He was playing to an audience of one. Quentin Hale. So long as Hale was convinced, that was all that mattered.
He focused.
Make your case.
Then figure out how to kill Stephanie Nelle.
MALONE FLED THE BUILDING AND MADE A QUICK INSPECTION of the destroyed car. Indeed, somebody had been behind the wheel, the body now burning with a fury. The license plate was charred but readable and he committed the numbers to his eidetic memory.
He rounded the building and found his government-issued sedan. The rear windshield and most of the windows were gone, the sidewalls riddled with holes. No gas had leaked, though, and the tires were intact, so at least two things had gone right. Soon this place would be awash with the corona of blue and red revolving lights, police everywhere.
The wind moaned through the trees, as if telling him to leave. He glanced up at the sky, clearing of clouds and rain, revealing half-lit stars.
The wind was right.
Time to go.
THIRTY-FIVE
CASSIOPEIA SAT IN SHIRLEY KAISER’S LIVING ROOM. HER PARENTS had owned a similar parlor in their Barcelona home. Though billionaires, they’d been simple, private souls, staying to themselves, devoting their lives to her, to each other, and to the family business. Never once had she heard a hint of scandal associated with either. They seemed to live exemplary lives, both dying in their seventies within months of each other. She’d always hoped to find someone to whom she could equally devote herself.
Perhaps she had in Cotton Malone.
At the moment, though, she was concerned with the woman sitting across from her who, unlike her parents, harbored a great many secrets.
Starting with 135 telephone calls.
“Quentin Hale and I are lovers,” Kaiser said.
“How long?”
“Off and on for the past year.”
She listened as Kaiser explained. Hale was married with three grown children. He’d been separated from his wife going on a decade-she lived in England, he in North Carolina. They met at a social occasion and immediately liked each other.
“He insisted that we keep things discreet,” Kaiser said. “I thought he was concerned about my reputation. Now I see it may have been something else altogether.”
Cassiopeia agreed.
“I’m a fool,” Kaiser said. “I’ve gotten myself into a deep mess.”
No argument there.
“I never had children. My husband… he couldn’t. The fact never really bothered me. No motherly instincts overtook me.” A squint of regret appeared on Kaiser’s face. “But as I get older, I find myself rethinking my attitude toward children. It’s lonely sometimes.”
She could relate to that. Though a good twenty years younger than Kaiser, she, too, had felt those motherly pangs.
“Are you going to tell me how my relationship with Quentin connects to what’s in the ground outside?” Kaiser asked. “I’d like to know.”
Answering that inquiry could prove difficult. But since she’d already determined that they were going to require this woman’s cooperation, she decided to be honest. “Hale may have been involved with trying to kill the president.”
Kaiser did not react. Instead, she sat contemplative.
“We often spoke of politics,” Kaiser finally said. “But he seemed to care nothing about it. He was a supporter of Danny’s, contributing a lot of money to both presidential campaigns. He never had anything bad to say. Contrary to myself.” The words were expressionless, as if Kaiser was talking to herself, arranging her thoughts in order, readying her mind for what she was about to be asked. “But why would he say anything bad? He was gaining my trust.”
“Who exactly did you tell about the trip to New York?”
“Only Quentin.” Kaiser stared at her with a look of undisguised fear. “We talked about Pauline often. You have to understand, Pauline and Quentin are my two closest friends.”
She heard the unspoken comment.
And one betrayed me.
“We discussed it a couple of months ago, right after Pauline mentioned the New York trip. I didn’t think anything of it. Pauline never said the trip was a secret. I had no idea it wasn’t being publicly announced. She simply said Danny was headed to New York for a retirement dinner.”
Which meant Hale had grasped the significance of the White House withholding the information and decided to act.
“I need to know more about you and Hale,” Cassiopeia said. “The Secret Service is going to want every detail.”
“It’s not complicated. Quentin is well known in social circles. He’s an avid yachtsman. He participated twice in the America’s Cup. He’s rich, handsome, charming.”
“Does Pauline know about him?”
Kaiser shook her head. “I kept that relationship to myself. There was no need to tell her.”
The cocky attitude had been shed, the voice growing more penitent as the realization of what had happened pounded its way home.
“He used you.”
She could only imagine the emotions churning inside the older woman.
“Ms. Kaiser-”
“Don’t you think we can be Shirley and Cassiopeia? I have a feeling you and I will be seeing more of each other.”
So did she. “I’m going to have to report everything, but it will stay contained. That’s why I’m here and the Secret Service isn’t. I do have a proposition for you. Would you like an opportunity to repay the favor to Hale?”
She’d already been thinking on how to do just that since they now possessed a way to draw Hale from the shadows. What better route than a source he thought his own?
“I’d like that,” Kaiser said. “Truly, I would.”
But something was still bothering her. What Pauline Daniels had said. A friend I don’t want my husband talking to. Pauline was afraid of what Kaiser knew about her. Something that might not remain secret if questions were asked.
And she suddenly realized what that was.
“The First Lady is having an affair. Isn’t she?”
The question did not catch Kaiser off guard. It was as if she’d been expecting it.
“Not exactly. But close enough.”
MALONE STEPPED FROM THE CAR, NOW STOPPED UNDER THE covered entrance of The Jefferson, Richmond, Virginia’s most impressive hotel. The Beaux-Arts-style building, built at the end of the 19th century, sat downtown a few blocks from the state capitol. Its grand lobby was reminiscent of the Gilded Age, highlighted by a white marble statue of Jefferson himself. Malone had stayed there several times. He liked the place. He also liked the strange look the bellman tossed him when he handed over a five-dollar bill and the keys to the bullet-ridden car.
“Soon-to-be-ex-wife found me.”
