David Baldacci - Split Second

"If you had asked me eight years ago, I wouldn't have been so glib. Time doesn't really heal, it just makes you not give a crap."

"So you had, what, a fling with Joan Dillinger?"

"It actually seemed a little more than that back then. Stupid when you think about it. Joan's not that sort of woman."

Michelle leaned forward. "About the elevator-"

King interrupted. "Your turn again. I'm getting tired of reminding you."

Michelle sighed and sat back. "Okay, Dillinger's not at the Service anymore."

"Doesn't count. I already know that. What else?"

"Loretta Baldwin told me she hid in the supply closet down the hall from the room where Ritter died."

King looked interested. "Why?"

"She was scared to death and took off running. Everyone else was doing the same thing."

"Not everyone," King said dryly. "I stayed pretty much in the same place."

"Now, about the elevator."

"Why do you care about that?" he asked sharply.

"Because it seemed to captivate you! So much so that you didn't even know there was an assassin standing in front of you until he fired."

"I just zoned out."

"I don't think so. I heard the noise on the tape. And it sounded like an elevator car arriving. And I'm thinking that when those doors opened, whatever or whoever you saw grabbed your attention and didn't let it go until Ramsey fired." She paused and then added, "And since that elevator bank was locked off by the Secret Service, I'm guessing that it was a Secret Service agent who was on there, because who else could have done it without being stopped? And I'm betting that agent was Joan Dillinger. And I'm also betting that for some reason you're covering for her. Would you care to tell me that I'm wrong about all that?"

"Even if what you say is true, it doesn't matter. It was my screwup and Ritter died because of it. No excuses are good enough. You ought to know that by now."

"But if you were purposefully distracted, that's a different story."

"I wasn't."

"How do you know that? Why else would someone have been on that elevator at the precise moment Ramsey chose to fire?" She answered her own question. "Because he knew that elevator car was going to come down, and he knew the person on it would be ableto distract you, giving him the chance to kill Ritter, that's why. He was waiting for the elevator to come before he fired."

She sat back, her look not one so much of triumph, but of defiance, like she'd shown on TV during the press conference King had seen.

"That isn't possible. Just trust me. Call it the worst timing in the world, that's all."

"I'm sure you won't be too surprised if I don't take your word for it."

He sat there in silence, for so long, in fact, that Michelle finally rose. "Look, thanks for lunch and the wine lesson. But you can't tell me a smart guy like you doesn't look in the mirror every morning and wonder, what if?"

As she started to walk off, her cell phone rang. She answered it. "What? Yes, it is. Who? Uh, that's right, I did talk to her. How did you get this number? My card? Oh, that's right. I don't understand why you're calling." She listened for a bit more and then turned pale. "I didn't know. My God, I'm so sorry. When did it happen? I see. Right, thank you. Do you have a number where I can call you?" She clicked off, pulled a pen and paper from her purse, wrote the number down and slowly sat in the leather chair next to King.

He eyed her quizzically. "Are you okay? You don't look okay."

"No, I'm not okay."

He leaned forward and put a steadying hand on her quivering shoulder. "What happened, Michelle? Who was that?"

"That woman I talked to who worked at the hotel."

"The maid, Loretta Baldwin?"

"That was her son. He found my name on a card I left there."

"Why, did something happen to Loretta?"

"She's dead."

"What happened?"

"She was murdered. I asked her all these questions about theRitter killing, and now she's dead. I can't believe it's connected, but then I can't believe it's not either."

King jumped up so quickly it startled her badly.

"Is your truck filled with gas?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, looking confused. "Why?"

King seemed to be talking to himself. "I'll call my appointments for the rest of the day and let them know."

"Let them know? Let them know what?"

"That I won't be able to meet them. That I'm going somewhere."

"Where are you going?"

"No, not just me-you and me. We're going to Bowlington, North Carolina, to find out why Loretta Baldwin isn't living anymore."

He turned and headed to the door. Michelle didn't follow; she just sat there, bewildered.

King turned back. "What's the problem?"

"I'm not sure I want to go back there."

King came back and stood in front of her, his expression very stern. "You came to me out of the blue asking a lot of very personal questions. You wanted answers and I gave them to you. Okay, now I'm officially interested too." He paused and then barked out, "So let's go, Agent Maxwell. I don't have all day!"

She jumped to her feet. "Yes, sir," Michelle said automatically.

When he climbed into her truck, King quickly observed the interior of Michelle's vehicle and could not conceal his disgust. He picked up a power bar food wrapper off the floor by his foot that still had a hunk of stale "power chocolate" inside. The backseats were full of items haphazardly strewn around: water and snow skis, assorted oars and paddles, gym clothes, sneakers, dress shoes and a couple of skirts, jackets and blouses and a pair of pantyhose still in its packaging. There were warm-up suits, books, a northern Virginia yellow pages, empty soda and Gatorade cans and a Remington shotgun and a box of shells. And that was just what King could see. God only knew what else was lurking in here; the smell of rotten bananas was hammering his nostrils.

He looked over at Michelle. "Make a note to never, ever invite me to your place."

She glanced at him and smiled. "I told you I was a slob."

"Michelle, this is beyond a slob. This is a mobile garbage dump; this is total and complete anarchy on wheels."

"So philosophical. And call me Mick."

"You prefer ‘Mick' to ‘Michelle'? Michelle is an elegant, classy name. Mick sounds like a punch-drunk boxer-turned-doorman in uniform braids and fake medals."

"The Secret Service is still a guy's world. You go along to get along."

"Just drive them around in this truck one time, and you'll never be mistaken for anything but a guy, even if your name was Gwendolyn."

"Okay, I get the point. So what do you expect to find down there?"

"If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be going."

"Will you visit the hotel?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't been back since it happened."

"I can understand that. I'm not sure I could ever go back to that funeral home."

"Speaking of, anything new on the Bruno disappearance?"

"Nothing. No ransom request, no demands of any kind. Why would you go to all the trouble to kidnap John Bruno, including the murder of a Secret Service agent, and possibly the man he was going to pay his last respects to, and then do nothing with him?"

"Right, Bill Martin, the deceased. I thought he must have been killed."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why?"

"They couldn't very well plan this whole scheme and hope the guy croaked in accordance with their time schedule. And they couldn't exactly work it the other way. The guy dies, and then they scramble to put it all together in a couple of days, coincidentally right when Bruno is passing by. No, he had to be murdered too."

"I'm impressed with your analysis. I heard you were the real deal."

"I was in investigation a lot longer than I was a human shield. Every agent works so hard to get to protection and especially the presidential detail, and then once there they can't wait to get out of it and back to investigation."