The Witch of Watergate (18 page)

IT HAD STARTED to rain during the night, one of those
interminable and relentless showers that would last for days. Sheets of driven
rain spattered the windows at Sherry's, where Fiona and the Eggplant nursed
chipped mugs of Sherry's muddy black coffee.

During a lull in the rain gusts, Fiona saw Charleen
intrepidly holding her umbrella against the wind as she moved toward Sherry's.
Her posture was ramrod straight, unbowed against the elements as she walked
toward the coffee shop.

The
Post
had gleefully reported three more murders
the night before. An indignant editorial called for more efficient police
protection and less bureaucracy in municipal government, a veiled indictment of
the Mayor.

They were setting the stage, conditioning the turf. Within
the next few days, the other shoe would drop. They would run the story about
the Mayor's early indiscretions and the sinking process would begin with a
vengeance.

The Eggplant, although fatigued and gloomy, was far from
comatose. Fiona had often seen him show remarkable resourcefulness during a
crisis. Consistently, when his choice was fight or flee, the Eggplant fought.

He was fighting now and he had inspired her to join in what
seemed a hopeless struggle. The Mayor was as good as politically dead. The
powerful
Post
would call for a new broom, especially in law enforcement.
The likelihood would be that a "neutral" Police Commissioner would be
chosen, someone from outside of the District jurisdiction.

"I've written it off," the Eggplant had confessed
earlier. She had expected that. He seemed calmer for it. "Doesn't mean
we're going to lay down and die, FitzGerald."

There were some encouraging signs. During the last twelve
hours, despite the continuing onslaught of homicides, they had brought in three
dozen suspects for the various gang killings. That action had taken some of the
edge off his pessimism.

But the problem at hand was not the spate of gang murders.
There seemed far more at stake in the Polly Dearborn case. As homicide
detectives, they had committed the ultimate faux pas. They had become
personally involved. They had compromised police ethics, disobeyed police
procedures and destroyed evidence.

They had come through a round robin of "ifs." If
only they had brought the evidence into headquarters as procedures demanded. If
only the Eggplant hadn't destroyed the disks. They had behaved like a bunch of
Keystone cops. And a killer remained loose, unwittingly under the protection of
one of the most powerful people in Washington.

After they had left Barker's office, they had gone down to
Sheila Burns' office. She was busy working on her computer.

"I can't," she said, when she saw them. "I'm
on deadline."

It was a different Sheila Burns than they had seen a few
days ago. Then she had been open and relaxed, with an uncertain future. Now she
was a busy, intent Sheila Burns, a new and more powerful Sheila Burns.

"This is Captain Greene, the head of MPD
Homicide," Fiona said, ignoring her irritation. Sheila continued to pound
the keyboard, paying no attention to their presence.

"Come back later for chrissakes," Sheila
muttered.

"You told me you didn't know who Polly was going to
write about next," Fiona said as they moved toward where Sheila was
sitting. As they came closer, Sheila shut down the computer and swiveled in her
chair, facing them.

"I lied," Sheila sneered. "Now will you
please leave."

"You told us you didn't know much about
computers," Fiona pressed.

"I don't."

"You told us that Polly was paranoid about anyone
getting into her computer. Even you."

"She was." Sheila's eyes had narrowed as they
rotated from Fiona to the Eggplant's face.

"All right then, Sheila, how did you get into Polly
Dearborn's computer?" the Eggplant asked.

A frown crossed Sheila's forehead and her eyelids fluttered
as she looked up at them. Fiona recognized the hardened expression of a
stonewaller.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sheila
said.

"The material about the Mayor," Fiona said
cautiously, with a glance at the Eggplant. "It was on Polly Dearborn's
computer."

"How could you possibly know that?" Sheila asked,
as if she were the soul of innocence.

"Do you deny it?" the Eggplant asked.

"Of course I deny it. This is material I developed
myself." She paused and glared at them. "Frankly, I don't know why
you're here. I've told you all I know."

She swiveled in her chair and picked up the phone.

