He realized Jose was staring in his side-view mirror.
“Angry man,” Jose said, still watching as he fastened his seat belt. “Almost sounded like he lost a son.”
Frank found Teasdale in the rearview mirror. The big man was savagely attacking the azaleas with the shears, cutting away the winter kill.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Monday morning, Frank and Jose stood under the Rayburn portico and watched Seth Tompkins blow into the horseshoe driveway in grand mayoral style: sleek black Lincoln with U.S. and D.C. fender flags snapping, two motorcycle escorts front, two rear, lights blazing.
“Looks like the Queen of Sheba coming aboard,” Jose said.
The sight cheered Frank. It was like Ali making his way down the aisle to the ring. Coming on big, bold, and brassy, with absolutely no doubt about the outcome.
“Float like a butterfly,” Frank whispered.
We ready, fellas?” Tompkins asked as Frank and Jose led him down the corridor to Rhinelander’s offices.
“Politics your turf, Mayor,” Jose said.
Tompkins grinned. “Turf? Jungle’s more like it, Jose.”
Marge, Rhinelander’s gatekeeper, stood as Frank and Jose entered with the mayor. She opened a door into a short hallway.
“They’re waiting inside, Your Honor.”
“They?” Tompkins asked.
“The chairman and Director Atkins.”
Rhinelander sat at his desk. He was swiveled around to face Atkins, who was in an easy chair to Rhinelander’s left. Both men looked up as the door opened. Tension hung in the air as though a conversation had been cut off in mid-sentence. Frank guessed it had been Atkins who’d been talking-the FBI director seemed adrenaline-charged, while Rhinelander had a subdued, thoughtful air.
Rhinelander underwent a lightning transformation. A smile of appreciation flashed, a man awed by a particularly spectacular sunrise. “Mayor Tompkins! Thank you for coming!” he gushed.
He waggled an impatient hand at Marge. “Three more coffees,” he told her.
He stepped out from behind his desk and shook hands with Tompkins, then Frank and Jose. “I see you’ve brought two of the department’s finest, Mayor.” He gestured toward a small conference table. “We’d be more comfortable here.”
Taking his position at the head of the table, Rhinelander patted the place to his right. “Please, Mayor. Let me take this opportunity to tell you that you’ve brought a sense of dignity and honor back to your office.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”
Tompkins said it with a cool detachment, and Frank noticed that the mayor sat with his hands folded in his lap.
Concerned, Rhinelander turned to Frank. “And you, Lieutenant Kearney, you had a close call. I trust you’re all right?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Thank you.”
“And Leon?” Rhinelander asked. “How is he doing?”
“Still listed as critical.”
Rhinelander shook his head in sympathy. “He worked well with my staff. A bright young man.” He pointed to Frank. “You be sure to let me know-let me know personally-if there’s anything we can do.”
“I will, thank you.” Frank felt a hot acid stabbing in his stomach. Smarmy bastard. Much more of this and he’d be reaching for the Maalox.
“In view of recent events,” Rhinelander began, “I thought we might put our heads together and… ah… review the bidding.”
“Bidding, Mr. Chairman?” Tompkins’s inflection made “bidding” sound frivolous.
If Rhinelander noticed, he gave no indication. “It would be most appropriate, I think, to reach a consensus on two issues. First”-he raised his index finger-“I believe we must define our problem. Second”-another finger-“we must agree on the assets we need to resolve the problem.” He paused and looked expectantly at Tompkins.
“And the problem is?” Tompkins asked.
“Quite bluntly, Mayor, the problem is a widely held perception that we are getting nowhere in closing the Gentry-Hodges case.”
Tompkins started to respond, but Rhinelander held up a hand.
“Please let me finish,” he said almost petulantly.
He’s cooked the meal, and by God, we’re gonna eat it. Frank forced himself to take a deep breath and keep his hands away from Maalox.
“Let me lay out some fundamental elements,” Rhinelander said, “and I think the task we face becomes clearer. The murder of this drug lord Hodges revealed that the District police department had not properly closed the investigation of the killing of my chief of staff, Kevin Gentry.”
Rhinelander paused to look around the table. To his left, Atkins sat impassively, gazing off into space. Tompkins had an expression of studied neutrality. From the corner of his eye, Frank caught Jose’s hands, busy rolling a ballpoint pen between his fingertips.
“We then discover that Kevin had been a CIA operative in Colombia. And there is the manner of Pencil Crawfurd’s killing. These alone justified a hypothesis of a Colombian connection.”
Rhinelander gestured toward Frank and Jose. “I appreciate, Lieutenants Kearney and Phelps, your department’s reluctance to consider such a hypothesis. But now, we have a car bombing that nearly kills Sergeant Janowitz and you, Lieutenant Kearney. Add all this together and it would seem that we have the hallmarks of a Colombian operation.”
Rhinelander turned to Tompkins. “Have I been inaccurate, Mayor?”
“No,” Tompkins said glumly.
Rhinelander turned to Atkins. “Director Atkins?”
Clearly unhappy, Atkins nodded. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right, Mr. Chairman.”
“Now”-Rhinelander briskly slapped both hands palm down on the edge of the table, a man satisfied with the stage he’d set-“let me ask you this, Mayor… where are you now… this morning… in closing this case?”
Tompkins looked around to Frank and Jose. “Gentlemen?”
Jose and Frank exchanged glances, and Jose gave Frank a go-ahead nod.
Worse than a goddamn press conference. Frank took another deep breath while he hastily framed a basic vanilla response.
“We’re developing a clearer picture of Kevin Gentry’s activities and associations that may bear on his killing and his connection with Skeeter Hodges.”
Rhinelander listened without expression, his eyes hooded behind the small round lenses of his glasses. “Is this… picture bringing you closer to closing the case?” He put a smirking accent on “picture.”
“I believe so.”
“You believe so,” Rhinelander intoned solemnly. “When?”
Tompkins cut in. “Are you asking for a specific date, Mr. Chairman?”
Rhinelander smiled innocently at Tompkins. “Obviously, Mayor, we’d all like one. Just as obviously, though, I realize that’s not doable.” Turning his attention to Frank, he asked, “But can you tell me roughly?… A month? Two months? A year?”
Frank shook his head. “I can’t tell you that either, Mr. Chairman. We could walk out of here this morning and run across something that’d wrap a ribbon around the case by dinnertime. But then again…”
“But then again,” Rhinelander picked up, “it could join the other cold cases in your extensive files.” Without waiting for an answer, the congressman continued. “So it’s a matter of running down things? Exploring possibilities?”
“Yes, sir.”
