"You're suspicious about something? " "Oh, no. Not at all. I just can't find out anything about her. Nobody's talking."
"It's just idle curiosity, then? " He could tell from her manner it was anything but.
She was holding something back.
"No. I don't know what it is, really. I was just wondering if you could get hold of a copy of the death certificate." Now there was an odd request. But not a difficult one if you knew who to call. And perfectly legal. Death certificates were public records.
"No biggee. Just have to know where she lived at the time The rest is easy."
"Alexandria, I believe. Northern Virginia for sure."
"Okay. Have it for you in a day or two." And he would. But first he'd give it a thorough going over himself. His curiosity was piqued.
"Unless there's a rush." He watched her closely as she answered.
"No. No rush. ' That settled, he could almost see her drift away as she lapsed into silence. She sighed.
He said, "What are you thinking? " Was it about Lisa Lathram, or about this Blair character, or something else?
"Maybe you and Duncan are right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this town.
" So . . . it was back to Blair. An ache grew within him as he sensed the disappointment in her voice, watched discouragement etch lines around her frown. He wasn't sure what, but he was going to do something.
"Don't give up hope, " he said. "Things have a way of working out. ' '"Maybe sometimes, " she said. "Not this time" He drained the white zinfandel.
"You never know, Gin. You never know." Gerry stood in the wide, fresh-smelling, brightly lit hallway outside the apartment door in the Watergate-at-Landmark, a high-rise condo complex in northern Virginia, and waited for his ring to be answered.
He knew Blair was home, a hang-up phone call had confirmed that. Maybe he was eating. Gerry hoped he was alone. If he wasn't, Gerry would have to improvise. But one way or another, he was going to make this creep see the light.
As soon as he'd left Gin at her car he'd hustled up Pennsylvania to the Bureau. He ran a check on Blair, but no criminal record. Too bad.
That would have made things easier.
So he'd have to bluff.
Gerry shrugged some of the tension out of his tight shoulder muscles.
This sort of unofficial visit could land him in a serious load of official trouble if Blair called his blu*.
But Gerry knew how these highly placed Hill rats operated. They couldn't vote, but lots of times they had control of the line by line wording of a bill, and that could be more important than a Yea or Nay.
The lobbyists courted them with trips, gifts, and honoraria for speaking engagements, just like their bosses. Gerry remembered one case, still mentioned by Hill rats in awed tones, of two staffers, Michaels and Bill Patterson, who netted a total of twenty eight thousand dollars from a host of lobbyists in forty-eight hours.
Blair no doubt had dreams of topping that record.
Gerry meant to disturb those dreams.
Because if Blair planned to cash in all the influence chips that would accrue from the Guidelines bill, the last thing he wanted was a ticked-off FBI agent watching his every move.
But Gerry didn't have much time Mrs. Snedecker had said she'd keep Martha a couple of extra hours today. Gerry would have to get to it with Blair right away.
The condo door opened and a pale face with a see-through mustache cautiously peered at him through the opening. This was a gated building.
Drop-in company was not the norm.
"Yes? " Gerry held up the same badge that had got him past the doorman.
"FBI, Mr. Blair." Blair opened the door a little wider for a better look. He squinted at the badge.
"What is it? What do you want? " Gerry flipped the leather badge folder closed and stepped closer, quietly wedging his foot against the bottom edge of the door. He slipped the badge into his pocket.
'"Don't worry. It's not official business." . "Then what, ? " Gerry put a hand against Blair's chest and gently pushed him back into his apartment. There were times when subtlety was called for and times when it wasn't.
"You and me, Blair. We're gonna have us a little talk." GINA GINA YAWNED AS SHE HEADED FOR THE DOCTORS lounge. A busy night at Lynnbrook. Sometimes she could catch a catnap during the shift. Not this time
Not that she would have got much more sleep if she'd stayed home. What a state she was in. Worse than waiting to hear about her residency match. Almost as bad as the months waiting to hear if she'd been accepted into medical school.
She ran into Dr. Conway again.
"I see Mrs. Thompson finally went home. That must be a relief.
"I guess so. Everybody's making nice-nice now that they think I caved in. Actually, she made a dramatic turnaround. Almost miraculous. One day she's dragging around, next day she's chipper and demanding to go home." A warning bell sounded in the back of Gin's brain.
"When was that? " "Wednesday."
"I wonder, ' Gin said uneasily. "I had a talk with her just the night before and she said she'd heard you were in trouble I
because of her. I remember her saying something like, I won't be a burden to anyone. I'll be out of here sooner than you think." Conway stared at her. "Christ. That'd be just like her." He picked up the phone and called medical records. He got Mrs. Thompson's phone number and dialed. And listened. He redialed and listened again. Then he hung up.
"No answer. I'm going over there."
"She could be out, " Gin said.
"At seven A. M. ? A seventy-eight-year-old lady? " "I'll go with you.
' "You're on duty. I'll let you know how it goes." Gin spent the next hour wondering what Conway would find. When she wasn't thinking about that, it was back to the committee. At one point she found herself dialing her apartment, readying to activate the remote playback on her answering machine.
What am I doing? she thought, and hung up.
It was too early. No one from a senator's office would be calling before ten. Before noon, more likely.
She was about to leave when she was paged by the emergency department.
Dr. Conway was asking for her assistance.
Gin found him standing by the x-ray box, studying a chest film. She took one look at the opacified right lung field and said, "Not Harriet, I hope." Conway nodded. "Found her on her back steps, barely conscious, a bunch of bread crusts in her hand. Looked like she'd gone out to feed the birds last night and collapsed."
"She was out all night? " "Sure as hell looks that way. She's shocky, hypothermic, and hypoxemic, plus", he tapped the chest film, "three fractured ribs and I'll bet that's a hemothorax. I called in Fielding.
He's going to intubate her and put her on a respirator, then it's up to ICU ." He snapped the film off the view box.
"Damn! I never should have sent her home! " "She told you she was fine. What else were you going to do? " "I should have seen through that. I believed her because I wanted to.
I was so damn glad to get the PRO and the rest of them off my back I jumped at the chance to discharge her."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, " Gin said. "Where is she? " Conway jerked a thumb over his shoulder at one of the curtained-off alcoves.
Gin wasn't sure which way to go until she saw Fielding, the pulmonologist, step through a set of curtains and approach the nurses station. She slipped behind the curtains.
Harriet Thompson was almost unrecognizable. The right side of her face was swollen and purple where it must have struck pavement. A ribbed plastic tube curved from the corner of her mouth, connected by a larger tube to a hissing and puffing respirator. Her eyes were half open but they weren't seeing anything. Gin gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze.