D.C. Dead

“Being broken up is enough to cause some people to take their own lives,” Stone pointed out. “And being a suspect in the murder of a loved one could push a lot of people over the edge.”

“I guess all that is right, in theory,” Tom replied. “But it doesn’t jibe with who they were.”

“Well,” Dino said, “that’s enough of a reason for us to be here. Tell me, what happened to all the things that have obviously been removed?”

“My wife and I removed them and took them to our apartment,” Tom replied. “I’m a last-year resident at Washington Metro Hospital, and my wife works in a government office, so we couldn’t afford to keep this house. I doubt we could pay the taxes. We took the things we could use, or that were of sentimental value to us, and put the house on the market.”

“How long ago?” Stone asked.

“Ten months,” Tom replied. “The market is moribund for all the usual reasons, and it probably won’t come back until the change in administrations. That always causes a huge upswing in Georgetown house sales, what with people leaving Washington and others moving in.”

“May I ask what the value of the house is?” Stone asked.

“We were told it would bring four and a half, five million in better times, and maybe three and a half, four million if we can hang on until the change of administrations, which is another year and a half. Or we could take a lowball offer now. We’ve had a couple of those.”

“What’s upstairs?” Stone asked.

“Four bedrooms and baths, a smaller study for my mother, and a kitchenette.”

Stone nodded. “I’m not all that familiar with the market here,” Stone said, “but it sounds like you got good advice from your realtor. What was the estate worth in toto?”

“Six and a half million,” Tom said. “More than half of that is this house, which they owned for more than thirty years. There was no estate tax last year, some legislative quirk.”

“I’m familiar with that,” Stone said. “Did you consider moving into the house until it sold? At least you wouldn’t be paying rent.”

“I pointed that out to Kath, but she’s spooked by the fact that my father hanged hims Kr h/font>

Stone nodded. “By the way, how did he get a rope tied to that beam?”

“He used an eight-foot stepladder. It’s in the garden shed.”

Stone nodded.

Dino spoke again. “Was there anything going on in the life of either of your parents that might have been a factor in what happened?”

Tom looked puzzled. “What sort of thing are you talking about?”

“Anything unusual, out of the ordinary. Could either of them have been having an affair?”

Tom emitted a short laugh. “They had been married for nearly forty years,” he said. “Since college. Doesn’t seem likely at this stage of the game, does it?”

“I guess not,” Dino said.

“What really gets me about this,” Tom said, “is that they both died within a day of each other, both violently. I just can’t come up with a scenario that would account for that. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.” He got to his feet. “I have to go to work.” He handed Dino a card. “My cell number is there,” he said. “Please call me if there’s anything else I can tell you, and please, please call me if you start to make any sense of this.”

Stone and Dino shook his hand and walked him to the front door.

“Well,” Dino said when he had gone, “forty years of marriage doesn’t mean a lot if one partner gets the love bug up his ass, does it?”

“You’re right,” Stone said, “but I don’t think we should explain that to Tom, unless we can prove it.”

8

Stone and Dino had a four o’clock appointment with the deputy director of the FBI, a man named Kerry Smith, who, they had been told, was the Bureau’s supervising agent for the investigation into the deaths of Brixton and Mimi Kendrick. They presented themselves in his reception room on time and were kept waiting for ten minutes. As they were shown into Smith’s office, Stone saw a door closing on the other side of the room.

“Good afternoon,” Smith said. “I’ve been expecting a visit from you gentlemen.” He indicated a seating area away from his desk. “Please sit down and be comfortable.”

Everyone settled into chairs. “I understand that someone at the White House is not happy with the conclusions reached by our investigators.”

“I think you might say that,” Stone replied equably. “Why do you think that is?”

“You’re asking me?” Smith said with a chuckle. “Why don’t you ask whoever sent you to see me?”

“I just wondered if you feel that the Bureau’s investigation might have left something to be desired.”

“I visited the crime scene myself, less than an hour after the body was discovered, and I have seen every investigative report my agents submitted. I haven’t seen any lack of enthusiasm for the investigation or any reason to question its conclusions. Now, please, tell me how I can help you.”

Dino opened his briefcase and extracted a brick inside a zippered plastic bag. He set it on Smith’s coffee table.

“What is that?” Smith asked.

“The murder weapon,” Dino replied.

“A brick?”

“Clearly. It has blood and hair on it and who knows what else? Maybe a trace of something from the killer.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It was one of many lining the flower beds adjacent to the site of the murder-the closest one to the body, as it happens. Your medical examiner’s report states that the murder weapon was a blunt instrument. Your agents failed to check the nearest blunt instruments available to the killer.”

Smith colored slightly. “That is embarrassing,” he said.

“We’d like it run through the famous FBI crime laboratory,” Dino said, “at the earliest possible moment.”

Smith picked up the phone on the coffee table and pressed a button. “Shelley, will you come in for a moment, please?”

A moment later the door opened and a quite beautiful blond woman entered. “Shelley, this is Mr. Stone Barrington and Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti. Gentlemen, this is Assistant Director Shelley Bach.”

Stone and Dino rose and shook her hand.

Smith picked up the plastic bag gingerly and handed it to his colleague. “Will you please hand-carry this to the lab? It may be the murder weapon in the Emily Kendrick case. Have them analyze the blood and hair on the brick for a match to Mrs. Kendrick and check the remainder of it for any possible traces of the murderer. Please impress upon the director of the lab the urgency of the situation. I’d like a report first thing tomorrow morning, even if it requires an all-nighter of the technician.”

“Yessir,” the woman said, and left the room.

Stone somehow knew immediately-he wasn’t sure how-that Kerry Smith and Shelley Bach were sleeping with each other, and probably had been for some time.

“That’s a very valuable piece of evidence,” Smith said. “I apologize for the negligence of my agents in not discovering it, and I thank you for bringing it in. What else can I do for you?”

“Mr. Smith,” Stone said, “we’ve noticed in our reading of the Bureau’s report that immediately upon the suicide of Brixton Kendrick, your agents stopped considering other possible suspects. Surely there must have been others under consideration.”

“Possibly,” Smith replied.

“May I ask, who were they? It might be useful for us to talk to them.”

“I’m aware that no other possible suspects were mentioned in the report, and it’s my assumption that the