Phillip Margolin - Executive Privilege

“Where is Miss Walsh’s computer?”

Bethany looked around the room too before answering. “If it’s not here she must have had it with her. She had a laptop. She took it everywhere. She carried it in her backpack.”

Evans took out his cell phone and dialed the agent who’d taken custody of the evidence from the Bethesda police at the crime scene. He asked if a backpack or a computer had been found in the alley. Then he asked if a laptop or a backpack had been found in Walsh’s car. After a few minutes, Evans hung up.

“ Bethany, if Miss Walsh didn’t have the laptop with her where would it be?”

Bethany shook her head. “It wouldn’t be anywhere. She never let it out of her sight. It had all her stuff on it: her papers, private stuff. It was either on the desk or in the backpack.”

“She must have backed up her hard drive,” Sparks said.

“Sure,” Bethany said. “Everyone does. She kept her backup disks in a plastic box in her desk.”

Evans started opening the drawers in Walsh’s desk again but he couldn’t find the box.

“ Bethany,” Evans asked, “I don’t want to alarm you-and there may be a simple explanation for the missing laptop and backups-but can you check this room and the rest of the apartment to see if anything else is missing?”

Kitces looked scared. “Do you think someone broke in?”

“I don’t know what your place usually looks like so I have no opinion. Did you notice anything unusual when you got home, this morning?”

“No, but I was pretty tired. I just went right to bed. I didn’t look around.”

Sparks and Evans helped Bethany search the apartment, but they didn’t find the laptop or anything else that would help them in the investigation and Bethany couldn’t point to anything else that was missing or out of place. When they were certain that there was nothing more to be done Sparks asked Bethany if she wanted them to call a friend to come over. Bethany said she’d call her boyfriend. Evans called police headquarters and asked to have a policeman come over to take Bethany ’s statement regarding the missing laptop and backup disks. As soon as the police officer arrived the agents thanked Bethany again, gave her their cards, and left.

“Do you think someone broke in, last night?” Sparks asked as they rode down in the elevator.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think happened to the laptop?”

“If she had it with her, the Ripper might have kept it as a souvenir or he could have left it with the body and someone took it.”

They walked side by side for a few moments then Sparks turned to Evans.

“We should have someone in the Kansas City office break the news to Walsh’s folks.”

Evans shuddered. He always felt so sorry for the parents. He could not imagine what it felt like to learn that your child was dead and then to learn that she’d died in pain and terror. He felt guilty that some other poor bastard would have the responsibility of visiting Charlotte ’s parents.

“When is this son of a bitch going to screw up?” he muttered angrily.

“He will, Keith. They always do.”

Evans frowned. “This business with the campaigns is strange. I wish I knew what happened in Chicago.”

“You can ask someone in Farrington’s campaign headquarters. There’s probably a simple explanation.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t just switch sides like that. Something must have happened.” Evans thought for a moment. “Maybe the Ripper works on Farrington’s campaign. Maybe he hit on her and freaked her out.”

“That would explain Walsh quitting Farrington’s campaign, but it wouldn’t explain why she went to work for Gaylord.”

“True. I don’t remember. Have we found any connections between the other victims and either campaign?”

“Not that I recall, but I’ll have someone check it out. But I’m betting that whatever made Walsh switch her allegiance to Gaylord had nothing to do with our case.”

Dana drove random routes until she found the type of run-down motel that sits on the outskirts of small towns that have seen better days. The accommodations at the Traveler’s Rest consisted of rustic cabins whose peeling paint had not been touched up since around the time we were fighting World War II. The only hints that the motel existed in the twenty-first century were the signs advertising FREE HBO AND INTERNET ACCESS. A little after five in the morning, Dana paid the clerk cash for a few days’ lodging then drove Jake’s Harley behind the fourth cabin from the office so it couldn’t be seen from the road. About the only advantage she had was that no one knew what she was using for transportation, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Dana had used cash to pay for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and other basic toiletries plus a few days’ supply of prepackaged sandwiches, taco chips, and bottled water in a gas station minimart hours away from the motel. She’d also made a stop at a Wal-Mart where she’d purchased a few changes of clothes and a duffle bag. After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she caught a few hours of fitful sleep. When she woke up, she sat around in her T-shirt and panties, watching CNN while she ate half of a ham and cheese sandwich and drank a bottle of water.

The lead news story was about the D.C. Ripper, who had claimed a new victim. The police were withholding the name of the deceased until her parents were notified. There was nothing about the shooting at her apartment, but she wasn’t expecting a story. The people who’d attacked her wouldn’t want any publicity. They had probably sanitized the place and had someone with authority that could not be questioned silence the cops. If she could hide for a few days they might conclude she’d hightailed it for someplace far from Washington, D.C. That would give her a little breathing room. With no place to go and nothing to do, Dana killed the day watching old movies and periodically checking out the news.

A river flowed behind the motel. Sometime in the distant past, one of the owners had set up a picnic area with three tables in a copse of cottonwoods that grew near the bank. The sun was close to setting when Dana grew claustrophobic and left her room. It had been a warm day, and she went outside in a T-shirt that covered the gun she’d shoved into the waistband at the back of her jeans. Dana brought a sandwich and a bag of chips to one of the tables and washed them down with swigs from a water bottle. While she ate she thought over her options. There weren’t many. She couldn’t run forever without money, and the pictures of Walsh and Farrington were the only things of value she possessed. How to cash in, though? She couldn’t drive up to the White House and demand to meet with the president.

The sun went down and a chill wind pushed away the warmth. Dana decided to go inside and research Christopher Farrington in the hopes that she would spot a way to get her demands to him. It turned out that the motel’s boast of Internet access was a bit overblown. There wasn’t a way to access the Internet from Dana’s room but there was an old computer in a corner of the motel office that a guest could use. To do so, Dana had to pay for the use of the motel’s password. This was fine with her, since her inquiries would show up as the motel’s inquiry if she was on an agency hot list.

The owner’s teenage daughter was manning the desk in the office. Dana paid for the password. The young girl put the bills in the till before turning her attention back to the television that perched on a corner of the counter. Dana went online and typed in “Christopher Farrington.” A dizzying number of references popped up on the screen, and she started shuffling through them, looking for something she could use.