that I think of it, he looked kind of on edge. No nervous tics, nothing like that, but he was impatient, tapped his fingers on the counter while I was pouring the coffee. It was maybe thirty, forty-five minutes before you came straggling in.”
“What did the gent look like?” Jack asked.
Millie pursed her lips. “He was maybe forty, longish black hair, sunglasses on, if you can believe that, like he was some sort of celebrity or some asshole wanting to look like one. He wasn’t big, kind of thin, I think, and his clothes didn’t fit him all that well.” She screwed up her face, thought about it. “Sorry, that’s about it. I can’t think of anything else. But I remember thinking I wasn’t sorry to see the back of him.
“I was pouring a refill for a guy next to the window and looked out. I saw him sitting in the passenger seat of a big dark-colored car, maybe a Lincoln, but I’m not sure. He and another guy were talking, drinking their coffee. Then my boss called me and that was the last I saw of them.”
“Did they seem angry?” Rachael asked. “Or pleased, congratulating each other?”
“Honey, I was too far away and it was too dark, sorry.”
Jack asked Millie more questions, then asked the same ones again, using different phrasing until he knew the well had run dry.
Rachael hugged her before they left. “Thank you, Millie, thank you very much.”
Millie patted her on the back. She looked at Jack again, up and down. “You being a professional bodyguard and all, you see to it you take good care of her, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said, and smiled at her. “Millie, do you think you’d recognize the gent from Friday night?”
“I might be losing brain cells at a fine rate, but I still got enough to remember that face, even with the dumb sunglasses. He’s the kind you wouldn’t want to see in a bad dream.’’
“Good. I’ll bring you some photos to look at.”
A man shouted out from the kitchen, “Millie! I got the flats and strips for number three!”
“That’s pancakes and bacon,” she said. “I’m coming, Moe!” And she winked at Jack.
Once outside the diner, Rachael threw her arms around Jack, hugged him hard until he grunted. “You’re a genius. I didn’t say anything, but I never thought it would be of any use at all to come back out here. But Millie was here and she remembered me. And that guy. You are so smart, Jack.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I’m glad I laid out the big bucks and got myself a real pro.”
He was laughing as his arms came around her. In the back of his mind, the FBI agent was screaming,
She looked up at him, her mouth open, face blank, eyes wide. She was breathing fast, which his agent self demanded he ignore. She swiped her hand over her mouth. “What? Oh my God, Jack, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that... I lost it. You’re really smart, Jack. Oh damn.”
“It’s standard procedure, Rachael,” and that was true, but wasn’t that about the dumbest thing he’d ever said? He took a step back from her, had to. A beam of sunlight fell directly onto her and he saw the strangest thing. He saw her swinging a baseball bat. She walloped the ball and it flew and flew, and he realized it wasn’t Rachael, it was a little girl with Rachael’s smile and a braid in her hair—
“Stop being modest. I’m going to tell Dillon how brilliant you are.”
“Great Balls of Fire” blasted out of Jack’s jacket.
Jack had never flipped open his cell so fast. “Jack Crowne here.”
FORTY
Jack drove down Wisconsin Avenue past a rare-cigar shop and an outdoor-gear emporium, looking for Brady Cullifer’s law firm. It was in an older building, grand-looking, really, understated, standing proudly next to a holistic healer.
There were five names on the gold-etched sign on the front doors, two of them Cullifer.
A worried-looking receptionist led them to Brady Cullifer’s office, knocked on the door, waited for the “Enter,” and opened it. He stepped discreetly back, giving them a harried, nearly frantic look.
Brady Cullifer came around from behind a large, well-worn desk that looked like it had belonged to his grandfather, which, Jack supposed, was possible.
Jack said as he shook the man’s hand, “What’s with the receptionist? He looks strung-out.”
“Oh, Rowley, he’s the firm’s major worrier, practically fingers worry beads whenever there’s a big case being tried. One of our lawyers just left to hear the verdict in a big personal-injury suit, so Rowley’s worrying big-time. Rachael, my dear, how are you? It’s good to see you.”
Rachael smiled, let Mr. Cullifer hug her. She liked him, probably because he’d always been so kind to her, always seemed to accept her. He was about Jimmy’s age, with a bit of a paunch she remembered Jimmy kidding him about, lecturing him to get to the racquet-ball court. He was immaculately dressed, as always, in a lightweight gray wool suit, a pale pink shirt, and a dark blue tie that, surprisingly, tied everything together.
When he released her, she said, “I’m fine, sir.”
“Like everyone else in this town, I heard the FBI press conference yesterday morning about Jimmy’s death being classified as murder, not an accident, and that a woman shooter was possibly involved. Now she’s dead. Do you know why she died?”
“Complications of surgery,” Jack said.
“I take it you are Agent Crowne?” He raised a brow at Jack.
“Yes, sir,” Jack said, and shook his hand. “We appreciate your seeing us on such short notice.”
Cullifer waved them to a burgundy leather sofa, offered them coffee, and sat himself in a chair facing them. “Rachael, my dear, tell me what I can do to help you.”
Rachael said, “You remember I told you what Jimmy did, how he accidentally killed that little girl. You acted like you didn’t know anything about it. I’ve been thinking that’s not true. Please, sir, tell me what Jimmy said to you about that little girl.”
Brady sat down and drummed his fingertips on his desktop. Finally, he said, “Why would you think I know anything more about thatpoor little girl than what you told me, Rachael?”
“You’re his lawyer,” Jack answered, “his longtime friend.” He raised his hand. “Please don’t invoke client confidentiality. I don’t think it applies anymore. The senator is dead, and this is an official investigation. It’s important, sir.”
Cullifer slowly nodded. “Very well. Shortly before his death, Jimmy told me about his hitting and killing a little girl eighteen months ago.”
Cullifer’s eyes clouded. “I couldn’t believe it, just couldn’t. When he finished, when I couldn’t think of another question to put to him, I asked him why he didn’t tell me sooner, but he said only that he was telling me now to prepare me because he’d decided to go public. He wanted it in the open, he wanted it done and over with. He told me he’d also informed Rachael, Laurel, Stefanos, Quincy, and Greg Nichols of his intentions. He didn’t know if there would be any blowback on me, but he was telling me just in case.
“And I played dumb with you, Rachael, because he
Rachael said, “He wanted all those close to him to be ready to deal with the media and any fallout, business and personal. He told me his family was furious with him.”
“An understatement,” Cullifer said absently. He sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his fingers together. “He also told me he’d told Jacqueline and his daughters. They were exceedingly upset, as you can imagine. Jacqueline wanted him to keep quiet. They had several extended phone conversations about it.”
“Were you furious with him?” Rachael asked.
Cullifer said after a moment, “To be honest, I was devastated. You see, I knew something was wrong with Jimmy, knew it to my soul. I remember how distracted he was, how there were new lines on his face—a face, I might add, that was always youthful until the last year or so. But you know, I got caught up in a lawsuit and any concerns about Jimmy dropped out of my mind. Until it was too late. And then you came back from Sicily and told
