentioned?”

“A friend.”

“But he’s dead. How? Accident?”

“No, large-caliber rifle round.”

Chapman was about to say something when Stone’s cell phone buzzed. It was FBI agent Gross. Stone listened and then clicked off.

“The woman from the park last night has turned up.”

“You mean they caught her?” asked Chapman.

“No, she walked into the FBI all on her own.”

CHAPTER 20

^“
I
’M
M
ARISA
F
RIEDMAN
,” the woman said as Stone and Chapman took seats opposite her and Tom Gross in an interior office at the FBI’s Washington Field Office, which all agents referred to as the WFO. Stone took a few moments to study her. In good light and with only a few feet separating them he decided she was closer to thirty than forty. She was Chapman’s height or a bit taller, with blonde hair that curled around her neck. It was not her natural color, Stone could tell. Her eyes were blue and striking, her face interesting with elegant bone structure, the chin sharply angled and the two sides of her jaw forming perfect bookends for the expressive mouth. Her clothes were clearly expensive but she wore them in a casual manner; minimal jewelry and makeup completed the attractive package.

Gross added, “Ms. Friedman voluntarily came in when she learned we were looking for anyone who was in the park last night.”

Friedman shook her head and looked troubled. “I have to tell you I was shocked at what happened. I’d just gotten to H Street when the gunfire started. And then the explosion.” She shivered uncontrollably.

“How did you find out the FBI was looking for you?” Stone asked.

“A friend of mine saw an item on the news and phoned me.”

Stone looked at Gross, who said, “In situations like this we call in the media and ask for their assistance in getting the word out. Usually very effective.”

“Well, it certainly was in my case,” said Friedman.

“In any event you probably would’ve assumed the police would want to talk to you,” said Stone.

“I guess so, yes, although I don’t have any experience in things like this. My home was broken into years ago, that’s really the only contact I’ve ever had with the police.”

“Can you tell us what you saw?” asked Gross.

“Smoke and people running and screaming.” She looked at Stone and her voice shook. “I’ve never been that frightened in my life.”

“But before all that you were sitting on one of the benches in the park?” said Stone.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Little late at night for that, wasn’t it?” asked Stone.

“My office is located in the line of town houses on the west side of the park.”

“Jackson Place?” said Stone.

“Yes. Most of the offices there are linked to the White House, but I was able to snare one of them for my business through more luck than skill. I was working late. Left the office. The night was so nice I sat down and might’ve even dozed off. I don’t usually do that, but I did last night. It was a long day and I was tired. And I know the park is about the best-protected space in the city, so I felt very safe.” She gave a hollow laugh. “That turned out to be quite ironic. It really was bad timing all around,” she added with another little shiver. “Nice relaxing time in the park that turned into a war zone. For a minute there I thought I’d stumbled onto a movie set.”

“Only the bullets and bomb were real,” said Stone.

“Yes.”

“What
is
your business?” asked Gross.

She flashed a smile. “In this town, that close to the White House you’re one of the two Ls.”

“Lawyer or lobbyist,” answered Stone.

“You win the prize.” She crossed her legs and flicked at the hem of her skirt, revealing briefly a glimpse of her pale bare thighs. From the efficient way she did it, Stone deduced this was a tactic of hers during a meeting, at least a meeting with men. He glanced at Gross and saw that it had gotten his attention too. When he looked at Chapman she was just finishing rolling her eyes at this same act.

Mars, Venus,
thought Stone.

“So which are you?” he asked Friedman. “Lawyer or lobbyist?”

“Both, actually.”

Gross cleared his throat. “And who do you lobby on behalf of?”

Her gaze shifted to the FBI agent. “Lobbyists are the most regulated beasts on earth, so my client list is a matter of public record. But it has no relevance to last night. If I hadn’t decided to sit on the bench instead of going right home I wouldn’t even be here.”

“We still need to check,” said Gross.

“Check away. It’s all part of the public record. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about them, the usual businesses, trade associations. I have some foreign clients, but their businesses are mainstream.”

“Who were you calling last night?” asked Stone.

She seemed surprised by the question.

“I was in the park last night,” he explained. “And the park is also under video surveillance 24/7. You were seen on the phone.”

“Wow, Big Brother is alive and well,” she said casually, but her long forehead bunched into neat rows of skin. “Can I ask why it’s relevant who I was talking to?”

Gross said, “We can easily enough get that information. But you can save us time by cooperating. However, if you don’t…”

She looked at him with a weary expression. “I know, I know, then you think I’m up to no good. Look, it was just a friend.”

Gross poised his pen over his notepad. “Your friend’s name?”

