hotel security card could have made all that happen and someone at the embassy had been in possession of a hotel security card several times even if Tay didn’t yet know who it was.
Who at the embassy would have needed regular off-the-books access to the Marriott? And why did they need a security card that allowed them to enter and leave the hotel without leaving any evidence they had ever been there? Could whoever had the security card have copied it and continued to have unrecorded access to the Marriott even after the original card had been returned to Keshar? Keshar had insisted it was technically impossible, but Tay was far less certain of that.
Maybe none of that really mattered. Maybe none of that had anything at all to do with Elizabeth Munson’s murder. The place to start working out whether it did or not, of course, was with whomever in the American embassy had had access to that security card, and that straight away brought up the most interesting question of all.
Exactly who the fuck was Mr. Washington?
Tay shook his head and put the cap back on his pen having written absolutely nothing at all. He was returning the notebook to his pocket when Cally Parks opened the door.
“If you’ll come with me, Inspector, the ambassador is ready to see you now.”
EIGHTEEN
The ambassador’s office was imposing, intimidating even, as Tay gathered it was supposed to be. Behind a desk the size of a ping-pong table, two large flags hung from polished wooden poles mounted in brass bases. One was obviously the American flag, but the other one was dark blue with something white in the middle of it and Tay didn’t know what it was. Did ambassadors have personal flags like admirals? He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t certain.
Ambassador Munson was standing behind his desk when Tay entered. He came around it and walked toward Tay with his hand outstretched.
The ambassador was a big man, and so homely he was almost nobly ugly. He had rough, weathered skin, a huge misshapen nose, and oversized jug ears that stuck straight out. Droopy, dark brown basset hound eyes stared out of a face that looked like someone hadn’t read all the directions before they began to assemble it.
In spite of all that, there was something about the ambassador that overwhelmed the background against which he posed. He even looked familiar somehow, although Tay was certain he had never met any American ambassador, let alone this one. It was like encountering an actor you had seen over and over again on television, one whose appearance you recognized immediately but whose name you couldn’t quite remember. Could the Americans have hired someone to play the role of the ambassador, Tay wondered for a moment, just to make a fool of him? No, of course they hadn’t. That was ridiculous.
The ambassador enveloped Tay’s hand in his own enormous, gnarled fingers. “I want to thank you for meetin’ with me today, Inspector. I’m very sorry I had to keep you waitin’.”
When he heard the Texas drawl, Tay suddenly realized why Ambassador Munson looked so familiar. The man bore far more than a passing resemblance to Lyndon Johnson. That was it exactly. To shake hands with the ambassador was to watch a waxwork figure of Lyndon Johnson circa 1968 lurch into life. Good God, Tay wondered, could it be that everyone from Texas looked like this? Surely not.
The ambassador gestured with his head to an area by the windows opposite his desk. It was furnished with two leather couches and several chairs upholstered in dark fabric, all grouped around an oval-shaped glass coffee table.
“You know my boys here, Inspector?”
Tay looked where the ambassador was indicating and saw two men he didn’t recognize and one he did.
“I’ve met-”
“The one there with the tie is Tony DeSouza, our legal attache,” the ambassador interrupted without waiting for Tay to finish. “The one sitting next to him who looks too damn young to be out of college is Marc Reagan, my staff assistant, and the old goat on the other couch is Dewey Garland, our commercial attache.”
“I met Mr. DeSouza last week,” Tay said.
“Well, that must have been fun for you,” the ambassador said and flashed Tay a one-of-the-guys smile to let him know he was only joshing.
The ambassador waved Tay toward one of two empty chairs facing the windows and Cally took the other. Only then did the ambassador settle into a chair opposite Tay, cross his legs, and let his long arms dangle carelessly over the sides. The glare from the windows behind the ambassador made his eyes hard to see and Tay gathered that was exactly the point of the seating arrangement.
“You want a Coc’-Cola or something else ‘fore we get started?” the ambassador asked Tay.
“No, sir. Thank you.”
Nodding, the ambassador fixed Tay with what he apparently thought was a caring smile.
“First,” he said, “let me tell you that I ‘preciate the horse sense you showed in putting out that suicide story after Liz’s body was found.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir. The only reason we made any press statement at all was-”
“We figure it was a pretty sharp idea,” the ambassador interrupted. “We’re thinking of sticking with it.”
Now Tay really was confused. “With what?” he asked.
“Your suicide story. We’re thinking of sticking with it and announcing that Liz committed suicide.”
“But she didn’t.”
“Look, dammit, we have to tell the press something. I’ve read the file. I know what happened. Is that what you want me to tell the world? That my wife was tortured to death and died with a flashlight shoved up her pussy?”
Tay was hardly an expert on the proper relationship between government and the press, but it did seem to him generally better for governments to tell the truth, or at least a mildly edited version of the truth, rather than to make something up. No matter how bad the truth was, when governments lied and got caught doing it, things always seemed to get much worse.
“Are you telling me, sir, that you intend to cover up your wife’s murder by telling the press that she committed suicide?”
The ambassador held up both hands, palms outward.
“Shoot now, Inspector, let’s not get off on the wrong foot here. I intend to treat Liz’s death with dignity. Under the circumstances, suicide is far more dignified than what happened to her. And I say that both as a husband and as an American ambassador.”
“But then the investigation of her murder will-”
“What we tell the press won’t have jack shit to do with that. We’re going to investigate the crap out of this thing. You can bet your butt on that. Terrorist acts against United States citizens are within the jurisdiction of the FBI and nobody’s better at getting to the truth than those boys.”
The corners of the ambassador’s mouth moved quickly up and down in what might or might not have been a miniature smile.
“No offense to you and your people, of course, Inspector. I’m sure you’re pretty good, too.”
“Yes, sir,” Tay said, not doing much to disguise his irritation at the ambassador’s obvious condescension toward the Singapore police force. “We are.”
“While we’d certainly ‘preciate your help, of course, Tony DeSouza will head up this investigation. He’ll get the sons of bitches that did this and get ‘em right quick.”
Tay wanted very much to ask the ambassador exactly how he thought DeSouza would be able to do that, not to mention why he had already assumed that there was more than one killer. But he didn’t ask the ambassador anything. He just sat quietly with what he hoped was an interested expression on his face and listened. That was apparently what he was meant to do because almost immediately the ambassador started talking again.
“And you can bet your butt on one other thing, too, Inspector. When we find the bastards that did this, they will be punished. Tony and I were both United States marines. I have two combat tours in Vietnam behind me and
