pushed her back under with the pole. With the duct tape across her mouth, and her smoke-packed lungs, she lasted less than half the time Loretta Baldwin had. He grabbed a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet, poured the contents into the bath and then smashed it against her head. Lastly he ripped the tape off her mouth, opened it and stuffed it full of dollar bills he'd pulled from her purse.
He looked down at her and said, 'Just be glad you're dead, Mildred. Just be glad you don't have to feel my rage right now, because it's right off the
When he made his plans, he had contemplated killing Mildred too but concluded it would have raised too much suspicion. That decision had come back to haunt him. Still, there was no way to track her culpability back to him. It would be clear, though, that the same hand had struck down both Loretta Baldwin and Mildred Martin. That would probably confuse the authorities more than it would assist them. He didn't like it yet it couldn't be helped now. He scornfully looked down at her.
He left by the back door and looked toward the end of the street, where he knew the FBI was lurking. 'Go get her, boys,' he muttered. 'She's all yours.'
A few minutes later the old Buick started up and drifted down the road.
43
The private plane Joan had engaged was like an upscale club with wings and jet engines. It had mahogany paneling, leather seats, a TV, full galley, bar, accompanying steward and even a small bedroom, where Joan had gone to catch a nap. King remained in his seat, eventually dozing off. The funeral home had yielded nothing helpful. The plane was taking them to Washington, D.C. Joan had wanted to check some things at her office before heading out again.
As the plane began its final approach, Joan burst out of the bedroom. The steward called out to her, 'Ma'am, you have to take your seat now-'
She gave him a withering look and kept running up the aisle.
She reached King, who was still asleep, and shook him.
'Sean, wake up. Now!'
He didn't budge. She straddled his legs, so that she was on his lap face-to-face, and started to slap him. 'Wake up, damn it!'
He finally came around, groggy. When he focused on her and saw she was sitting, barefoot, skirt hiked and thighs spread, across his lap, he said, 'Christ, Joan, get off me. I'm not looking for membership in the mile-high club.'
'You idiot. This is about Mildred Martin.'
Sean sat up straight now, and she climbed off, taking a seat next to him and buckling up.
'So talk!' he demanded.
'You told me Mildred said that Bruno called recently to tell Bill Martin about his running for president? And that she talked to him too?'
'Right. So?'
'So you heard the woman's voice. It's like a foghorn. Are you telling me that if Bruno recently heard that voice that someone could have later called and impersonated her voice and he wouldn't have known the deception?'
King slapped his armrest. 'That's right! I mean how do you do that voice unless you've been smoking and drinking for fifty years?'
'And have adenoids the size of golf balls.'
'So she lied to us. She did call Bruno and asked him to come and see her at the funeral home.'
Joan nodded. 'And that's not all. I called Agent Reynolds with the FBI. He wasn't exactly candid with us. They thought from the start that her story was phony. He's checking out something that will definitely tell us whether she was in on it or not. Now, the Martins didn't have a lot of money, so how could they afford a caregiver?'
'Well, I don't know. Maybe they could.'
'Granted, they might have, but if they did, because of their age they're also entitled to some partial reimbursement under Medicare.'
King quickly got it. 'So Medicare would have a record of that. But if Mildred didn't file for that assistance, if she claimed she paid the woman out of her own pocket…'
She finished his thought. 'Then her bank records will show that. That's what Reynolds is checking. When he asked her about payment to the woman to try to get an ID, Mildred waffled badly. He said nothing because he didn't want her to get suspicious. He has agents watching her street, far enough away so she won't get her radar up. He doesn't want her bugging out on us.'
'So if all this is true, she may know who has Bruno.'
As the plane landed and came to a stop, Joan's phone rang.
'Yes.' She listened for a minute, said thank you, clicked off andturned to King with a smile. 'God, the FBI can work miracles sometimes. No Medicare filing, no checks to the caregiver and no cash withdrawals. And the kicker is, Bill Martin had a half-million-dollar life insurance policy. And Mildred is the sole beneficiary. Since Bill Martin had had the insurance policy for years, the FBI didn't think, by itself, it was a legitimate motive to kill him. After all, she just had to wait a few months and she'd get it anyway when he died. They're going to pick up Mildred. She made that call to Bruno, probably from a phone booth.'
'I can't believe she'd kill her husband for money. She seemed so devoted to him.'
'Sean, for all your intelligence and sophistication, sweetie, you really know shit about women.'
44
When she reported to the Secret Service's field office in Washington, Michelle was told that she'd spend at least the next month chained to a desk.
'I have a couple of weeks of vacation accrued. I want to take it now, please,' she told her superior. He shook his head.
'Why? It's not like I'm going to have any duties at the desk.'
'Sorry, Mick, it's coming from higher up than me.'
'Walter Bishop?'
'Sorry, can't say.'
She went straight to Bishop's office to confront him. What did she have to lose?
His first words were not encouraging. 'Get out!' he barked.
'Two weeks of vacation, Walter. I'm due it and I want to take it.'
'You've got to be joking. I want you right here where I can keep an eye on you.'
'I'm not a child. I don't need watching.'
'Consider yourself lucky. And a piece of advice: stay away from Sean King.'
'What, now you're picking my friends?'
'Friends? People keep dying around him. You almost got killed.'
'So did he!'
'Really. That's not what I heard. He got a bump on the head. You almost got your neck wrung off.'
'You're way off base, Walter.'
'You know, when Ritter was killed, there were rumors King was paid off to look the other way.'
'And then to kill the assassin. How does that make sense?'
'Who knows? But the fact is, look at his life now. He lives in some big house, making lots of money.'
'Oh, yeah. What a brilliant plan of his to ruin his life.'
'So maybe he ticked somebody off. Somebody he did a deal with eight years ago, and that person is exacting
