“What about Justice Califano? Did he ever catch Danny in a lie that you know of? Catch him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing?”
Slowly, Annie shook her head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t part of the inner circle. All my information came from Danny. If Justice Califano had caught him in a lie, he sure wouldn’t tell me about it, would he? And the fact is, Danny wanted Justice Califano to like him. He wanted a great recommendation from him when the year was up. So it seems to me the last thing Danny would want to do is lie to Justice Califano.”
“Okay, I want you to tell me about Friday. You picked Danny up at the Supreme Court Building. What sort of mood was he in?”
“The fact is I’d never know which Danny I’d see. The happy Danny or the brooding Danny. He wasn’t either one on Friday. He was distracted, like there was really something on his mind. But he wouldn’t talk about it, just kept eating those disgusting anchovies. I hate anchovies.”
“Do you think he put something important in his briefcase?”
She looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Where is his briefcase?”
“We couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in his apartment.”
“That’s too bad. Danny would like to be buried with that briefcase. Oh, God, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I understand. That’s all right, Annie.”
“I know he took it out of the trunk, I watched him carry it into his apartment. When I bought it for him I never thought the stupid thing would become some sort of icon to him.”
“Let’s move forward to Saturday morning. There wasn’t any talk between you during the night, right?”
“No, he was snoring.”
“You said he was saying ‘Oh God, oh God,’ when he saw that Justice Califano was dead.”
“Yes, over and over. I couldn’t believe it either. It didn’t seem real, like one of Danny’s stupid foreign flicks that doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“But then he changed. Right before your eyes, he changed.”
“Yes, completely.”
“I want you to picture Danny in your mind, Annie. You’re right there, watching the TV, then looking at him. What do you see?”
“He’s acting like he just hit a really big jackpot in Las Vegas. He looks like he’s conquered the world. Smug, that’s it, he looks smug.”
“So he might be thinking about what he knows? And that something could make him rich?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s so clear to me now. He thought about it for maybe three seconds, and then he decided to go for the money.”
“What did he say?”
“He had stuff to do. I went to the bedroom, got dressed, and slammed out.”
“But you heard him on his cell.”
“Oh yes.”
“Okay, Annie, you’re standing there, you don’t want to see him, but you hear him on the phone. Where are you standing?”
“In the front entrance.”
“How far away is Danny?”
“The kitchen isn’t more than fifteen feet away from where I’m standing.”
“He’s on a cell phone.”
“Yes.”
“Did the phone ring or did he initiate the call?”
“I never heard it ring, so he must have made the call.”
“Just a moment, Annie. We checked his cell phone records and there was no outgoing call made on Saturday morning.”
“I’m sure he was using a cell.”
“Do you think it could have been a throwaway cell phone? Did he own one?”
“Yes, he had several of them, got them really cheap from a guy on the street.”
Interesting, Savich thought, and dropped it. “Does he carry an address book in his pocket, along with his cell?”
“Yes, it’s just a skinny little black book.”
“So he pulled out the black book, looked up a number, and called it?” But not using his own cell phone, Savich thought, and realized Danny knew exactly what he was doing and wasn’t about to take any chances on it coming back to bite him.
“Yes, that’s what he would have done.”
“Okay, you’re standing there, angry, wanting to leave, but you pause. Because he’s on the phone and you want to know what’s going on, right?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. I wanted to know what he was planning on doing.”
“You’re listening. What is he saying?”
“I can’t—”
He squeezed her hands, and began to lightly stroke his fingers over the now-warm flesh. “You’re standing there, Annie. You’re listening. What is he saying?”
She sucked in a deep breath, fell silent for a good minute. Savich didn’t say a word, just kept holding her hands, waiting.
“He said ‘I think we can come to some sort of agreement here.’ ”
There was a sharp cry of anguish from Mrs. Harper. Savich heard the soothing voices of both Mr. Harper and Sherlock.
“Anything else, Annie? You’re still there, right?”
“No, I’m out the door.”
“What were you thinking?”
“That I was pissed. That he was an idiot for thinking I loved him. Nothing, I don’t know. Really, I didn’t hear anything more. I didn’t know what he even meant, but I knew in my gut he was doing something bad.”
“But you didn’t want to know what it was.”
“Not then.”
“Is that why you came back on Sunday?”
She nodded. “Yes. I wanted the truth. And, I’ll admit it—I was worried about him. I thought he was going to do something, I didn’t know what.” She stopped and looked toward her parents. “I’m lying to myself. Yes, I knew he was doing something wrong, I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”
Savich nodded to Dr. Hicks. Slowly, Dr. Hicks brought her out of hypnosis. He told her she was a very brave woman, that what had happened was going to fade from her mind in time, and that she was strong enough to see things the way they’d really been, and would be able to put them in perspective. Savich smiled a bit as Dr. Hicks engaged in some therapy. He felt compassion for this waif, this young woman who’d fallen for a man who’d used her and then had died. Dr. Hicks went on to tell her that she would feel good about herself now, that she was hungry. A pepperoni pizza at the Quantico restaurant, The Boardroom, was what she wanted, and Savich would buy it for her. He looked over at her parents, who were listening to every word and nodding. He told Annie her parents would like the pepperoni pizza, too, that they were here for her, that they loved her and would stand by her.
Unfortunately, Savich thought, when he finally managed to get away from Quantico, Danny O’Malley’s Gucci briefcase, his cell phone with its memory chip, a throwaway cell phone, and the skinny little black book were gone.
FBI HEADQUARTERS
EARLY TUESDAY MORNING
SAVICH STOOD at the head of the conference table, looked out at the sea of faces.
“MAX has found an assassin who is a high-probability fit for our murderer. He has used the alias Günter Grass, middle name listed as Wilhelm. He has used the same M.O. as our killer on a number of victims—a garrote, up close and personal, and mostly in high-risk settings. The two have always gone together for him.”
“Hey, that name sounds familiar,” said another agent.
“Yes,” Savich said. “The real Günter Wilhelm Grass won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1999. Maybe some of you have read his first novel, The Tin Drum. He’s also a poet, novelist, playwright, even a sculptor. He has described himself as a ‘ Spätaufklärer,’ a belated apostle of enlightenment in an era that has grown tired of reason.