David Kent - The Triangle Conspiracy

“Answer me this,” Hendler said. “When you called me over to Bricktown on the morning the shit hit the fan downtown, did you know then who she was? Please tell me the truth. When I drove your brother, and you drove that girl, to the Edmond house, did you know then? I need to know.”

Faith put a hand on his shoulder, then slid it over to the back of his neck. She touched him lightly there. “I found out just after that,” she said. “After we got to the house.”

“That’s the truth?”

“That’s the truth, Scott.”

Relief swept across Hendler’s face. “I believe you. We’ve been down this road enough times that I know you wouldn’t tell me an outright lie, that you’d just say you couldn’t answer.”

Faith nodded. “I do the best I can. I worry that it’s not enough sometimes, but I guess once you do the best you can, you can’t do anything else.”

“That’s a fact. Anything from Sean?”

“No, and I don’t know what to think.”

“Faith…”

Faith recognized the tone and saw what was coming next. “I don’t think he’s capable of murder, Scott. I think he’s an alcoholic, and I think because of that he’s easily led sometimes. Daryn McDermott certainly manipulated him. But I don’t think he’s capable of doing what was done to her.”

“But you’ve said you really don’t know him anymore,” Hendler said gently.

“That’s true, but…we both saw the body. If Sean had killed her, it would have had to be a crime of passion. That was no crime of passion. That was someone making a point, someone delivering a message. The gunshot, the hanging, the location of the body.”

Hendler smiled a little. “See, I knew there was still a cop lurking under all that Department Thirty secret-agent stuff.” The smile faded. “It would make things a lot easier if we could talk to Sean, though.”

It took Faith a minute to catch his meaning. “I don’t know where he is, Scott. He even took my car, for God’s sake. I’m not hiding him.”

“Okay, then. I hope you’re right about him. It’s just…this is a murder investigation. Even if you didn’t mention it to Rob, I have to consider it. I have to think about it. You understand that, don’t you?”

She stroked his cheek. “You’re such a good man, Sleepy Scott. Yes, I understand that.”

“Maybe you should lie low for a few more days. I’m sure your boss has already told you that. Departmental security and all that.”

“And all that,” Faith echoed.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Dinner sounds great,” Faith said. “Maybe we can grab onto a little something normal in the midst of all this.”

“Maybe so,” Hendler said. But he sounded doubtful.

Hendler dropped Cain off at the Investigations Division downtown, and each promised they’d be in touch later in the day.

For once, Cain didn’t mind that the Bureau was the lead jurisdictional agency on the case. Scott Hendler was faced with the unpleasant task of contacting Senator Edward McDermott.

At his own desk, Cain listened to his voice mail messages. Most were from the media, all of which he deleted. They could contact Public Information if they wanted a statement. One was from his wife, wondering if he would be able to take their older daughter to her choir rehearsal that evening.

Absolutely, he thought. It might get me away from this madness for a while, get me back to what’s real and where people are just who they’re supposed to be.

The last message was from the medical examiner’s office. There would be a short delay in processing the report on the autopsy of Katherine Hall. Cain made a mental note to let the ME’s office know the deceased’s real identity. He wondered what the holdup was in getting the report.

He hung up the phone and logged onto his computer. He didn’t have access to quite as many databases as the U.S. Department of Justice did, but he could still go a lot of places and peek into a lot of dark corners.

He thought for a long moment, then began clicking his mouse and working his keyboard, seeing what he could find out about one Faith Kelly.

FAITH AND HENDLER HAD CHILI AND BEER AT DIFFERENTRoads, where they listened to Faith’s friend Alex Bridge and her band, The Cove of Cork, play Celtic and American folk music until nearly midnight. They didn’t talk about the case. They were two normal people who cared about each other, out for a low-key evening on the town, two normal people de-stressing after a normal week.

For a while Faith even believed it.

She’d muted her phone while listening to the music, but she checked it every fifteen minutes or so, hoping against hope for a message from Sean. She tried to be furtive, but caught Hendler looking at her a couple of times when she was checking the phone.

“Relax,” he mouthed to her.

They’d gone back to her house to spend the night. They made love gently, tenderly. There was nothing frenzied or hurried about it. It wasn’t even about passion, Faith thought. It was connection, two people who needed to be with each other, and to express what they meant to each other. It felt good, and for a while Faith really could believe they were just two normal lovers.

She woke early, ran, showered, and dressed. Hendler was in the shower when she left. She pulled the curtain aside, leaned in, and kissed him.

“You’ll get your hair all wet again,” he said, wiping shampoo out of his eyes.

“So what?” she said.

“See you later,” Hendler said.

She was in her office by seven thirty, and at five minutes after eight her phone rang. It was Yorkton, and he was uncharacteristically blunt and straightforward.

“Do you have a televison?” he said without identifying himself.

“Not here in the office.”

“Find one, quickly.”

“What channel?”

“Pick one,” Yorkton said, and hung up.

Yorkton had sounded genuinely alarmed, and Yorkton never sounded alarmed. Faith jogged down the hall to the Marshals Service office. Several of the deputies were gathered around a TV set in one corner of the “bullpen” area. They looked up when she came into the room. Someone said, “Oh, no.” Several stared openly.

The group parted as Faith came closer. Chief Deputy Mark Raines, looking as always more like a banker than a U.S. marshal in his charcoal gray suit and his gold-rimmed glasses, stepped aside.

“Faith, you need to see this,” he said.

Faith stepped in front of the screen. The set was tuned to CNN. The graphic at the bottom of the screen read: The Capitol, Washington. News conference of Senator Edward McDermott (AZ).

“Oh, no,” Faith said.

“Didn’t I already say that?” someone said behind her. She thought it sounded like Leneski.

Senator Edward McDermott was a large, florid-looking man in his late fifties. His hair was completely silver, his eyes a dark brown- Daryn’s eyes, Faith thought. He wore a perfectly tailored suit that fashionably hid much of his bulk. He wore glasses, but kept taking them off and putting them on again, using them as pointers, waving them around. Faith wondered if he really needed them to see, or if they were just props.

He was holding a few sheets of paper in one hand, and he was speaking directly to the camera. By his side stood a perfectly groomed blond woman in her thirties. The current wife, Faith guessed.

“I’m not speaking just as a senator from Arizona,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, no doubt honed by many courtrooms and campaign speeches. “I’m speaking as a father, as a family man whose job just happens to be in elective office.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Leneski said, behind Faith.