“Do you really have to check that out? I mean, it seems silly. It was just a friend.”

Gross said, “Ms. Friedman, a bomb exploded across from the White House. No detail is too small in an investigation like this. And the question is not
silly.
Now, your friend’s name and the subject of your conversation?”

“It’s just a man that I know.”

“Name?” Gross said again, this time with a harder edge to his voice. This obviously would be the last time the FBI agent would ask politely.

She sat forward and her voice dropped. “Look, this friend I was talking to is married.”

“Okay,” said Stone.

“And so?” prompted Chapman with a malicious look.

“And not to me, obviously. And maybe we’re more than just friends.”

She did the leg cross, skirt flick again, but this time her hands jerked and she didn’t seem nearly as confident.

Stone saw Chapman shoot the woman a contemptuous look at this bungled ploy to distract. Even Gross didn’t drop his gaze to her legs this time.

Gross said, “We’re not really concerned with your, um, friend’s marital issues.”

Friedman sat back, relieved. “Okay, thank you.”

“But I still need his name and what you were talking to him about.”

She sighed resignedly. “Fine. Willis Kraft. He lives in Potomac. We were just talking about… personal stuff.”

“And his wife doesn’t understand him?” said Chapman, still gazing at the woman in disgust.

Friedman’s gaze hardened and she and Chapman did a brief staredown that the Brit ended up winning.

“I didn’t voluntarily come down here to be judged on my personal choices,” Friedman said to Gross as she broke off looking at Chapman.

“And that’s not what we’re concerned about,” said Gross quickly.

“So does it all have to come out?”

“As I said, your friend’s marital issues don’t concern us and we can be very discreet. Give me his contact information and we’ll take it from there,” said Gross.

She did so, and then Stone said, “The guy in the jogger’s suit in the park?”

“Yes, I saw him,” she replied. “What about him?”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really.” She wrinkled her nose. “He was so overweight I remember thinking he was the last person you’d expect to see in workout clothes.”

“Did you see the man in the suit with the briefcase?” asked
Stone. “He was over near the statue of von Steuben in the northwest corner.”

“No, I don’t think so. There are some trees there. And even with the park lights it was dark.”

“Yes, it was,” agreed Stone. “But you left about the same time heading toward H Street.”

“I wasn’t aware of his movements. I was fumbling in my bag for my metro card.”

“McPherson Square?” asked Stone quickly. “Or Farragut West station?”

“McPherson. It’s a bit closer to the park. I live in Falls Church. I don’t own a car, so I always take the metro.”

“So you didn’t actually see the explosion?” asked Gross.

“No, I wasn’t facing the park, obviously. When the guns started firing I instinctively ducked and ran. Hell, everybody did.”

“Did you have any sense of where the gunfire was coming from?”

She thought for a few moments. “It all happened so fast. I was just trying to get low and out of the way. It was somewhere above me, at least I think so.”

Stone said, “Did you look back toward the park when the bomb exploded?”

She nodded.

“What did you see, exactly?”

Friedman sat back, furrowed her brow again and pursed her lips in concentration. “A lot of smoke, some flames shot up, really high. It was near the Jackson statue in the middle of the park. It was hard to tell at night and because of the trees in the way, but at least that’s where it seemed to be.”

Chapman asked, “Did you see anyone running away from the scene?”

“Like I said, everyone was running once the gunfire started up. And they ran faster when the bomb went off. There were a couple of cops and a dog I remember seeing. The dog was barking and the cops pulled their guns and I think they headed toward the park. I couldn’t swear to that because I was going the other way, fast.”

“And the man in the suit?” asked Gross. “He must’ve been somewhere close to you at that point.”

“He might’ve been, but I never saw him.”

“Okay, anything else?” asked Stone.

“I felt the ground shake a bit. It must’ve been a very powerful bomb. It seems ridiculous that with all the police down there no one noticed an explosive somewhere in the park. I mean, how did that happen?”

Gross sat back. “What did you do after that?”

“Grabbed a train home. I got lucky. I heard they closed the metro station a few minutes after I got on.”

Gross rose and handed her a card. “If you think of anything else let us know.”

After she left Gross looked at the other three. “Well?”

“She didn’t add much to what we already knew,” said Stone.

“What a simpering sot,” snapped Chapman. “I was surprised she didn’t pull her bloody dress up over her fake blonde hair.”

Stone ignored this barb and said, “Okay, we have gunfire that should have never happened. A bomb that shouldn’t have gone off. And a target that wasn’t even there.”

Gross’s phone rang. Ten seconds later he clicked off. “Okay, this sucker just got even more complicated. A group in Yemen has claimed responsibility for the attack.”