“No, as I said, he and I had a brief phone conversation.”
“You never spoke face-to-face.”
“No.”
In typical interrogator’s style, Willowicz now switched subjects without warning. “And so you had motive.”
“Motive,” Alli said, taken aback. “What motive?”
Again, Willowicz turned a page. “As it happens, the victim had met someone—a week ago. Her name is … let’s see, Kraja. Arjeta Kraja.”
“Fucking foreign names.” O’Banion snickered. No one else moved or said a word.
Willowicz looked up from his notes. “You know this Arjeta Kraja, Ms. Carson? Ever met her?”
“No,” Alli said. “No, I haven’t.”
“Interesting.” Willowicz held out his hand and O’Banion placed something in it.
When Alli saw that it was a photo, her heart sank. Reluctantly, she took it when Willowicz handed it over, a surveillance photo of three people talking casually outside a local bar.
“Man, she’s smokin’ hot,” O’Banion said.
“Ms. Carson,” Willowicz said, “would you be good enough to identify the young woman with you and William Warren.”
Of course it was Arjeta Kraja.
ON THEIR way out of the hospital, Henry Holt Carson said, “Mr. Secretary, I believe your phone’s about to ring,” just as Paull’s phone buzzed.
Paull gave him a sharp glance.
“I think you’d better answer it,” Carson said with a perfectly straight face. The gloating was all in his voice.
Paull thumbed on the cell phone and put it to his ear. He listened for close to ten seconds before he said, “Yes, sir,” and closed the connection. “Jack, go on ahead. I’ve got an appointment at the White House.”
“At this hour?” Jack said.
“This president never sleeps,” Carson said. Then, turning to Jack, he said, “Why don’t I give you a lift?”
“I have my own car—”
Carson waved a hand. “I’ll have someone come and fetch it.”
Jack recognized a summons when he heard one. He watched his boss cross the parking lot and approach his car. Stars were blurred by the city’s artificial dome of light and the slow creep of dawn. A chilly wind blew off the Potomac with a dampness that pierced his thick coat like a spear.
Jack turned back to Carson. “What’s going on?”
Carson shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Why ask me?”
“Because,” Jack said, “you seem to have orchestrated this entire scene.”
Carson appeared unperturbed.
Jack hurried to Carson’s Navigator and they climbed into the backseat. Carson’s driver turned the SUV around and drove away from the hospital.
Jack turned to Carson. “Now what the hell was that all about?”
Carson held up a finger. “Excuse me.” He punched in a number on his PDA. After a moment, he said, “Harrison, it’s Henry.… Yes, damnit, I’m well aware of the time. Get dressed and haul your ass over to Fearington Academy.… Nothing, I hope, but on the other hand my niece seems to be in trouble.… What sort? I’ve no damn idea.”
After he closed the connection, he sat brooding and silent.
Jack said, “Who are you bringing on board?”
“My lawyer, Harrison Jenkins.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I hope not, but the world doesn’t run on hope.”
They drove on in a fulminating silence. Sitting next to Henry Holt Carson was akin to living near a blast furnace going full bore.
“You never answered my question about orchestrating that scene back there with Dennis.”
“Persistent little fucker, aren’t you?”
“That’s no answer.”
“I’ve been around politicians all my life.” Carson stared straight ahead, his arms folded across his chest. “Say, I don’t have to be worried, do I?”
“About what?”
“You being able to read the street signs, that’s what.” He glanced in Jack’s direction, though not directly at him. “Dyslexia’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Especially,” Jack said, “if you know nothing about it.”
Carson laughed with his teeth bared. “You’re a fuckup, Jack. I’ll never forgive you for my brother’s death.”
“That’s your choice,” Jack said. “But in the same way you’re ignorant about dyslexia, you know nothing about Edward’s death or the circumstances leading up to it.”
“I’m uninterested in your litany of excuses, McClure.”
“We’re like oil and water,” Jack said, “destined never to inhabit the same space.”
Carson grunted. “What the hell my brother saw in you is beyond me, McClure. And the fact he allowed you unlimited access to Alli was a grave mistake.”
“Alli is an adult. She can make her own decisions.”
“She’s a psychological train wreck and you know it. Kidnapped, brainwashed, traumatized further by her father’s sudden death and her mother lingering on in a vegetative state.” He shook his head. “No, what she needs is the firm guidance of an adult who cares about her.”
“She has me.”
“And how’s that going?”
They had drawn up to the front gates of Fearington Academy, which was ablaze with the blinding dazzle of cop cars and unmarked vehicles. After showing their credentials to three different police in ascending order of rank, they were directed and waved through. The car crunched the gravel as Jack headed toward the obstacle course to the left of the main building.
Henry Holt Carson leaned over slightly. “My brother allowed you too much control over Alli, McClure. That’s a mistake I aim to correct tonight.”
THREE
“WELL, HERE’S something you don’t see every day.”
The ME, a tall, rangy man in his midfifties with skin like a lizard and eyes like burnt-out pits, was crouched just to the right of Billy Warren’s corpse. His name was Bit Saunderson; he viewed corpses the way a philatelist views stamps. His forensic people had snapped photos from every conceivable angle, taken shoe prints from the crime scene area, and had departed as silently as clouds drift across the sky.
“Look here.”
He was speaking to Willowicz, but no one stopped Alli from having a look herself. Saunderson’s knees creaked like masts at sea as he moved to give them a view of the side of the corpse’s neck.
“Yeah, we noticed,” Willowicz said, “but what the fuck is it?”
“It’s a bit of a plastic straw. See, it’s pink-and-white striped.” Saunderson touched the protruding end with the tip of his gloved finger. “Neatly punctured the carotid, too. This is how your victim exsanguinated.”
Willowicz scratched his razor-burned jaw. “That speaks to a working knowledge of the human body.”
“Anatomy is a first-semester class at Fearington.” Commander Fellows had begun to look green around the gills.
“Aced her courses, she said,” O’Banion growled as he took up position directly behind Alli.
