here?'
When neither of us responded, she said, 'I assumed… at least, I expected…'
'Expected what?' Jennie asked.
'Well… the sabotage of my husband's reputation and… who caused Calhoun to kill himself… who exploited your Bureau… and. .. and who lied…'
I said, 'Tell us about that.'
Her head jerked up. 'No… no, I don't believe I will. I believe I have already answered enough of your questions.' She appeared confused, and suddenly upset, but she collected her wits enough to say, 'You should leave my house. Right now, both of you.'
I looked at Jennie. Clearly, the curtain had just collapsed on Act One, and it was time to shift into Act Two, to give Margaret Barnes the proverbial knee in the balls. I said, 'Mrs. Barnes, we were sent here by the Director of the FBI. We're not leaving.'
'Oh, you are quite wrong about that. It's my home and-'
'Stop talking. Listen.' I looked Mrs. Barnes in the eye and informed her, 'At approximately 6:20 this morning, the White House Chief of Staff, his wife, and four Secret Service agents were murdered. This afternoon, the President's spokesman was murdered on the Washington beltway, as were seven entirely innocent people.' She blinked in confusion, apparently not getting the connection, so to help her along I added, 'Moments later, Phillip Fineberg-your husband's former partner-was blown in half as he opened his front door.'
'Fineberg? I… I don't-'
'Yes… I think you do.'
Jennie quickly added, 'Agent Jason Barnes, your son, has been missing since he went off duty yesterday afternoon. We need your help to stop him before he kills more.'
I looked at Margaret Barnes's stricken face and realized my earlier prediction had come true. We had just ruined her night, and very possibly we had also destroyed what was left of what I was now sure was an already miserable life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Margaret Barnes sat quietly in a state of mild shock. In a few seconds, either she would go hysterical or fall headlong into a pit of incoherent despair. As a general rule in these situations, you have about three minutes to coax a subject into a chatty mood, or they aren't going to talk. Period.
I looked at Jennie, and we both knew what we had to do; further, we both knew who had to do what. I had no enthusiasm for this, but by temperaments and alpha factors, I was the obvious choice.
'Are you listening, Mrs. Barnes?' I leaned forward and informed her bluntly, 'Your son murdered sixteen people.'
She stared off into space, and appeared not to comprehend. I raised my voice and said, 'The Belknap murder was an inside job-Jason was on his security team, he had the insight, and his footprints were placed at the scene at the time the crime occurred. We also have hard evidence showing Jason's access to the specialty munitions used to murder both the presidential spokesman and Justice Fineberg.'
I paused to let this half-lie sink in, then threw in another half-lie. 'We have evidence, we have opportunity, and at least the skeleton of a motive. In fact, Jason left a note announcing his intention to go on a killing spree.' With a touch of theatrics, I paused, then added, 'And lest I forget-he also intends to assassinate the President.'
Margaret Barnes was starting to lose it. She appeared unfocused and woozy, and was gasping for breath. Jennie stood up. She walked over to Mrs. Barnes, knelt beside her chair, and said, 'Can I get you something, Margaret? Water? Anything?'
She did not reply.
I said, 'For Godsakes, you gave us the connection to Phillip Fineberg. But to tie this together we need to know more… and you're going to tell us more. Now.'
She mumbled, 'But… you lied, and I… you deceived me about-'
'No-we did not lie.'
'Yes, you-'
'We identified ourselves as federal officers pursuing an official investigation.' Following an instinct, I bluffed and said, 'Knowing that, you still lied about the circumstances regarding your crippling. We can and will investigate your story, but we already know what we'll find, don't we, Mrs. Barnes? You lied to us-on tape.' She gawked at the recorder as I informed her, 'That's a prosecutable federal crime, if you're interested.'
Jennie insisted, very softly, 'It's true, Margaret. You did volunteer the information. And you weren't truthful, were you?'
'But, I… but, Jason couldn't… I mean- I think I'd like to speak to my-'
Before the L-word could slip out of her lips, I raised my voice and said, 'In a few hours, your son will murder again. If you withhold information that could help us stop him, I will arrest you for willful complicity in murder, for obstructing an investigation, and for willful concealment. I'll drag you out of this house in cuffs, and I'll put you in jail.'
Mrs. Barnes turned her head and looked at Jennie. Jennie said, 'Margaret… I'm sorry. I'm afraid we'd be left with no choice.'
I said, 'On tape, we already have you lying to federal officers. You'll be convicted. You'll go to prison, probably until you die.'
In a way I was telling the truth, because any lie to a federal officer-even absent a Miranda warning-is a punishable offense. But as a lawyer, I was well aware that juries don't really expect mothers to rat out their own kids. So this mild exaggeration was obviously not intended to be interpreted too literally.
But what mattered was not what I knew, what mattered was what she knew, and, judge's wife or not, apparently she didn't know enough. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she appeared to be on the verge of a complete meltdown. But she still wasn't talking, which was annoying and frustrating. You have to push the right button, and I still hadn't found it. I searched my mind for the soft spot and wasn't coming up with it.
Jennie raised an eyebrow at me and mentioned to Mrs. Barnes, somewhat sorrowfully, 'This is terrible, Margaret. Your family, and your reputation will be ruined.'
I got it.
Jennie got off her knees and sat on the arm of Margaret's chair. I walked toward Margaret and leaned over, getting three inches from her face. 'But hey, Mrs. Barnes-imagine if your boy actually kills the President. Think about it-the President of the United States. You'll become overnight sensations. You'll be the modern equivalent of Mrs. John Wilkes Booth.'
'No… it's not-'
'Wow-I mean, wow! What will that do for the glorious and esteemed Barnes name?' But in the event she couldn't piece it together in her muddled mental state, I spelled it out for her. 'The Barnes name in all the history books, beside Sirhan Sirhan, Lee Harvey Oswald, and that loony Hinckley. There'll be books about you, your family, reporters crawling through everything, biopics of how you raised a sociopath, probably a Broadway play some instant TV movies… Hey, who do you think they'll get to play you, Mrs. Barnes?'
'Stop it, Sean.' Jennie looked at me and said, 'Can't you see this is a huge shock for Margaret?'
'You're right. What was I thinking? Poor, poor Margaret Barnes. Why was I concerned about the wives, parents, and children of the sixteen people her son murdered today? How about Mr. Larry Elwood, Terrence Belknap's driver, who we found this morning, barbecued to a crisp, after Jason put a few slugs in his skull.' Pause. 'Or Agent June Lacy, one of Jason's partners, who would've been married next week-except Jason, this morning, put a bullet through her throat.'
Margaret Barnes was shrinking into her seat. On her face you could see guilt, and in that guilt you could see that Jason's actions made sense to her, that something inside this family either had created or at least corrupted a human vessel capable of every wicked deed I had just described.
Jennie laid a hand on Mrs. Barnes's shoulder. She said, 'Margaret, we need to find Jason.' She confided, 'By morning, he'll be the target of the largest manhunt in American history. We're the only hope of taking him
