Stuart Woods: D.C. Dead

Everyone settled into chairs. “I understand that someone at the White House is not happy with the conclusions reached by our investigators.”

“I think you might say that,” Stone replied equably. “Why do you think that is?”

“You’re asking me?” Smith said with a chuckle. “Why don’t you ask whoever sent you to see me?”

“I just wondered if you feel that the Bureau’s investigation might have left something to be desired.”

“I visited the crime scene myself, less than an hour after the body was discovered, and I have seen every investigative report my agents submitted. I haven’t seen any lack of enthusiasm for the investigation or any reason to question its conclusions. Now, please, tell me how I can help you.”

Dino opened his briefcase and extracted a brick inside a zippered plastic bag. He set it on Smith’s coffee table.

“What is that?” Smith asked.

“The murder weapon,” Dino replied.

“A brick?”

“Clearly. It has blood and hair on it and who knows what else? Maybe a trace of something from the killer.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It was one of many lining the flower beds adjacent to the site of the murder-the closest one to the body, as it happens. Your medical examiner’s report states that the murder weapon was a blunt instrument. Your agents failed to check the nearest blunt instruments available to the killer.”

Smith colored slightly. “That is embarrassing,” he said.

“We’d like it run through the famous FBI crime laboratory,” Dino said, “at the earliest possible moment.”

Smith picked up the phone on the coffee table and pressed a button. “Shelley, will you come in for a moment, please?”

A moment later the door opened and a quite beautiful blond woman entered. “Shelley, this is Mr. Stone Barrington and Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti. Gentlemen, this is Assistant Director Shelley Bach.”

Stone and Dino rose and shook her hand.

Smith picked up the plastic bag gingerly and handed it to his colleague. “Will you please hand-carry this to the lab? It may be the murder weapon in the Emily Kendrick case. Have them analyze the blood and hair on the brick for a match to Mrs. Kendrick and check the remainder of it for any possible traces of the murderer. Please impress upon the director of the lab the urgency of the situation. I’d like a report first thing tomorrow morning, even if it requires an all-nighter of the technician.”

“Yessir,” the woman said, and left the room.

Stone somehow knew immediately-he wasn’t sure how-that Kerry Smith and Shelley Bach were sleeping with each other, and probably had been for some time.

“That’s a very valuable piece of evidence,” Smith said. “I apologize for the negligence of my agents in not discovering it, and I thank you for bringing it in. What else can I do for you?”

“Mr. Smith,” Stone said, “we’ve noticed in our reading of the Bureau’s report that immediately upon the suicide of Brixton Kendrick, your agents stopped considering other possible suspects. Surely there must have been others under consideration.”

“Possibly,” Smith replied.

“May I ask, who were they? It might be useful for us to talk to them.”

“I’m aware that no other possible suspects were mentioned in the report, and it’s my assumption that the investigating agents were concerned that any such persons would almost certainly be employed in the White House, and they didn’t want to call media attention to specific persons there, since that might adversely affect those persons’ ability to do their jobs.”

“That was very delicate of them,” Stone said. “Perhaps we could speak to the agent or agents who made the decision to withhold those names from the report, and they could tell us directly, so that we might talk with the relevant people.”

Smith looked at the floor. “I must tell you that such a list would have to include virtually everyone working or present near the Oval Office at the time.” He cleared his throat. “Including the president of the United States.”

“I think it is unlikely that the president would be a credible suspect, since it is at his behest that we are here. If he murdered Mrs. Kendrick, he would be unlikely to personally reopen the investigation a year later.”

“I cannot but agree,” Smith said. He picked up the phone again and pressed a button. “Shelley, when you return to your office, please consult your notes and bring me a list of all the West Wing personnel who might have had access to the crime scene around the time of the murder.” He hung up. “Assistant Director Bach was the lead investigator,” he said.

It seemed to Stone that Deputy Director Smith relied on Assistant Director Bach for a great many things.

“I’ve left a message on her voice mail,” Smith said, “since she apparently has not returned from the lab as yet. Do you have any other questions?”

“I think we might have a few of Assistant Director Bach,” Stone said.

Smith looked at his watch. “Where are you staying?”

“At the Hay-Adams.” Stone gave him the suite number.

“Given the hour, I think it might be best if, when she returns from the lab, I ask Assistant Director Bach to hand deliver her list to you there. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Yes,” Stone replied, “it would. We’ll look forward to speaking with her.”

He and Dino thanked Smith for his courtesy and left.

Back at the Hay-Adams, Dino took a sip of his scotch. “You know,” he said, “this investigation was played very close to the vest by the Bureau.”

“Yes, it was.”

“So much so that it’s almost as if someone important above the agents issued them their instructions and accepted their conclusions.”

“That’s a very astute observation, Dino,” Stone said, sipping his Knob Creek. “And it would seem that there were very few people at the White House in a position to do that, if you exclude the president and the first lady.”

“And their names should be on the list that the lovely Assistant Director Bach is bringing us,” he said. The phone rang, and Dino picked it up and listened. “Please send her right up,” he said, then hung up.

“Well,” Dino said, “I guess we’d better put on our shoes and jackets and tighten our ties.”

Stone and Dino had made themselves presentable by the time Assistant Director Shelley Bach arrived at the door, and, as it turned out, she had made herself very presentable, too. She was wearing a black sheath under a silk coat, very high heels, diamond studs in her ears, and an expensive-looking diamond-like necklace around her throat.

“Good evening,” she said, as Stone held the door for her. She shook both their hands and her hand seemed to linger in Dino’s for a moment.

“Please have a seat,” Stone said. “May I get you a drink?”

Bach glanced at her Cartier wristwatch. “Thank you, yes. A vodka martini on the rocks, please.”

Stone turned to make the drink, and when he turned back Bach and Dino were sharing the small sofa. He delivered her drink on a small silver tray, then made Di V

“Long day?” he asked, by way of small talk.

“It’s always a long day at the Bureau,” she replied. “Especially since I was promoted.”

“How long have you been an assistant director?” Stone asked.

“About three months. When Kerry was promoted from assistant to deputy director, he brought me up with him. We’ve worked quite closely together for a couple of years.”

“What sort of cases do you work?” Dino asked.

Bach turned her body toward him as she answered. “Kerry’s purview is domestic criminal investigations, so just about everything under that umbrella. I must say, though, that the Kendrick affair was the first homicide I investigated in more than four years.”