Reeder asked, “How many hits for ‘senk’?”
“Not quite 800,000.” Miggie grinned. “But that’s an improvement, anyway.”
Nichols asked, “How does an attempted assassination of a presidential hopeful link up with our murder victims? Including Chris Bryson?”
“Answering that,” Rogers said, “is where we come in.”
Reeder said, “Akers also said the word ‘Capitol.’ I assume he meant the capitol city — Washington, DC — or the building itself. The word, depending on how you spell it, has other meanings, obviously.”
Nichols said, “None that immediately resonate.”
Reeder went on: “That ‘capitol’ and ‘senk’ were his two last words indicates a connection between them.”
Hardesy said, “But how the hell could taking Benjamin out have anything to do with that?” He held up surrender hands. “Rhetorical question.”
Frowning, Ivanek asked, “Why didn’t Benjamin have Secret Service protection? And that isn’t rhetorical.”
Reeder said, “He hasn’t announced his candidacy yet. It’s possible he intended to do that before his speech was cut short.”
The Secret Service provided protection for official candidates only, a policy that had been in place since the attempted assassination of George Wallace in 1972. Bobby Kennedy hadn’t had Secret Service protection, either, when he was shot and killed in 1968.
Reeder said, “Had Benjamin announced his candidacy at that event — and my bet is he would have — any later attempts on him would become far more tricky. The Secret Service would be in place.”
Nichols asked, “Out of all the potential presidential hopefuls... why kill Adam Benjamin? Whose idea is that?”
Ivanek opened his palms. “Any psychotic with less than a billion dollars, whose envy has run amok. Any fringe figure, right or left, who might consider a centrist a threat. Certain traditional liberal or conservative politicians might fear the loss of money that a middle-of-the-road populist might generate. Who knows, maybe forces on the left and right pooled their money to take him off the ballot before he’s even on it.”
Reeder said, “He’s bad for business for both sides.”
Miggie brought the shooter up on the monitor — on stage, gun in hand. Not, Rogers was thankful, a shot of the dead man after her bullet had plowed through his brain.
“Pulled from an audience member’s posted cell phone photo,” Miggie said. “Front row, I’d say.” Fingers flew again. “Now, here our man is, as they say, in happier times.”
A smiling head-and-shoulders shot took the screen. Sandy haired, glasses, unremarkable. He was such a nice man, the neighbors would say. Quiet, nice to dogs and children.
“Photo from the church where he was a lay minister,” Miggie said. “Thomas Louis Stanton — our late shooter.”
“Church,” Hardesy muttered. “Jesus.”
Reeder asked, “Does the media have this yet?”
“Don’t think so. Bohannon sent me the name, from Constitution Hall, and I did some preliminary digging. Honorably discharged from the Army, divorced, father of two boys, who live with their mother. And you’ll love this. Ohio state trooper.”
All around the room, heads were shaking.
“Former, I should say,” Miggie said. “Retired last year on disability — stage-four cancer.”
Ivanek asked, “Brain cancer maybe?”
“Much as I’d like an easy explanation,” Miggie said, “for a former cop turning political assassin? I can’t help you. Not brain cancer — appendix.”
“That’s a new one,” Hardesy said.
“Not new, just rare. Occurs in about one half of one percent of those diagnosed. But it’s as good at killing you as any other cancer.”
Reeder was studying the image on the monitor.
Rogers said to him, “What?”
No response.
Then finally he turned to her and said, “Two things.”
“Start with number one.”
“You’re a good guy,” Reeder said, looking up at Stanton’s smiling image. “You have a good job. Okay, then you get divorced, which is a possibility in any marriage, but higher odds in law enforcement.”
“We’re still on number one?”
“Still on number one. You get dealt the cancer card. Sucks. Tragic as hell, and maybe enough to unhinge you some. But why does it make a ‘good man’ want to travel from Ohio to DC to shoot Adam Benjamin? Which brings us to number two.”
Rogers squinted at him. “Does it?”
“Ohio is Adam Benjamin’s home state. More than that, it’s where our unpretentious billionaire still lives. And if Benjamin has acquired any under-the-radar enemies, what better place than Ohio to find them? Also, an Ohio enemy might hire somebody from around those parts to do this thing.”
Rogers said, “Murder for hire?”
Reeder didn’t answer, instead saying to Miggie, “Did you check Stanton’s financials yet?”
Miggie nodded. “At first look anyway, nothing special. Checking account with about two hundred bucks in it, savings account with a couple of grand, and an IRA that hasn’t seen a deposit since our ex-trooper went on disability.”
Reeder said, “Keep digging to see if he was sending hate mail to Benjamin, or spouting off around town about the man. If not, then maybe it’s just a case of somebody local hiring somebody local.”
Ivanek said, “If so, where’s the big money a job like this pays? No way this guy breaks that bad and trades everything in, including his life, for a few thousand bucks.”
“He was dying,” Reeder said. “The money wasn’t for him, and it’ll not likely be found in any domestic bank account. Safety deposit box, maybe.”
A sad smile on her lovely face, Nichols said, “The money’s for his boys.”
“My bet,” Reeder agreed. “So we need to look at the ex-wife’s financials.”
Hardesy laughed. “Thank you, Joe.”
“What for?”
“Saving President Bennett’s ass. Without that beefed-up Patriot Act of his, we’d be weeks trying to get warrants for this shit.”
“You’re welcome,” Reeder said.
Miggie’s fingers danced. “Be a minute,” he said, barely audible.
They waited.
Then: “Money’s not with the ex-wife, at least not anywhere I can touch. No trust fund for the kids that I can find. Mom’s remarried, new husband makes a decent living. Nothing to write home about, but decent.”
Rogers’s cell vibrated. Caller ID read: WADE. She took the call.
“Boss,” Wade said, “it’s Clusterfuck City here. Gonna take days, even weeks, to interview everyone. A crime lab team of ours is collecting evidence. We don’t even know what became of the intended target.”
She said, “Sorry, I thought you knew. He’s at the Holiday Inn Express in Falls Church.”
“Adam Benjamin? Holiday Inn Express?”
“You better talk to Joe.”
She handed her phone to Reeder, who filled Wade in on the whereabouts of Benjamin, Frank Elmore, and their so-called security staff. Then he handed the cell back to her.
Rogers told Wade, “I understand you and Bohannon will be tied up with this awhile.”
“We feel like we’re letting you down in the middle of something big.”
“You aren’t. The assassination attempt appears to tie in with our double-taps.” She filled him in on that score.
When she was off the phone, Miggie said, “I ran facial rec on Stanton against the SIM card photo of our blond, but no match. Anyway, no tattoo, right?”
Reeder said, “No tattoo. So not the guy from the Skyway Farer video, either. Anything yet on our black cube or that anonymous building?”