"Mr. Barker, please," she said sweetly, looking
at them over her shoulder with an air of contempt. "Mr. Barker, Sheila
Burns. I have these two detectives here."

Fiona could hear a rising crescendo of sound emanate from
the phone.

"I will." Sheila said finally, hanging up. Then
she swiveled back to face them.

"I don't have to tell either of you anything. You have
no right to interfere with the story I'm doing." She paused for a moment.
"Please leave," she said, her voice rising.

"You're lying to us," Fiona said. "That
material on the Mayor is from Polly Dearborn's computer." She felt the
ineffectiveness of her statement. All she could do was to offer the accusation
and provide no proof. If they were going to break Sheila Burns, this was not
the way.

"Oh," Sheila said calmly, as if reading her mind.
"Have you proof of this? I understand that Polly's computer was destroyed
by her lawyer according to her wishes."

"You won't get away with this," the Eggplant
said. He was obviously suffering from the same degree of exasperation, made
worse by the knowledge that he had destroyed the only evidence to support their
accusation.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir,"
Sheila said. Her rejoinder was laced with ridicule. "So why don't you get
out of here and start looking in earnest for Polly Dearborn's murderer."

"Maybe we're looking at her," Fiona said,
shooting a knowing look at the Eggplant, who remained uncharacteristically
silent and noncommital.

Sheila's reaction was a broadening smile.

"I'll forget that I heard that," she said
sweetly.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Fiona said as they
went out the door. On her part it was pure bravado.

The memory of the humiliation rankled her, adding to their
frustration. So far neither she nor the Eggplant had come up with any
substantial idea on how to make a case against Sheila Burns, who was now their
prime suspect. They might take various actions in the hope of breaking her into
a confession, but that would be dangerous, especially since Sheila could hide
comfortably behind the First Amendment and count on the resources of the most
powerful editor in the country to protect her.

They had better, they both had agreed, resist further
tangling with Harry Barker until they had something, something concrete and
persuasive.

They watched as Charleen Evans came in, shook out her
umbrella and raincoat and slid in the booth beside them. Fiona had briefed her
the night before about their conversation with Barker and Sheila Burns, then
sent her home to think about it.

"I've thought about it," she said, watching
Sherry fill her coffee mug.

"No harm in listening," Fiona responded. The
Eggplant shrugged his consent.

Charleen took a sip of her coffee.

"We may be jumping to conclusions," she said,
putting her mug back on the cracked plastic surface of the table. She did not
wait for a response. "Maybe she didn't take the material out of Polly
Dearborn's computer."

"I'll say this for the lady," the Eggplant said.
"She does listen to a different drummer."

"It's only an assumption on your part," Charleen
said.

"You think we're wrong?" Fiona asked.

"I think we should keep an open mind until we're
certain," Charleen argued.

"And just how do we know for sure?" the Eggplant
asked.

"We find out," Charleen said. "Chances are
that the material is in a computer in Sheila's house, where it's been all
along. We get a search warrant."

"Which opens up a whole new can of worms," the
Eggplant said. "Barker won't stand for that. He now thinks of that
material, if it is there, as the property of the paper. He'll accuse us of
using gestapo tactics, interfering with the function of a free press,
attempting to implicate one of his reporters to counterattack for their
exposure of the Mayor. Also don't be so sure that the judge will issue a
warrant. We haven't got the remotest hard evidence that connects Sheila Burns
with the Dearborn murder. And if the material is not there, Barker will fry me,
maybe you two as well, along with the Mayor."

"If we don't check to see whether Sheila Burns has the
Dearborn material, we can't go anywhere in this case," Charleen sighed.

"And suppose she does have the material," Fiona
said. "How do we prove it came from Polly's machine? What's to prevent her
from saying that she had the material all along?"

"She may have," Charleen said cryptically.

"Which means that we're wrong about her being our
prime suspect," the Eggplant said. Beads of perspiration had broken out on
his lower lip.

"Afraid so." Charleen said.

"You don't think so?" Fiona asked.

"As I said, I'm keeping an open mind."

