Robert Andrews - A Murder of Justice

“We start with establishing Mr. Gentry’s timeline.”

“That was done, I remember-”

“I want it done again,” Frank cut in, playing hardass himself. He indicated Janowitz. “With a new set of eyes.”

Salvani studied Frank and the others.

Frank was about to say something when Salvani sighed. “People here thought that was all over. You gonna be flicking scabs off old wounds.”

“Wounds?”

Salvani laughed. “No shortage of walking wounded around here. This place’s a zoo of prima donnas. Each one, they look in the mirror in the morning, they see the next president of the United States. They eat breakfast, they plan how to get a leg up on the others. They elbow in the aisles, they backstab in the cloakrooms.”

“Nice place to work,” Janowitz said.

Salvani laughed again. “Hey! It’s the distilled essence of the human race, American politics is.” His smile went away.

“You replaced Gentry,” Janowitz said.

“Yes.”

“You weren’t aware of anything that could have made him a target?”

“Sometimes just walking down a sidewalk in this town’s enough to make you a target.”

“I don’t think it was walking down a sidewalk did it,” Janowitz said.

“Oh?”

Janowitz ignored the question. “Any subcommittee business?”

Salvani slapped his fingertips lightly on the edge of his desk. “Like I told your fellas two years ago, we were gearing up for the District’s annual budget hearings.”

“You make it sound like an everyday thing.”

“Annual event. Bills have to be paid, pork has to be handed out. Hearings are part of the process.”

“Mr. Gentry was in charge of the hearing?” Frank asked. “What’d that involve?”

“Kevin and a couple of his assistants would do research… define the issues, sell the members on them. Then they’d line up witnesses, schedule the hearing, work out the press releases”-Salvani spoke dismissively-“that sort of thing. Standard stuff.”

“He kept Congressman Rhinelander informed?”

“Of course.” Salvani said it with care. “I suspect he didn’t come in often. Word was, he was a good staffer. You got to remember, at the time the subcommittee was up to its collective ass in alligators with the Waco investigation.” A sour look again crossed Salvani’s face. “What a godawful mess that was.”

“The hearings took place?” Frank asked. “After Mr. Gentry was killed?”

Salvani nodded. “Pro forma… nothing sexy.”

“Gentry’s files?” Janowitz asked. “The background research and all? You’ve kept them?”

Salvani made a show of checking the wall clock. “Not here.”

“Where?”

“Procedure is they archive the stuff… over at the library.” He pointed in the general direction of the Library of Congress.

“We’ll be wanting to go back over everything… correspondence, calendars, e-mail.”

Salvani frowned.

Anticipating resistance, Frank said, “This’s getting high on the flagpole.”

Salvani’s frown stayed. “I’ll have to clear everything with Mr. Rhinelander.”

“When…?”

“I’ll talk to him this afternoon.”

Salvani stood, followed by the three visitors.

“If it’s not an imposition, I’ll call you,” Janowitz said.

Salvani eyed Janowitz, adding another dimension to his earlier measurement.

“No imposition at all.” Salvani drew his words out, making it clear he thought it was. He didn’t offer to shake hands, but sat down and pulled a sheaf of papers from an overflowing in-box.

He waited until they were in the doorway. “Kearney?”

Frank turned.

“You any relation to Judge Tom Kearney?”

“His son.”

Salvani nodded, a small curtsy. “His son,” he echoed.

Just as he started the car, Frank’s phone chirped.

“Frank? Where’re you?”

“Second and C, Hoser. What’s up?”

“Arrowsmith called ’bout Pencil.”

“What about him?”

“Didn’t say. Just said she was having trouble and get my ass down there.”

“Where’re you?” Frank asked.

“Gettin’ in my car.”

“Meet you there,” Frank said, switching on lights and siren.

Sheresa Arrowsmith thrust her hands deep into the side pockets of her white jacket and glared at the empty ICU bed. The sheets had been stripped, and an orderly was stowing away the IV. A nurse stood nearby, a clinical chart under his arm.

“Stupid, stupid man,” Arrowsmith said, shaking her head, still looking at the offending bed.

“What happened?” Jose asked.

“David?” Arrowsmith beckoned the nurse over. “This’s David West,” she said. “He was here. David, you tell the officers what happened.”

West glanced at the clinical chart, ran his index finger down to an entry, then looked up. “It was ten-fifteen. We needed another blood sample. I came in. Mr. Crawfurd was watching TV.”

West pointed to a small wall-mounted TV. The Fox noon news, muted, was just coming on.

“I told him the lab wanted another sample. He said something obscene. Something about being bled to death.”

West hesitated and looked from Jose to Frank as though worried about his performance.

“Go on, David,” Frank said.

“Well, I was thumping his vein… to bring it up to stick… and the local news came on. It was the press conference… the mayor, the chief of police…?”

“We know the one,” Jose said.

“I’m just getting ready to stick him. All of a sudden he hollers… sits up. Jerks so I almost stuck myself. Mr. Crawfurd’s really upset. Yells for me to get out.”

“And?”

“Nothing else I could do. I got Dr. Arrowsmith.”

Arrowsmith picked up: “It took a few minutes. I was with another patient. We got back, he was gone. Tore out the IV and split.”

“Clothes?” Jose asked.

“They were in the closet,” West said, pointing to an open door.

“When he hollered… why you think he did that?” Frank asked.

“It was the TV. That part where the reporter was questioning about that murder case… Gantry?”

“Gentry,” Frank absently corrected. “What’d he say?”

“ ‘Shit!’ He said, ‘Shit!’ Then he told me, ‘Get out, motherfucker.’ ”

“You a pretty big guy,” Jose said.

West’s mouth tightened. “Hospital doesn’t pay me to restrain patients,” he said. “I got out.”

“What was Crawfurd’s state of mind?” Frank asked. “He angry, scared… what?”

“Scared.” West made a vague gesture that took in the small room. “He wanted out of here in the world’s worst way.”

“How’s he physically, Sheresa?” Jose asked.

“He’s going to be hurting, but what he’s got isn’t going to kill him,” Arrowsmith said.

Frank punched the play button.

“… changes in… ah… the… um… evidentiary base.” In the replay, Emerson’s voice came across as even more tentative.

“Sounds like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar,” Jose said.

“… weapon that was used to kill Skeeter Hodges was also used to kill Gentry?”

Frank watched as the reporter did a number on Emerson. “Woman’s got a good source.”

Frank clicked the power off. The reporter’s image faded.

For moments, he and Jose sat slouched in their chairs, staring at the blank screen. Finally Jose got up, stretched, and went over to the coffeemaker.

“It’s burnt,” Frank warned.

Jose filled his mug anyway and returned to his desk. “Man on the run,” he said, settling into his chair. He sipped the coffee and made a face. “Shit’s burnt,” he muttered. “Pencil worried more about Skeeter? Or was there something about Gentry got him spun up?”