William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“He’ll make a fabulous Supreme Court justice,” Christina said. “I can tell already.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Ben asked. “His probity? Honesty? Integrity?”

“I was more focused on that pin-striped suit he’s wearing. What a snappy dresser! I’m always impressed by a snappy dresser.”

“I assume that’s what attracted you to me.”

“Mmm. No comment.”

Ben heard a buzzing sound from her purse. She took her cell phone out and reviewed the screen.

“Gina’s Instant Messaging me. Seems the police have learned even more about Haskins’s victim. She’s been linked to at least five different heists. And they’ve uncovered the name of her partner on that museum job, the one she killed. Jerome Charles.”

A synapse fired inside Ben’s brain. “Where was he from?”

Christina continued to scroll through the message. “Doesn’t say where he’s from. But they’ve disinterred the body from a Beaumont cemetery and—”

Ben’s head jerked around. “Where?”

“Beaumont. South Texas.”

Ben pressed the heels of his hands against his head. “No,” he gasped.

Christina’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What is it?”

“How could I have been so stupid?”

“Ben, you’re creeping me out. What is it?”

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

“You’ve—Ben! What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I know. As soon as I know for sure.”

“But where are you going?”

Ben kissed her on the cheek. “To have a very serious talk with Ray Eastwick.”

62

Ben had to wait almost two hours. It wasn’t enough for him to talk with Eastwick; he needed to talk with the man in private. Eventually, after all the well-wishers had finished well-wishing, while Roush was still chatting with the press, Ben managed to pull Eastwick away. They reentered the Capitol building, found the nearest empty conference room, and locked the door.

“Ben—what’s this all about?”

“I need to talk to you, Ray. And I thought you’d want to do this in private.”

“Why? I have no secrets from Tad.”

Ben just hoped that was true. “You two getting along better?”

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Yes, thank you. It seems there’s nothing quite like being appointed to the Supreme Court to buoy a man’s spirit. Even when you only slip past the Senate by the hairs of your chinny-chin-chin. We finally sat down and had a heart-to-heart.”

“And?”

“Well, I’m not going to suggest that everything’s all perfect now. But I think I understand a little better what was going on in his head. It really was a spontaneous act—revealing his sexual orientation at the press conference. Outing me. Outing us. I’m not saying I think it was smart, or even acceptable. But I’m beginning to understand.”

“I’m glad.” Ben wished he didn’t have to go any further, but he knew he did. “Ray, I have to ask you about something.”

“Then get to it. What is it you want to know?”

“The day of the press conference. In your garden.”

“Yes?”

“You…saw the woman. The woman who was killed?”

“Yes. I’ve never made any secret of that. I told the police I saw her. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I think you more than just saw her. I think you knew who she was.”

“I’ve already told you I knew she was the woman Tad had the affair with. The woman who had the abortion. I just…sensed it. The moment I saw her.”

“No. I think you knew she was the murderer of Jerome Charles. That’s the real reason you became so agitated when you spotted her on the premises, isn’t it?”

Eastwick peered deeply into Ben’s eyes. “What makes you so sure?”

“Something you told me the first time we met.” Ben pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Ray. We’re going to be here awhile.”

Senator Hammond pushed open the door and leaned into Ben’s office. “Coming to the victory celebration?”

Ben barely looked up. “I’d like to.”

“Then what’s stopping you, son?”

“I’m not sure what to do.”

Hammond stepped inside. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I know something. About someone I admire. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“I take it this something you know is something bad.”

“Very bad.”

Hammond pulled up a chair. “Well, son, I’ve been around a long while, and in my experience, no matter how bad it is, the best approach is to confront the person straight on. Just come out with it. Put it on the table.”

“Yes, but—” Ben sighed. “It’s very hard to do.” He looked up at Hammond. “Because I’m talking about murder. The murder of Victoria Danvers.”

“What?” Hammond’s forehead creased. “I thought that was all over and done with. Judge Haskins committed the crime.”

“I thought it was over, too. I was wrong.”

“But the police found the bloodstained gloves at his home. And the man killed himself.”

“The man had a lot to feel guilty about. Paying someone to set that fire, for instance. But he wasn’t feeling remorse about the murder of Victoria Danvers. Because he didn’t do it.”

“But he put the gun in his mouth—”

“The shame of having people think he was a murderer—wrongfully—may well have contributed to his suicide. The gloves were planted in his home.”

“How could anyone know the police would be coming to search?”

“Because the murderer—the real one—knew I was going to expose Haskins as an arsonist on the floor of the Senate. And he figured that once people swallowed that, it would be a short hop in the public eye from arsonist to murderer. Which it was.”

Hammond’s back stiffened for a moment, then he slowly settled back into his chair. “How did you figure it out?”

Ben shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. Not once I heard the name of the man Victoria killed all those years ago after the Boston museum robbery. Not once I heard he was buried in your hometown. You told me about the loss of your son, how it devastated you, all those years ago. You even told me you named him Hieronymous Carroll—and that you loved Latin. I guess your son did, too. Because Hieronymous is the Latinate form of Jerome. And Carroll is Latin for Charles. Hieronymous Carroll became Jerome Charles. He never took your last name because he was born out of wedlock. That’s why most people didn’t know about him. That’s why even now, his disappearance hasn’t been linked to you. But I figured it out. And then I confirmed it by talking with Ray Eastwick. Your former clerk.”

Hammond’s eyes slowly drifted downward. “He was raised by his mother, a sweet little thing from a good family in Beaumont, Texas. Rich as the devil. But married. And she had no use for me, other than as an occasional plaything.” He sighed heavily. “I thought she’d be a good mother to him. But apparently I was wrong, given the way he turned out. They had some disagreement, she cut him off, and he turned to crime to keep himself in the style to which he had become accustomed.”

Hammond turned his face upward to keep his eyes from spilling. “I loved that boy, in my own way. Only child I ever had. I kept an eye on him from a distance—she wanted it that way. Too distant, as it turned out. Next thing I knew, he’d vanished into the European underworld without a trace. Got messed up with some art thieves. And then he disappeared—until he turned up dead. No one knew what had happened to him. So I hired a detective to find out. Took the man years to piece it all together. That woman—Victoria Danvers—had not left many clues behind. Smart. She was a philosophy major, did you know that, Ben?”