Robert Andrews - A Murder of Justice

Frank turned that over, then shook his head. “Maybe later.”

Kate and Frank stood for a moment on Judith Barnes’s steps. Across Thirty-second Street, a “For Sale” sign hung from a wrought-iron standard in front of a small red-brick row house. Above the sign, another one read “Under Contract.”

Frank remembered the first time he’d been in that house. Last October, an autumn morning with a blue sky that went out to forever. That morning, the house had smelled cleanly of tomato and fennel and garlic and its owner had been found dead in a neighboring park by a woman walking her dog.

Kate took his arm and they started down the steps. “You think the new owners know?”

“Probably,” Frank said. “A thing like that… Georgetown’s too small for people not to know.”

As they walked the block over to Wisconsin Avenue, Frank wondered if Mary Keegan’s ghost lived in the neat Federal-era house. He hoped she did. A nice ghost to have watching over you.

Kate slipped her hand down his arm and interlaced her fingers with his. “I watched you and your father tonight.”

“Oh?”

“You love him very much.”

“Well… yes…” he answered, struck by her saying it. “What brought that on?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Sure you do.”

Kate looked at him, and he could tell she was trying to sort it out, the way she narrowed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“Maybe it was the wine and the candlelight,” she said, “but I suddenly saw the two of you as you and an older you. There was a… a… a connectivity…”

Kate squeezed his hand. “Like I say, maybe it was the wine and the candlelight.”

Frank felt his face warm, and he squeezed back.

“Looks like we’re going to have fun on the Hill.”

Kate said nothing, then nodded, as though agreeing with a thought she had had. “You have your hands full.”

“Juggling.”

“More like threads,” Kate said. “You have to pull hard enough to unravel, but not so hard that you break them.”

“Gentry, Skeeter.”

“They’re two.”

Wisconsin Avenue was still bright with lights and evening traffic. And no taxis in sight.

“We could go to my place, get my car,” Frank said.

Kate shook her head. “You had more wine than I did, and I wouldn’t drive.”

Frank knew better than to argue, first because it was Kate, and second, because Kate was right. After three attempts, he semaphored a cab over to the curb. He opened the back door and held it open once Kate had settled in.

“Rashid,” he told the driver, picking the name off the laminated license over the visor, “take this lady home.” At the same time, he flashed his badge and let his jacket fall away to let Rashid get a good look at his shoulder holster.

He watched the cab disappear down Wisconsin Avenue, then began walking south. A display in an antique store caught his eye. He stopped to look over a simple pine chest. He imagined a French carpenter, needing something to keep his tools in, throwing together the chest in an afternoon, little knowing-or caring-that it would bring a four-figure price in an upscale shop in an American village a century later.

As he continued down Wisconsin, he considered dropping into Billy Martin’s for a decaf. He glanced at his watch and decided to head home instead. As it was, Monty would be sulking about being fed late.

He crossed Wisconsin and turned down N Street.

Threads.

Who killed Gentry?

Who killed Skeeter Hodges?

Connections?

How? Where? What? When? Who?

Ancient maples along the sidewalks formed a leafy tunnel over Olive Street. Frank hadn’t left the outside light on, and the houses on either side of his were dark. He held his key ring up to catch the dim light from the corner streetlamp.

As he did so, he heard behind him the slight rasp of a shoe on the brick sidewalk. He switched his keys to his left hand and turned toward the sound, silently cursing his vulnerability.

“Good evening, Detective Kearney,” came the BBC announcer’s plummy voice.

“Good… evening, Waverly.”

The big Nigerian’s eyes widened as he noticed Frank’s right hand, armpit high inside his jacket. “I am sorry… I have given you a turn.”

“That’s all right, Waverly, I’ve been given worse.”

“I came by. There was no light. But I thought you would return. And so I decided to wait.”

Ngame motioned behind him toward the cars parked across the street. One of them was a black Cadillac with someone in the driver’s seat.

“Come in?”

Ngame shook his head. “Thank you, no.” He paused, weighing a matter of some delicacy. “I regret that I was not open for business today, when you and Detective Phelps were making… ah… inquiries.”

“I’m sorry we missed you, Waverly.”

“Pardon my inquisitiveness,” Ngame said, “but have you had success in locating Mr. Crawfurd?”

“Not yet.”

Ngame pursed his lips and paused as he did another weighing of another delicate matter.

“I have two things. They are not much, but…” He paused apologetically. “… they are something.” He came in heavy on the last syllable.

“Yes, Waverly?”

“The two things-one, Skeeter Hodges had insurance, and two, there are eyes on you and Detective Phelps.”

Skeeter had insurance?” Jose scoffed. “Didn’t get his money’s worth.”

“Maybe he didn’t keep up the premiums.”

“Names?”

“I asked Waverly who he heard it from-”

“Yeah?”

“He heard two guys he didn’t know jiving about it while they were looking for a watch.”

“And the eyes business?”

“Same guys… ‘eyes on you and Detective Phelps.’ ”

“He’d recognize them if he saw them again?”

Frank shook his head. “Two black males, late twenties, early thirties. Medium build. Shorter than Waverly.”

“Big help.” Jose tilted back in his chair and gazed out the window. The Weather Channel had predicted rain. Not a cloud in the sky. His eyes came back to Frank. “They had our names? I mean, Waverly said…?”

“Yeah, he did. He said they said our names-Kearney and Phelps.”

The two men sat thinking about it, neither moving. Finally Jose broke the silence. “Two calls this morning. Salvani and Gideon.”

“Oh?”

“Salvani wasn’t happy.”

“Unh-hunh?”

“He talked with Congressman Rhinelander.”

“And?”

“Just that the congressman didn’t want us digging in the subcommittee files, and was talking about calling Emerson about us.”

“Oh, shit.”

Emerson’s face… first, the wide eyes as he realized he really had heard what he thought he’d heard. Then the shattered look of disbelief. Finally the angry flush of betrayal. Get yelled at by Chief Day or, God forbid, the mayor.

“Salvani said he did some damage control.”

“Oh? Rhinelander just going to shoot us outright? No drawing and quartering?”

“We got a command performance with the congressman today.”

“We? You and me?”

“Yeah. I figure we’re gonna get a lecture, but we’ll get in. Otherwise Rhinelander’d be talking with Emerson.”

“Time?”

“TBD…” Jose said. “Sometime this afternoon.”

“Gideon…?”

“He wants us to drop by.”

“He didn’t say why?”

Jose shook his head. “Maybe he and Waverly been listening in on the same party line.”

“Why don’t you take that? I want to do a little digging on Congressman Rhinelander.”

“Where you going to dig?”

“The Dragon Lady,” Frank said, reaching for the phone.

Jose nodded. He stood and gathered his cell phone and pager. He got the look of a man who had remembered something.