“Odd?”
“Like a gasp. He sounded as if he was hurt. I went downstairs to investigate. There was a light on in his office. I looked in.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Are you okay?”
Vanessa did not answer Hobson’s question. She just continued talking as if he had never asked it.
“Carl was standing with his back to me. He was all in black. I had no idea who he was at first. Then he turned around and I gasped. My hand actually went to my mouth. I remember that. I said, ‘Carl,’ and then I saw the congressman and…and I saw the knife. Carl was holding it and it was covered with blood. I ran. I think I screamed.”
“Did he try to catch you?”
“No. I’ve thought about that. Carl was very athletic. If he’d wanted to catch me he could have, easily.”
“But he didn’t go after you?”
“I didn’t look back. I just ran. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t come after me. I ran into the woods. Then I heard a boat going across the lake, fast. Then the deputy found me.”
“You’ve known Rice for some time, I understand.”
“We dated in high school. Then he was drafted and we lost touch. I met him again in D.C. a few months before…Lost Lake.”
“Do you know why Carl killed the congressman?”
Vanessa looked away. “No,” she said. Hobson was certain that she was lying.
“Your father thinks Rice was jealous of Congressman Glass.”
“I told you, there was nothing between us. We were just friends. I worked for him.”
“When you renewed your acquaintance here, did Rice eversay anything that made you think that he had a grudge against the military?”
“No,” she said too quickly. Hobson debated confronting her but decided to leave on a friendly note. He would talk to her again when he had more to work with.
“What are your plans?”
“I don’t know. I was in graduate school when all this happened. Maybe I’ll finish my degree,” Vanessa answered, but it didn’t sound as if that would happen anytime soon.
“And you’re staying in D.C.?”
Vanessa flashed a sardonic smile. “Is that question a polite version of ‘Don’t try to leave town’?”
Hobson smiled back. “No. You’re perfectly free to go wherever you want.”
He stood up and held out his card. “Thank you for talking to me, Miss Kohler. If you think of anything more, give me a call.”
Vanessa took the card and put it on the end table without looking at it. She followed him to the door. When he was in the hall Hobson heard the locks snap back into place.
On the way to his car, Hobson thought about their conversation. He was certain that Vanessa was concealing information. Did General Wingate know what it was? Had the General rushed his daughter to Serenity Manor so that she would be unavailable to the authorities for questioning? As he neared his car something else occurred to him.
“Agent Hobson?”
Hobson turned. A black chauffeured limousine was parked at the curb. An elegantly dressed man with crystal-blue eyes and hair so blond it was almost white was holding open the rear door.
“Would you mind getting in?” he asked.
“Yeah, I would. Who are you?”
The man held out a laminated card that identified him as Charles Jennings, an agent with the CIA.
“Ride with me a bit,” Jennings said when Hobson was done examining his credentials. “I’ll get you back to your car after we’ve talked.”
“About what?”
“Please get in. This is too conspicuous.”
Hobson hesitated. Then curiosity got the best of him and he climbed into the back of the car. It was spacious, with a wet bar, television, and telephone.
“Okay, what’s this about?” Hobson asked as the car pulled away from the curb.
“Your investigation into the murders of Congressman Eric Glass and General Peter Rivera.”
“Why is the CIA interested in those cases?”
“That’s something I can’t explain right now.”
“Then I guess I won’t be able to discuss the investigations.”
Jennings smiled. “I thought you might say something like that.”
“I’m a serious person, Jennings. Even as a kid, I never liked playing games.”
“Oh, this is no game, Agent Hobson. This is a matter of national security.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?”
Jennings’s smile widened. “Everyone says you’re a tough guy.”
“I’m not tough. I’m just going by the book. I don’t discuss my cases with anyone who asks. Quite frankly, Mr. Jennings, credentials like the one you showed me can be forged by enterprising reporters hot after a story.”
“You see the telephone? Call the director and ask him if it’s okay to talk to me.”
“The FBI director?”
Jennings rattled off the number of the director’s inside line, which Hobson knew to be correct. He dialed without taking his eyes off the CIA man.
“I know why you’re calling, Agent Hobson,” the director said as soon as Hobson identified himself. “You are to cooperate completely with Mr. Jennings in this matter.”
“Does that mean…?”
“It means what I said. Complete, one hundred percent cooperation.”
The director broke the connection. Hobson held the receiver for a moment before hanging up. Jennings was leaning back in his seat, at ease, in command.
“What do you want to know?” Hobson asked.
“I want to know everything you’ve found out about Carl Rice.”
Hobson told him what he knew.
“What have you concluded?” Jennings asked when Hobson was through.
“That Rice is a disgruntled ex-soldier with a crush on Vanessa Wingate. He’s probably responsible for the murders of Congressman Glass and General Rivera.”
“Probably?”
Hobson hesitated.
“The director instructed you to cooperate fully, did he not?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Then please answer my question. Do you have any reservations about your conclusion that Rice is responsible for these murders?”
Hobson felt uncomfortable. “There was no physical evidence connecting Carl Rice to the murder at Lost Lake. Everyone is looking for Rice because Vanessa Wingate said he killed the congressman.”
“Go on.”
“No one saw Rice at the lake, except Vanessa. There are no fingerprints or other physical
