“Is that possible?”
“Probably not. But the fact that he’s considering it doesn’t exactly fill my heart with a rosy glow.”
“That’s just…lovely.” Ben riffled rapidly through the stack of messages. “Any calls supporting me?”
“Just one. But you know your mother never likes to stay on the phone very long.”
Ben stuffed the messages into his pocket. “Any other news?”
“No, Ben. There is no other news. Every information outlet in the country is obsessing about this story and this story alone. If someone dropped an A-bomb on Boulder, Colorado, they would still only be covering the Gay Supreme Court Justice story. And rerunning that clip of you introducing him to the world, just minutes before he introduces a dead body to the world.”
“Any opinions on whodunit?”
“Oh, Ben, you know perfectly well what everyone thinks. Eastwick was seen standing behind the body. On national television.”
“Has he been arrested?”
“Not yet. They’re still questioning him.”
“How’s he holding up?”
“Pretty darn well, all things considered. Still hasn’t seen fit to hire an attorney.”
“Any idea what he’s been saying?”
“No. But since he hasn’t been charged, he must not have said anything tremendously useful.”
“Any word from the White House on the nomination?”
“President Blake’s official position is that since Roush himself isn’t accused of anything, there’s no reason to delay the confirmation hearings. The inside skivvy is that the President wants to move things along so that Roush’s nomination can die in time for him to nominate someone else. Heaven forbid his term should end before he has a chance to appoint the ideologue of his choice.”
Christina crossed her arms, always a sign that she wasn’t going to brook any shilly-shallying. “Now, as to the tiny matter of your decision.”
“Which one?”
“I know, there are so many from which to choose. I was referring to whether you’re going to represent Roush at the hearings.”
“You know about that?”
“I get around.”
“Hammond just asked me a few minutes ago.”
“As I said, I get around.”
Ben drew in his breath, then slowly released it. “I think I’m going to do it.”
“You think that’s wise?”
“Not particularly.”
“Right. Stupid question. As if there were any doubt. Gina Carraway is already choosing your tie.” Christina stepped closer and, with an extended finger touched his lips. “I just wish you could make your other pending decisions with the same alacrity.”
12
Lieutenant Albertson of the DCPD pounded on his desk. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Trying to stay alive,” Loving grunted. “You got a problem with that?”
“I got a problem with three innocent spectators getting shot and a hooker getting killed. Miracle it wasn’t worse.”
“The miracle’s that I wasn’t perforated in a hundred places.”
“That’s your story.”
“That’s the truth.”
Albertson took a banana out of a desk drawer and began peeling it. “I really don’t need this right now. I’m in the middle of a very high-profile investigation.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“Probably the same one. Lieutenant Fink has asked me to help him figure out what happened at the Roush press conference.” The police detective inhaled half the banana in a single bite. “Loving—walk with me.”
“Your wish is my command.” Loving limped beside him.
They left Albertson’s office and emerged on the busy streets of D.C. Loving knew Albertson from the work they had done on the Glancy case, and he liked to think the man trusted him, at least a little, but at some level the professionals were always suspicious of the amateurs. And when two thugs are so desperate to kill you that they open fire in a shopping mall, he was probably right to be suspicious. Loving still felt wobbly from the car crash, not to mention the bullet wound, but he managed to hold himself together long enough to walk. Outside, he breathed deeply of the fresh air—which was actually not all that fresh, given the heavy traffic whizzing down “E” Street. It was hot, too. All in all, Loving wondered why Albertson didn’t prefer the nice air-conditioned environment of his semiprivate office.
Albertson pointed and they strolled north. The aroma arising from a hot-dog cart on the corner was supremely tempting, but Loving supposed this wasn’t the time for chow.
“You’re trying to figure out who the girl is, right? The one who was killed at the Roush press conference,” Albertson said.
“As a starting point.”
“To what? Figuring out who killed her? Had to be Roush or his little boyfriend.”
“Killin’ her at their own home? When about a million people were visiting?”
“I’ll admit, that part is troublesome. Still, I think we could make it stick if we came up with a little proof.”
“Hard to prove who did the killin’ when you don’t know who the victim was. How can you prove motive?”
“Yeah. That’s also a sticking point.” Albertson finished his banana and, to Loving’s surprise, ordered a hot dog. Well, when in Rome. Loving got his loaded with onions and sauerkraut. “So—had any luck?”
“I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”
Albertson inhaled half his dog. “What do you want to know?”
“Why’s it so hard to figure out who the woman is? Doesn’t she have fingerprints?”
“Yeah, but they don’t match any prints on record. Something weird about them. My forensics boys think they may have been tampered with.”
“What about the face? Gotta be someone who recognizes her.”
“No one has come forward, discounting the cranks.” He devoured the rest of the dog in a single bite. Loving was no shrink, but this guy had to have a major oral fixation. “I’m surprised. The whole thing is weird, though.”
“How d’ya mean?”
“What was she doing at that press conference? Why doesn’t anyone know her? Why would anyone kill her there when, as you say, there were about a million people roaming about?”
“Maybe it wasn’t planned.”
“That would be my guess, too. Crime of passion, fit of anger, whatever. Were you there?”
Loving shook his head. Private investigators didn’t get invited to important political functions.
“Well, the million or so people in attendance present another problem. Too many suspects. Even the possibility that it was someone who wasn’t actually invited to the press conference. After all, the victim wasn’t invited. But there she was.”
Loving frowned. He had hoped this conversation would be useful. If anything, it was only making the case more complicated.
“But enough about me,” Albertson said, wiping his mouth. “I gave, now you follow suit. Who the hell was trying to kill you?”
“I wish I knew.”
“But you said they were professionals?”
Loving nodded. “At least one of them was. I think the other guy was some sort of keeper. He wasn’t as good; in fact, if anythin’, I think he was crampin’ the pro’s style. I probably wouldn’t have gotten away if he hadn’t had that clown weighin’ him down. I mean, come on. A machine gun in a shoppin’ mall? That’s like somethin’ out of one of them Terminator movies. No pro would ever do that.”
“Agreed. Where did they go after you crashed your buggy?”
“Don’t know. I mean, the pro probably knew how to roll with the car and land on his feet. That wasn’t so much of a shock. But the mall security men said the other guy was gone before they could even get to the scene, and I left him hurtin’ pretty bad. I think they must’ve had backup.”