worked out in the laboratories at McLean, anyway?’
‘Yes,’ said Parnell, glad he had not needed to be more direct.
‘That’s not the impression we’ve got from the people we’ve spoken to at Dubette so far,’ said Benton.
‘How not, specifically?’
‘Seems the French research wasn’t a failure after all. According to Mr Newton, it’s being incorporated into some of your existing products.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ But now he did, Parnell accepted.
‘You must have been mistaken.’ suggested Dingley.
‘Obviously,’ said Parnell, who knew he hadn’t been. ‘I hope that didn’t mislead you.’
‘It made us curious, along with everything else.’
‘I can understand that. I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult time…’ He let the apology trail.
‘We understand that,’ said Benton, in what sounded to Parnell like mockery.
It created something else for him to understand, too, decided Parnell. ‘What about Dubette security? And the Metro DC officers? You talked to them yet about knowing my car was damaged, before we went out into the lot?’
‘Only to the security chief, Harry Johnson, so far,’ said Dingley. ‘He told us he didn’t know anything about your car until you all got to it that morning. That he hadn’t had any conversation with the Metro DC guys about it. Wasn’t even sure what your car was.’
‘Looks like another mistaken impression,’ said Benton.
Parnell curbed the instinctive reply. Instead he said: ‘I guess it does.’
‘Why don’t we clear a few things up?’ unexpectedly suggested Barry Jackson. ‘We’re happy to provide fingerprints and come out to Bethesda. Why don’t we do both right away?’
‘I told you no media leak would come from here,’ said Dingley.
‘Is there any reason why we can’t do it right now?’ persisted Jackson.
‘No,’ said Dingley.
‘So?’ said the lawyer.
‘Let’s do it now,’ agreed Benton.
They’d driven to the FBI field office in Barry Jackson’s car, so they went in convoy to Rebecca Lang’s Bethesda clapboard, the most direct route to which was through Rock Creek Park past the gorge into which Rebecca’s car had plunged. When he realized the way the FBI agents were going, Jackson said: ‘You all right with this? I could use different roads.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ said Parnell. Despite washing his hands after being fingerprinted, his fingers still retained some of the blackness of the ink.
‘You could do better,’ said the lawyer.
‘What?’
‘An investigative technique – a courtroom technique – to catch people out is to make them lose their temper – speak without thinking. Which I’ve warned you about. You lost your temper back there.’
‘Why are they trying to catch me out – trick me!’ exploded Parnell.
‘You’re doing it again.’
‘Barry! Help me!’ How many times had he made that plea?
‘That’s what I’m trying to do. You heard what they said – a lot of things aren’t making up any sort of picture. Until it does, they’ve got to poke sticks into every bee’s nest. You’re not doing yourself any favours, snapping back. So stop it. Don’t take every question as a personal attack or accusation.’
‘That’s what it sounds like,’ said Parnell, petulantly.
‘That’s what it’s supposed to sound like. I just told you that, for Christ’s sake!’ The lawyer’s voice softened. ‘We’re getting close now. You sure you’re all right?’
Parnell did not immediately respond, recognizing the twisting, narrow roads, realizing – shocked – that he hadn’t properly until now fixed in his mind the precise location of the crash. He knew now, before they got to the fatal turn, what lay beyond. Suddenly there it was – the crumpled, supposedly protective barrier over which she’d been forced, the impact marks running almost its entire length, the final collapsed edge where the vehicle had mounted and then gone over the end, oil marks as black as death. And then they were past.
‘Oh fuck!’ said Parnell, in a breathless rush, not aware until that moment that he had actually been holding his breath, not knowing what he was going to confront.
‘OK?’
‘I think we should have gone the other way. Can you imagine…?’
‘No!’ stopped Jackson. ‘I don’t want you trying to imagine it, either. Leave it. Leave it if you can. You’ve got things to do – things to concentrate upon.’
‘You think they did it purposely, brought us this way?’
‘Maybe. Don’t let it get to you.’
‘How the fuck can I avoid that?’
‘By not letting it get to you.’
‘Don’t you start double-talking, like everyone else!’
‘That’s not double-talking. That’s straight-talking. You ready? We’re almost at the house.’
‘I hope I’m ready.’
‘So do I.’
The Bethesda cottage was secured by yellow police tape and there was an obvious police black and white parked outside, the driver and observer competing for boredom-of-the-year awards.
As they assembled from the two cars, Parnell said: ‘I thought Metro DC were off limits?’
‘They are,’ said Dingley. ‘They’re just here, by court order, to stop anyone who isn’t authorized going near the place.’
‘That’s going to piss them off.’
‘It can’t piss them off any more than they already are.’
‘So, how do you know they’re doing their job?’ demanded Jackson.
‘We got temporary – but inconspicuous – CCTV in every room. And external, in every direction. And a tap on the telephone.’
‘You didn’t tell us that,’ complained Jackson.
‘I’ve got all the court orders,’ said Pullinger.
‘We should have been told!’ insisted the other lawyer.
‘The house isn’t your jurisdiction,’ said Pullinger.
‘Ed, it’s our co-operation you’re asking for. You’re not doing a lot to encourage it,’ warned Jackson.
The three FBI men began to move off towards the house but Jackson didn’t move, keeping Parnell with him. Softly he said: ‘You want to go through with it?’
‘Don’t you think I should?’
‘I don’t think we should look as if we’re accepting it.’
‘Your call,’ said Parnell.
The others had stopped, about ten yards away. Pullinger shouted: ‘Is there a problem?’
‘We can’t hear you,’ Jackson yelled back.
There was a hesitation before the three men walked back. Pullinger said: ‘I asked if there was a problem?’
‘Yes,’ said Jackson. ‘We going to operate on level ground or we going to fuck about?’
‘You want me to say sorry?’ asked Pullinger.
‘I want you to do it right, like we’re doing it right.’
‘You’ve made your point. I’ve taken it,’ said Pullinger. ‘Shall we go on inside?’
Jackson held them for another moment or two before moving towards the house, bringing the rest with him. It was Dingley who opened the door, standing back for Parnell to go in first. The last time – when? he thought, unable to remember – had been with Rebecca, hurrying in ahead of him, carrying the lightest of the grocery shopping, him the packhorse behind, she talking as she always talked, butterflying from point to point, never properly, fully, finishing what she was saying before fluttering to something else, queen of her own castle, self- proclaimed queen of his, dropping the bags, gesturing where she wanted him to drop his, turning on lights, music,