"I'm not authorizing we go for a search warrant. We're
in enough hot water as it is," the Eggplant said.

"I figured you might say that," Charleen said.
She was into her tenacious mode, unstoppable, the tentativeness of the last few
days gone. "Fact is, we can't get anywhere unless we're certain."

"I don't think we can get anywhere even if we are
certain," the Eggplant said. Discouragement was creeping into his mood.

There was a long pause. In the silence the radio that sat
on the table between them crackled. It was a call for the Eggplant. He was
wanted at headquarters.

"First things first," he said, getting up.
"In terms of human life we've devoted more than her due to the murder of
Polly Dearborn."

"You're writing it off?" Fiona asked.

The Eggplant shrugged, his face a map of dejection.

"I need that search warrant, Captain." Charleen
said, her lips tight with determination.

"No way," the Eggplant said. "We find
nothing, we'll be crucified for harassing the press."

"Better that," Charleen said after a long pause.
Their eyes had locked. Fiona saw this as primal, the quintessential moment.
Charleen was telescoping her threat to him with her gaze. "...than
destroying evidence."

"All right," he muttered. But the conviction was
gone. Fiona watched his bulky receding back as he walked to the door, carrying
his dead dreams with him.

"I feel awful about that. I had to." Charleen
said.

"Not your fault," Fiona mumbled. She looked at
Charleen, who seemed genuinely disturbed. But it was a more open-faced Charleen
than she had ever seen before.

"Yes it is," she insisted. "It's the way I
deal with people. I've been thinking about it."

"Jesus, Charleen. It's no time for
introspection."

"It is for me," she snapped. "You've accused
me of having no insight. You're right. I don't. I've shut myself off from
people for too long. You can't be a good homicide detective without
insight." She focused on Fiona. "You've got insight ... Fiona."

"Taking a chance on intimacy are you, Charleen?"

"You're right to make fun of me."

Fiona felt suddenly ashamed.

"That was dumb," Fiona muttered.

"Not really. I've exasperated you. I'm beginning to
exasperate myself." She turned her eyes away, concentrating instead on the
oily surface of the coffee in the chipped mug.

"Now you're going overboard, Charleen," Fiona
said, trying to pull away. The woman was on the verge of self-revelation,
confession. "It's too early in the morning."

"I've been identifying with Polly Dearborn,"
Charleen said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes that can be a plus in a murder
investigation."

"People obsessed with computers are often lonely,
frustrated people."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Charleen."

"I've always been too hard on myself," Charleen
sighed. "Never letting go. Spending a lifetime looking for Momma and
Daddy's murderer. How can I be an objective homicide detective if I'm carrying
around baggage like that?"

"I'm not a shrink, Charleen," Fiona said. There
she was, Fiona thought, being tenacious.

"It's important that I say these things. Important to
me. All you have to do is listen."

"I'm listening."

"It's also important that I make this up to you."
She motioned with her head. "And him. I owe both of you."

"Stage two. Blame yourself," Fiona said. "If
you didn't get into Polly Dearborn's computer ... hell, what's the difference?
Besides, you didn't destroy the material, the Captain did. And so what if you
were wrong about Downey. Big deal. We've all made mistakes."

"I'm going to get into Sheila Burns' computer,"
Charleen said suddenly.

"Only if he gets that search warrant," Fiona
said.

"You know he will." She paused, "He also
hate me forever."

"Only if you're wrong about what's in the
computer."

"I know," Charleen said with resignation.

"Don't expect any help from me," Fiona said.

"I don't want any.

"Yes you do," Fiona said. She felt her anger
rising.

Charleen shook her head and sighed.

"Typical of me. I'm a damned fool."

"I'll buy that."

Charleen lifted her mug, sipped, then spat the coffee back
into the mug. The action somehow deflected Fiona's anger and she laughed.

"It's not necessary, Charleen. You're really going too
far. So what if we don't crack the Dearborn case. There'll be others. We've had
cases before where we had a pretty good idea who the murderer was, but we still
couldn't get enough to make our case. If I were you..."