Stuart Woods - Capital Crimes

“You know that talking to it doesn’t work,” she said. “Go sit down, and I’ll bring it to you the moment it arrives.”

The fax machine rang.

Kinney went and stood over it, willing it to print faster.

The machine made the requisite noises, then slowly spat out a sheet of paper. Kinney snatched it from the machine and read it aloud. “Edward E. Coulter, Riverview Road, Arlington.” He furrowed his brow. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“What was it again?” his secretary asked.

“Edward E. Coulter.”

“Edward Eugene Coulter?”

The name came like a spear through the heart. “Our CIA retiree? The one we talked to?”

“The one who’s dead,” she said helpfully. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yes, Mr. President, he’s right here.” She handed him the phone.

“Bob Kinney,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Bob, they faxed me this name,” the president said. “Edward E. Coulter. Isn’t that the retired CIA guy, the one who died?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“What do you make of this?”

“We’ll be interviewing his widow again first thing this morning,” Kinney replied. “I’ll have to get back to you, sir.”

“Please do,” the president said. “At your earliest convenience.” He hung up.

“Call the garage and tell the team to stand down,” Kinney said to his secretary. “Tell Kerry to pick up a tape recorder and be prepared to leave the building at eight a.m.” Kinney went back into his office and stretched out on the sofa again. If he were alone, he would cry, he reflected. Instead, he was going to get some sleep.

AT 8:25 A.M., Kinney and Smith pulled up in front of the Coulter residence, just in time to see Mrs. Coulter step onto the front porch in a bathrobe and pick up her newspaper. She watched as they got out of the car and walked up her driveway.

“Agent Kinney, isn’t it?” she said, looking puzzled.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “And Agent Smith. May we come inside and talk with you?”

“Of course. I was just putting on some coffee.”

They went inside and waited impatiently while Mrs. Coulter moved around her kitchen and finally came out with a coffeepot and some small pastries. “I bake them myself,” she said. “There’s nobody to eat them since Ed died, but I bake them anyway.” She poured them all some coffee and sat down.

“Please accept my condolences,” he said.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Mrs. Coulter,” Kinney said, “I want to tell you why we’re here.”

“Does it still have something to do with the sniper?” she asked.

The papers still referred to him as the sniper, even though he’d killed only once in that manner.

“Yes, it does. Let me tell you why we interviewed your husband. One of our theories about the case is that the killer, because he had expertise in several ways of killing, might have been a retired employee of a government agency that trained him.”

“So that’s why you talked to Ed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Ed knew about firearms,” she said, “and that was it. He was just a glorified gunsmith. He wasn’t even a very good shot.”

“Yes, ma’am, and that was why we eliminated him from our list of suspects.” Some list; Coulter had been the only name on it. “That and the state of his health.”

“Good point!” she said. “He could hardly have roamed the country, killing people, while using a walker.”

“Yes, ma’am. The reason we’re here now is, we’ve traced the name of the operator of an Internet website called ACT NOW, where the killer posted pictures of his victims and, perhaps, his intended victims.”

“And who is he?”

“I’m afraid the name was Edward E. Coulter.”

Mrs. Coulter laughed. “Well, I’m afraid the only thing Ed ever did with a computer was word processing and check writing. He didn’t even do email, nor do I.”

“What we now think is, that since the killer used your husband’s name and address to register the website, he might be someone Ed knew at work-a colleague or a friend.”

She nodded. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

“Can you think of anyone like that? Probably someone who’s retired?”

“Well, this neighborhood is full of retired CIA folks,” she said. “We knew a lot of them.”

“Could you give us a list of their names and addresses?” Kinney asked.

“Just a minute,” she said. She got up and went into her husband’s study. A moment later she returned with several sheets of paper and a pen. She sat down and began making checkmarks on the paper. “This is our Christmas card list,” she said. “I’m checking off the CIA people and putting two checks by the retired ones.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Coulter. Is there anyone on the list to whom your husband was particularly close?”

“Well, sure, there was Teddy Fay.”

“Is he on the list?”

She handed it to him. “Yes, and it’s in alphabetical order. Teddy and Ed worked in the same department, Technical Services, they call it. Ed called it the Devil’s Workshop.”

“And is Mr. Fay retired?” Kinney found the name on the list.

“I don’t know. He stopped coming around after Ed had his stroke. I’m not sure why. Ed wouldn’t talk about it.”

“And this address, Riverview Circle, where is that?”

“Just around the corner.” She pointed. “You take two lefts, and it’s the second-no, the third-house on the right.”

Kinney and Smith stood up. “Do you know what Mr. Fay did in Technical Services?”

“Teddy? He was a jack of all trades, Teddy could do anything, fix anything, Ed always said.”

Kinney’s pulse quickened. “Do you know anything about Mr. Fay’s politics?”

“Oh, Teddy’s as left-wing as they come,” she replied. “He and Ed used to argue about it all the time. Ed was a rock-ribbed conservative.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Coulter, and thank you for the coffee, too,” Kinney said.

The two agents were running before they were halfway down the driveway.

KERRY REACHED FOR THE RADIO. “I’ll call for backup.”

“Not yet,” Kinney said. “I want to look at the house first, see what we need.” He turned into Riverview Circle and looked at the third house. A man who appeared to be around sixty was mowing the lawn.

“There’s our man,” Kerry said.

“We’re going to talk to him now,” Kinney said.

“Without backup?”

“He’s armed with a lawn mower. I think we can handle that. You be ready, if he does anything funny or tries to run.” Kinney slowed as he approached the house, then he stopped and pressed the button to lower the passenger-side window. “Excuse me,” he said. The man seemed not to hear over the lawn mower. “Excuse me!”

The man shut down the engine and walked over to the car. “Morning, can I help you?”

“Yes, we’re looking for Riverview Drive,” Kinney said. “Can you direct us?”

“Yeah, sure. Turn around and make two rights. That’s Riverview Drive.”

“Got it. Say, this is a real nice place you’ve got here, looks real well kept.”

“Oh, I don’t live here. I work for the real estate company.”

“Real estate company?”

The man walked over to the mailbox and picked up the sign he had uprooted in order to cut the grass, for sale, the sign read. “River Realty, Janice Hooks.” And a phone number. “The house is empty,” the man said. “I just cut the grass for the real estate company.”

The two agents got out of the car, and Kinney walked around to the other side and flashed his ID. “We’re FBI,” he said. “Could I see some ID?”

“Sure.” The man dug in a pocket and came out with a wallet and a driver’s license.