David Baldacci - Split Second

"And I'm telling you that's impossible!"

"Why?"

"Let me ask you a question. What was the time of Jennings's death?"

"Medical examiner says between 1:00 and 2:00A.M. the night before you found him in your office," replied Parks.

"At that time I was making my patrol rounds. And that pistol was in my holster."

One of the FBI agents perked up. "Do we take that as a confession?"

King's look made it clear what he thought of that comment.

Parks considered this and said, "We've been checking your movements that night. Your vehicle was seen on Main Street around the time Jennings was killed."

"I probably was there. My rounds include the town area, so it would be logical that someone saw my truck then. But you don't have a witness that saw me at my office, because I wasn't there."

One of the FBI agents was about to respond until Parks put a big hand on his arm.

"That's not something we have to discuss with you at the moment," said Parks. "But we do have a positive on the ballistics, and with your background you know that's as good as a fingerprint."

"No, not quite as good as a print. It doesn't place me at the crime scene."

"On the contrary, we have your gun at the scene, and we have you nearby the scene. That's pretty strong evidence."

"Circumstantial evidence," countered King.

"And there have been convictions on a lot less," shot back Parks.

"We should have done a trace metal test when they took the gun from you," said one of the FBI agents.

"Wouldn't have done any good," said King. "I handled my gun the night before you came, so there would have been microscopic traces in my skin from the metal."

"Convenient," said the agent.

Parks's gaze was on King. "May I ask why you were handling your gun? You weren't on duty."

"I thought there was a prowler around my house."

"Was there?"

"No. Just an old acquaintance."

Parks looked at him strangely, but apparently decided against pursuing the matter.

"Care to tell me my motive?" asked King.

"The man works for you. Maybe he was stealing, or maybe he found out you were stealing from clients and tried to blackmail you. You arrange to meet him and kill him."

"Nice theory, only he wasn't stealing from me, and I wasn't stealing from my clients because I don't have direct access to any of their funds. Check it out."

"Oh, we will but that's just two possibilities. Another might be that you somehow found out Jennings was WITSEC, and you let that slip to the wrong people."

"And they killed him with my gun that was in my holster?"

"Or you did it to pocket the fee."

"So now I'm a hit man."

"Did you know Jennings was WITSEC?"

King hesitated an instant too long, at least to his thinking. "No."

"Care to take a polygraph on that?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"Just trying to help you out," said Parks. "I mean you've already admitted having the murder weapon on you at the time Jennings was killed."

"Just so you know, you haven't advised me of my rights, so I doubt anything I've said to you is admissible anyway."

"You're not under arrest. You haven't been charged," pointed out one of the FBI agents. "So we're under no obligation to read you anything."

Parks said, "And if called to testify, we can merely repeat what you said in our presence."

"Hearsay," said King. "And I don't really think you can get it in under an exception, because it's prejudicial. I'd get a mistrial in a heartbeat."

"You don't practice criminal law, do you?" said Parks.

"No, why?"

"Because what you just said was a crock of shit."

King didn't look as confident now. Parks pressed on.

"So are you retracting your statement that the gun was with you at that time?"

"Am I under arrest?"

"It might depend on how you answer my question."

King rose. "From now on, all discussions will be with my criminal defense attorney present."

Parks rose too, and for a moment King had the feeling that the big man was going to come across the table and throttle him. Yet he just smiled and handed the bagged gun to one of the FBI agents.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing you," he said pleasantly. "Just don't make any travel plans for outside the area; that won't make me happy."

As they were leaving, King pulled Williams aside.

"Todd, why is Parks running the show? The FBI takes a backseat to no one."

"The dead guy was in witness protection. Parks is really high up at the Marshals Service. I think he was actually the one who placed Jennings in this area. And he's ticked off that he's dead. I guess he pulled some strings in D.C." Todd looked uncomfortable and hisvoice dropped. "Look, not for one instant do I believe you're mixed up in this…"

"And you were about to say but ?"

Todd looked even more uncomfortable. "But I think it would be best…"

"If I suspend my duties as a deputy pending the outcome of all this?"

"I appreciate your understanding."

After Todd left, King sat at his desk. What was bothering him was that he hadn't been arrested on the spot. In truth, they had enough to charge him. And how had the gun he'd been holstering on that night been used to kill Jennings? King could think of two scenarios, and when the other thought struck him he almost put his fist through the wall. How could he have been so stupid? Joan Dillinger.

He picked up the phone and called an old friend in Washington. The man was still employed by the Secret Service and had remained on King's side throughout the Ritter ordeal. After some personal and professional chitchat King asked him how Joan Dillinger was doing.

"Don't really know."

"Oh, I thought you two worked closely together."

"Well, we did until she left."

"Left? Left the Washington field office?"

"No, the Service."

King almost dropped the phone. "Joan is no longer with the Secret Service?"

"She left about a year ago. Went into private security consulting. And she's making a boatload of cash, from what I've heard. And probably needs every penny. You know Joan likes to live well."

"You got a number for her up there?" King wrote the information down.

His friend continued, "I guess you've heard about our troubles. It's really too bad. Maxwell was good, a real supercharged model."

"I saw her on TV. I'm reading scapegoat, am I right? I'm sort of an expert."

"Comparing what she did to your situation is apples and oranges. Maxwell made a huge error in judgment. She was detail leader, you were just one of the grunts."

"Come on, how many bedrooms have we stood outside of while the guy was in there having serious carnal knowledge with a woman who wasn't his wife? And it's not like we ever searched those ladies for weapons. And I don't remember us going to the mat to stand next to the damn bed."

"But nothing bad happened."

"No thanks to us."

"Okay, I'm not going to get into it any further, because I have to watch my blood pressure. So you gonna hook up with Joan?"

"Oh, I have a feeling I'm going to see her real soon."

Michelle slipped back inside the Fairmount and went directly to the hotel office again. King had occupied room 304. Loretta Baldwin had hinted that she should not look too far from there, so she checked the occupant for room 302. Michelle remembered there was a connecting door.

"Damn," she said when she saw the name on the registration card. J. Dillinger had been in room 302. Could that be Joan Dillinger? She'd met Dillinger briefly a couple of times. The woman had moved higher in the agency than almost any of her gender had previously and then abruptly quit. Michelle remembered being intimidated by the lady, something she was definitely not used to. Joan Dillinger had a reputation for being more cool under pressure, more tenacious, more ballsy than anyone else, man or woman. Ambitious as hell, she'd left the Service to grab the brass ring of private-sector consulting. But while she was at the Service she was someone Michelle had looked up to.