Дэвид Балдаччи - The Collectors

“Don’t mind the mess,” Warren said. “Three sons ages fourteen to eighteen means your life and home are not your own. I can stand up in a meeting and present a cogent argument on complex geopolitical intelligence strategies to the Joint Chiefs or the secretary of defense, but I can’t seem to get any of my sons to bathe on a consistent basis or eat anything other than cheeseburgers.”

“We know you were on the intelligence committee staff,” Stone began.

“Right. I moved with Bradley when he became Speaker. Currently, I’m unemployed.”

“Because of his death?” Milton said.

Warren nodded. “I served at his pleasure, and it was a pleasure serving him. He was a great man. A man we needed in this day and age; rock-solid and honest.”

“You couldn’t stay with the intelligence committee?” Stone asked.

“Not really an option. Bradley wanted me to come with him, so I did. And I wanted to go. There’s only one Speaker of the House and only one chief of staff to a Speaker. Lot of action and everybody returns your phone calls. Plus, the new chairman of the intel committee had his own people he wanted to move up. That’s how it is on the Hill. You’re attached to your member’s coattails. And when those coattails move or go away, well, that’s why I’m home in the middle of the day. Good thing my wife’s a lawyer, or we’d be up a creek financially. To tell the truth, I’m still getting over the shock of what happened and haven’t really started looking for another job.” He paused and eyed them closely. “But you said you were investigating this DeHaven guy’s death? What’s that got to do with Bradley?”

“Maybe nothing or maybe a lot,” Stone said vaguely. “You’ve heard about Cornelius Behan’s murder?”

“Who hasn’t? Pretty embarrassing for the wife, I’d say.”

“Yes, well, DeHaven lived next door to Behan, and the killer used DeHaven’s house to shoot from.”

“Damn, I hadn’t heard that. But I still don’t get the connection to Congressman Bradley.”

Stone admitted, “I’m trying to connect the dots myself, frankly. Were you at the Federalist Club that night?”

Warren nodded slowly. “It was supposed to be a tribute to the old man and ended up being a nightmare.”

“You actually saw it happen?” Milton asked.

“I had that great misfortune. I was next to Mike, Mike Avery. Senator Pierce had just finished a nice toast and bam, shot came out of nowhere. It all happened so fast. I had my glass of champagne next to my lips. Spilled it all over me. It was awful. I was sick to my stomach, a lot of people were.”

“You know Avery well?”

“I should, we worked together, day and night, for ten years.”

“Where is he now?”

“Moved with me when Bradley became Speaker. He’s out of a job now too.”

“We understand that he was the one who put together the event at the club and arranged for the toast.”

“No, he didn’t. Mike and I drove over there together. We were just part of the guest list.”

“We were told he was getting people in the room for the toast.”

“So was I. We were just helping out.”

“Who were you helping?”

“Albert. Albert Trent. He was the one who suggested the toast. Albert was always thinking of stuff like that. I’m just a poor wonk with limited social skills.”

“Albert Trent? Did he put the whole event together?”

“Don’t know. But he was certainly working the room that night.”

“Is he out of a job now too?”

“Oh, no. Albert stayed behind at the intel committee.”

“But I thought you said you followed your congressman?” Stone said, puzzled.

“Normally, you do. But Albert didn’t want to leave. Bradley wasn’t happy about it, I can tell you that. Albert had cut some deal with the new intel chairman coming up to be his top aide. Albert has a way of making himself indispensable. But there’s a lot to do at the Speaker’s office, and not having Albert left us shorthanded. I’m not telling tales out of school. That was public knowledge.”

“But Bradley let him have his way?”

Warren smiled. “You obviously didn’t know Bob Bradley. Like I said, the guy was incredibly decent, honest, hardworking, but you don’t get to his position in life without being tough as hell and persistent. And the man didn’t like having a subordinate buck him. Dollars to doughnuts, Albert was going to end up in the Speaker’s office sooner rather than later.”

“But with Bradley dead, that became a moot point?”

“Of course. Me and Mike tried to do the right thing, and we’re unemployed. Albert bucks the old man and he’s sitting pretty. And Mike’s got four kids and his wife stays home. Trent’s single and no kids. Tell me how that’s fair.”

After they had left, Milton said, “I know, everything I can find on Albert Trent.”

Stone nodded. “Everything.”

“That seems a pretty clear motive for murder, though. I’m surprised the police haven’t jumped on it. Warren didn’t even seem to catch it.”

“What motive?” Stone asked.

“Oliver, it’s obvious. If Bradley lives, Trent has to leave the intelligence committee. If he dies, Trent gets to stay where he is.”

“So you think the man murders the Speaker of the House to avoid changing jobs? And he didn’t pull the trigger because he was at the club. So he’d have to hire a hit man to do it for him. That seems a little extreme to keep a midlevel government position. And like Warren said, the Speaker’s office is far more prestigious.”

“Then there has to be something more.”

“Agreed. But right now we don’t know what that is.”

Inside the house, Dennis Warren picked up the phone and spoke with his friend and former colleague Mike Avery. Then he punched in a second number.

“Albert? Hey, it’s Dennis. Look, sorry to bother you at work, but some guys were here asking some weird questions. I called Mike Avery too, to give him a heads-up. It’s probably nothing, but I thought I’d call you anyway.”

Trent said, “I appreciate that. What exactly did they want to know?”

Warren recounted the conversation and then added, “I told them you’d organized the toast for Bob and that you’d stayed behind at the committee.”

“What did they look like?”

Warren described Stone and Milton. “Do you know them?”

“No, not at all. That is weird.”

“Well, again, I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. Hope I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have.”

“I have no secrets,” Trent replied.

“Hey, Albert, if anything opens on the committee staff, let me know, willya? I’m tired of twiddling my thumbs.”

“Will do and thanks for the info.”

Albert immediately left his office and made a call from a pay phone and arranged to meet with Seagraves outside the Capitol later.

When Seagraves arrived, Trent said, “We’ve got a problem.”

Seagraves listened and said, “Well, their next move is obvious.”

“You’ll take care of it?”

“I always take care of it.”

While Milton and Stone were making their investigative rounds, Caleb glanced up from his desk in the reading room as Annabelle walked in, wearing a black pleated skirt and matching jacket, white blouse and low pumps. She had a tote bag slung over her shoulder and was holding her newly minted library card with her picture on it. Caleb approached her.

“Can I help you, Miss...?”

“Charlotte Abruzzio. Yes, I was looking for a certain book.”

“Well, you came to the right place. After all, this is a library.” Caleb laughed.

Annabelle didn’t even crack a smile. She’d told him to keep the conversation to a minimum and not to attempt any lame jokes, but he’d gone and done it anyway, the little dork. She gave him the name of the book she wanted. It was one he’d suggested the night before when they’d gone over the plan.