Steven James - The Bishop

There are many kinds of death. Physical, spiritual, emotional, psychological.

Yes.

And this would be the most fitting kind of all.

For both Agent Bowers.

And his stepdaughter.

Evidence Room 3a.

All of the evidence collected from the scenes lay before us, sealed and numbered in plastic evidence bags: straw from the primate center, the leather restraints the killers had used, the contents of Mollie Fischer’s purse, the cartridge case of the bullet that had gone through my arm, the two cryptic license plates. Beside them lay the blood-soaked suitcases, the wheelchair, carpeting from the van.

C’mon, Pat, what are you missing?

“We need to start at the beginning,” I told Lien-hua, but I knew we didn’t have time, and by the look on her face, she was thinking the same thing. Six lab techs worked quietly on the other side of the room, giving us some space.

“All right.” Lien-hua slid the bags with bloodied straw aside to focus our attention on them. “Tuesday: Twana Summie is abducted and murdered, but the killers make it look like it’s Mollie Fischer’s body.”

“No, let’s go back before that, to the note.”

“The note?”

“Calvin’s note that mentioned Patricia E., the anagram for Aria Petic. There’s no way that’s a coincidence. He died last month. How did Calvin find that out?”

“Or, on the flip side, how did the killers find out about the note?”

“Exactly.”

“How many people know about that note?”

“I’m not sure. Angela. Ralph. Me. A few other people. Cheyenne. I haven’t exactly advertised it.”

“And how’d you find it again?”

“Calvin started to suspect that Giovanni was responsible for the murders Basque was on trial for. He was looking into it when he was attacked. Then while he was in the coma, I found the note in his things.”

“And we have no idea how he discovered the information?”

I scanned the piles of evidence and had a thought. Maybe he didn’t.

H814b Patricia E.

Yes.

Of course!

“What if this clue about Patricia,” I said, “has nothing to do with Giovanni or Basque?”

“But because of the name Aria Petic, the mention of Patricia E. is clearly related to this case.”

“No, no, listen.” I jotted the clue down on a slip of paper, pointed at the name: Patricia E. “Since the killers left an anagram for Patricia E. at the primate center, we have a connection with the second part of the note. And here. H814b. They killed Mollie in room 814, to connect the hotel to Hadron Brady-”

She hit the table. “His initials-H.B.”

“Which means that somehow the killers put all this together last month.”

But why write an anagram? Why a code?

“No. Hang on.” I shook my head. “Calvin was a man of science. To him, everything was about clarity, specificity. Why isn’t the b capitalized? And why add another layer of obscurity to a case by creating this cipher-”

“Unless he didn’t discover it; unless it was given to him.”

My head was spinning. “In either case, the genesis of everything seems to be that assassination attempt. Lebreau was there, Brady was there. Vice President Fischer and…”

I waited, unsure I wanted to say his name.

“Paul Lansing,” she said.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Exactly.”

I looked at her, let my silence speak for me.

“Pat, that’s insane,” Lien-hua said incredulously. “There’s no way he had anything to do with this.”

I didn’t know Lansing’s phone number, but I figured Lacey could find it for me. “I need to talk to Angela.”

As I hurried toward her office, Lien-hua kept up with me. “Pat, you don’t actually think Lansing is involved?”

“No.”

“But then-”

“Just a sec.” I was at Angela’s door. “Can you pull up all the phone numbers for any Paul Remmer Lansing from Wyoming?” I asked her.

She typed. “Nope. Nothing.”

His lawyers will have the number.

“Get me the number for Keegan Wilby in DC.”

“Pat, this is crazy,” Lien-hua said.

“I know.”

Angela found Wilby’s cell number, I called, he didn’t answer. Come on!

I left him a message to call me as soon as he could with Lansing’s number.

The scars.

Endgame.

The plates left on Larrote’s car were registered in Denver, where you live.

Lien-hua put a hand on my shoulder. “Pat. What are you thinking?”

“Tessa. I need to check on her. You stay here, wait for Natasha.”

“Call me.”

“I will.”

Then I remembered that Paul had emailed Tessa on Wednesday, asked her to call him.

She’ll have his number.

I speed-dialed my stepdaughter as I burst out the door and raced to my car.

10 minutes left…

9:19 p.m.

“Do you know your father’s number?” I was pulling out of my parking spot. “His phone number?”

“No.”

“How could you not-”

“He never gave it to me. Patrick, what’s going on?” Her voice had a crack of fear inside it. “Is there a bomb somewhere?” She must have overheard me talking with Cheyenne a little while ago.

“I don’t know. Listen, if Paul contacts you, emails you, anything, I want you to call me immediately. Stay in the house, make sure the doors are locked.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“No, don’t be scared, just stay with Detective Warren. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

“Did Paul do something?”

“No. But he might know who did. Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be there by 9:30.”

End call. I punched the gas and left the Academy.

Margaret Wellington was deep in thought about Rodale’s connection with Lebreau as she entered her house, set down her purse, and dropped her keys into the dish on the counter, but even as she did those things, a small uncomfortable chill began to crawl through her.

Her dog had not run up to greet her. “C’mere, Lewis.” Her voice sounded lonely, muted by the empty house.

Nothing.

“Come here, boy.”

He didn’t come.

“Lewis?”

Stillness.

A vacant, silent house.

He would have come if he could.

Margaret kicked off her shoes so that she could move through the house without making a sound.

Unholstered her weapon.

And started down the hallway.

Eight minutes from home.

Who could have found out about Lansing’s past? Someone in law enforcement? The NSA? Who would know about the congressman’s financial records and his connection with the Gunderson Foundation?

Who was Aria Petic?

It would need to be a woman who knew inside information about the Gunderson facility as well as the assassination attempt against the vice president, someone who’d been at every crime scene, who’d built her mental map of DC from her workplace, who had almost unlimited resources for research at her fingertips, who would know the response time of the ERT Oh yes.

She knew about the basement at the hotel, that you were shot there. She knew!

I had it.

But I needed to be sure.

Ralph’s flying in to Reagan National. Perfect.

I punched in his number.

“Hey, man,” he began, “we just land-”

“Ralph,” I interrupted him. “There are two 911 calls from a triple homicide in Maryland last month. I need you to have the lab do a voice analysis. Now. Fast, before 9:29.”

“What are you talking about?”

I explained whose voice match we were looking at here, and he told me I had to be joking. “I’m not joking,” I said. “Listen, her house is near you. Get some backup and a bomb squad and get over there. If the voice print matches-”

“You sure about this?”

“No, but I don’t want to take the chance that I might be wrong.” I cornered the county road at seventy. “Get to the house, get the analysis, and move on it if it’s confirmed.”