have fingerprints on them… yours.”
Struggling for composure, Rhinelander went on the offensive. “So I signed them. So Gentry was conducting an investigation. So what?”
“So, I suspect that if an energetic investigator followed the trail far enough, he would find that you told Brian Atkins about Gentry’s recruitment. And from there Atkins told Skeeter Hodges, and that in turn led to the murders of Gentry and Osmond.”
“No one is going to investigate a congressional committee,” Rhinelander said weakly.
“And the sun won’t rise tomorrow.” Tompkins laughed derisively. “Wake up, Mr. Chairman. Never underestimate the lure of a Pulitzer Prize. The newspapers in this town have brought down bigger men than you.”
Rhinelander was breathing deeply, and his face had taken on a sallow bluish tint.
“And don’t think other congressional committees wouldn’t hesitate to get some prime TV time,” Tompkins continued. “Such as the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, chaired by Senator Daniel Dugan Patterson. Coincidentally, I had breakfast with him this morning. He asked me to remind you of his deepest regard for Kevin Gentry.”
Rhinelander sat motionless, drained of resistance. “What do you want, Tompkins?”
“I want your resignation from Congress.”
Incredulity, then fear flashed across Rhinelander’s face.
“A deal!” he said, with a burst of desperation-fueled energy. Words came in a tumbling frenzy as he upended the pork barrel. “You want the education plus-up? The new sewage plant? Bond guarantees for building those clinics? Shelters for…”
Tompkins stood and looked down on Rhinelander with contempt.
“No deal, Rhinelander. I want you out of my town.”
Jose pushed open the door to the office, Frank close behind.
Feet on Frank’s desk, Leon Janowitz sat cocked back in Frank’s chair. With an easy motion, he threw. The third dart marked a solid single eighteen.
Janowitz turned and grinned. He held up his prosthetic throwing hand and wriggled the lifelike fingers.
“The Bionic Darter.”
He tilted forward and stood up. “Welcome back. I hear you two got Atkins a permanent room in the gray-bar hotel.”
Jose shut the door. “You’re supposed to be on convalescent leave.”
“That was a helluva trial. I had to come in and welcome the conquering heroes.”
Frank hung up his jacket and loosened his tie. “We’d still be working it if it weren’t for you.”
Janowitz smiled modestly. “Luck.”
“Plans?”
“The mayor offered to put in a word or two up in New York. One of the investment firms that handles the District pension plan.”
“That’s good of him.”
“The least he could do,” Janowitz bantered. “After he shot my chance to go to work for Frederick Rhinelander.”
“So it’s the Big Apple,” Jose said.
“No. I turned him down.”
“Oh?” Frank asked.
“Turned him down on the New York thing,” Janowitz amended. “Asked him if he could use a one-armed detective.”
“What’d he say?” Jose asked.
“Said I’d have to talk with you guys… said that you’ll be doing the hiring.”
The phone rang before either Jose or Frank could follow up.
Janowitz answered, listened, eyeing Jose, then Frank. He stood straighter. “They’re both here, sir… Who?… Where?… Yes, sir, I’ll tell them.”
Janowitz hung up. “Your dad,” he said to Jose. “Said he’s at Virginia Osmond’s. Says you and Frank get over.”
A somber Titus Phelps answered the door.
“Back here.” And he led Frank and Jose to Virginia Osmond’s bedroom.
A fleshy, medicinal odor filled the small room. Eyes closed, Virginia Osmond lay under a patterned quilt. The months had ravaged her: her hands had wasted away to bony claws, and a green undertone dimmed her rich brown skin. A middle-aged nurse who’d been sitting bedside got up when the three men entered, and left after patting Osmond’s cheek.
Photographs in silver and gold frames stood on a night table. A high school graduation picture of Martin Osmond in cap and gown. A fading studio portrait of a handsome man in uniform, who Frank assumed had been Virginia Osmond’s husband. A picture of a younger Osmond with a still-younger woman standing on the steps of the Bayless Place house. The younger woman held a baby.
Her daughter and Martin.
“Virginia,” Titus Phelps said, “they’re here.”
Osmond opened her eyes.
“I can see that, Titus,” she said in a thin, papery voice. She smiled at Jose. “You have a handsome, handsome son.”
She raised her hand a fraction off the quilt.
“Come closer,” she whispered to Jose and Frank.
The two men stepped to the side of her bed. Jose put his hand over hers.
Virginia Osmond smiled. “I want to give the two of you an old woman’s blessing… My Martin didn’t die a bad man.”
Jose bent close to her. “No, ma’am,” he said, “he died a hero.”
“I knew,” Osmond said. “I knew.” Her eyes searched Jose’s. “I waited to see… I knew…”
“Yes ma’am.”
She slipped her hand from under Jose’s and gestured to the night table. “In the drawer.”
Jose hesitated, then opened the drawer. Over his partner’s shoulder, Frank saw the pistol.
Glock 17.
Jose and Frank exchanged glances, then turned to Virginia Osmond.
“Night they killed Martin… after I called the ambulance… I went back to him,” Osmond said. “I saw the gun on the seat beside him.”
Her voice strengthened, tapping some last reservoir of energy.
“Heard the sirens… don’t know what went through my head… I knew the gun was bad. Took it. Hid it in the little shed I have for my garden things.”
Osmond was quiet for a moment. “They said Martin died of drugs. They said heroin.” She shook her head.
“But I knew Martin. I knew he had nothing to do with drugs. Later… I went through his things. I found an envelope with my name on it and a note inside.”
Osmond’s eyes drifted away as though she were trying to see the note again.
“All it said was, ‘Anything happens to me, go see Mr. Kevin Gentry. Don’t tell police.’ ” She shut her eyes, then opened them. “I read the papers and saw on the television… Mr. Kevin Gentry was killed the same night as my Martin.”
Osmond looked at Jose as if seeking confirmation.
“Yes, ma’am, this was so.”
Seemingly relieved, Osmond nodded.
“I knew… all that time… that Hodges boy had something to do with Martin’s death. And that white man’s too. But I didn’t trust anyone. Not you police. I guess I’d a done nothing except pray for Martin, hadn’t been for that Hodges boy coming over here to Bayless Place, sitting in that car with that loud music. Him and his friend, that Crawfurd boy, looking us over.”
