And Janet replying, “What did you expect, George? You shouldn’t have gone to my boss on me. You betrayed me.”
“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. My supervisors in D. C. made that call. I swear that’s-”
Well, the wind suddenly whipped up and there was a long exchange I couldn’t catch. But I have a good eye for body language. And Meany was bending toward her, appearing earnest, that scrunched-up forehead pickled with sincerity, his hands roving all over her arms and shoulders. Also, Meany was one of those guys who closes the airspace, and the gap had narrowed from five feet to a few inches.
Then the wind died down and I overheard Meany say to her, “… and I still love you.”
And Janet reply to him, “Well… I, uh, I’m confused about my feelings toward you.”
I mean, please. Wake up, Janet. The guy was lying. From fifty feet away I could tell that-his lips were moving.
Anyway, the wind whipped up again, and they chatted for another few minutes, and you could tell it was getting pretty cordial before they finally concluded the discussion and headed back in my direction. I wouldn’t say they were lovey-dovey or anything. But from their expressions and the relaxed, amiable way they moved, George had really twisted her ear and was back in some form of good graces.
In fact, Meany had his arm over Janet’s shoulder and was whispering something.
Geez, somebody had to do something, so I interrupted and said, “Hey, George, you mentioned you were sure you’d catch this guy. How?”
As I mentioned previously, cops hate it when you try to pin them down. Plus, somebody needed to bring Janet back to her senses and show her this guy was full of shit.
In fact, Special Agent Meany appeared not to appreciate my inquiry, because his eyes sort of narrowed as he said, “Good detective work, great technology, and brainpower.” He added, “Why? What business is it of yours?”
“Well, you know… curiosity.”
“Great. I love curious witnesses. I’ve got seventy-five agents working around the clock, the media, public relations people, and my bosses jumping all over my ass, and I’ve got all the time in the world to answer questions from some clown like you.”
Well, goodness. Janet gave George an odd look and said, “It was a perfectly fair question.”
He shot me a curt glance and replied to her, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t gotten much sleep since I took over this investigation. I guess I’m a little irritable.” He then leaned against the side of my car and said to me, “All right. You asked, so I’ll fill you in on what I’ve discovered. I’ve reconstructed the murder sites and reviewed every element of the evidence and crime reports. You should always do that, right?”
“Right.”
“Because sometimes… well, sometimes you pick up things others missed. Not that they’re incompetent, but in the heat of battle, as you people call it, certain details can slip through the cracks.”
I didn’t want another long tutorial from this jerk, and I said, “Well, this is very interesting, but-”
“And,” he continued, “with a second look you pick up some of those things. Here’s an example. Lieutenant Martin’s log says that on the night of Lisa’s murder you arrived at the Pentagon parking lot at 9:27 P.M. Martin’s people estimate she was murdered about thirty minutes prior. You told Martin you were supposed to meet her in that parking lot. You see the problem?”
I was starting to explain what the problem was when he added, with a nasty smirk, “Of course, I’m not blaming you, but I did wonder why Lisa was standing around in a big empty parking lot, late at night, vulnerable to this monster. She was well-known for being cautious, efficient, and punctual. Then I put two and two together. And, this is just a guess… but I concluded that her date didn’t have the courtesy to be on time.” He added, “In fact, had you been on time, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Janet was giving me a queer look.
I looked at her and explained, “I was late because I was getting a ticket from a cop.”
He slapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t make up excuses for my sake, pal. I told you… nobody’s blaming you.”
He turned to Janet and said, “Why don’t I give you a lift back to your hotel? It’ll give us a chance to catch up, and discuss our arrangements for dinner.”
It struck me, as I watched them drive away, that I might have underestimated Mr. George Meany.
Did I get my ass kicked, or what?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Account Ingfest was in its death throes when I popped back into the conference room. The two dozen accountants who had inhabited this room had disappeared back into whatever hobbit hole they crawled out of. Three guys in gray coveralls were feeding reams of now useless spreadsheets into shredders, and a techie was noisily disassembling the phones in the corner.
The end of an audit is a sad and ugly sight, and a tear of regret spilled down my cheek.
Right.
Martha, the head number-cruncher, was huddled in the far corner with Jessica Moner, Morris’s beefy legal counsel and possibly my future boss, and beside her, to my surprise, was Barry, my backstabbing buddy and current boss.
They noticed me, and the conversation died. I mean, if Brutus and his buddies had been so ridiculously conspicuous, Caesar never would’ve had those shivs stuffed in his back, the Visigoths would’ve ended up a lost tribe, and we’d all be speaking Italian. But the lawyers, clever as they are in the arts of treachery, responded instinctively, smiled, and tossed a few innocuous waves. Martha stared at the floor and shuffled her feet, the picture of a troubled conscience.
I said to Barry, “Checking up on me?”
“What?… No, I, uh… I just dropped by to see how things are coming.” He patted my shoulder and added, “And everything’s great. Congratulations on making the timeline.”
“Well, you know, Barry, it was a great team effort. Yes, my legal contributions were both brilliant and crucial, but Martha and her people deserve a little of the credit.” I winked at Martha.
“Well… whatever.” He said to Martha, “Why don’t you get the audit?”
And Martha actually looked relieved as she left the room to retrieve it.
Jessica, still smiling, said to me, “We’re glad you showed up. Great timing. This is working out perfectly.”
“Why?”
“Your strategy concerning the Nash issue worked.”
“Of course. Am I some guy, or what?”
She explained, “In fact, the Defense Department held a protest conference this morning. Silas Jackler from Fields, Jason, and Morgantheau led a joint team representing Sprint and AT amp;T. Barry and I were present on our behalf.”
Barry chuckled and commented, “History was made this morning, Drummond. Silas Jackler developed a sudden case of lockjaw.”
Jessica also chuckled and explained, “The Defense Department lawyers asked Jackler to specify his concerns.”
I asked, “And did he?”
“He insisted it just looked suspicious. Apparently, he and his people were well aware of the legal risks.”
Always one to get in the last word, Barry said, “He tried to throw a few peripheral jabs about Nash and we sat and acted dumb.”
“That must have been very difficult for you,” I said to Barry, tongue in cheek.
“So,” Jessica summarized, “good work and we’re proud as shit of you.”
“Well, shucks.”
“The best news of all,” Barry added, “is that we persuaded the Defense lawyers to decide the protest by Friday.”
“Wow… Friday… imagine that.”
He added, “But we did have to guarantee the full audit immediately. And Jackler has until Thursday to submit any further documentation or the Nash issue goes away.”
Jessica grinned. “Get it, Drummond? You sign the audit, we submit, end of fucking story.”
The door opened and Martha hurried in, gripping a thin black looseleaf binder. She handed it off to Barry, who flipped it open, glanced at the cover sheet, and announced for my benefit, “Excellent. It all looks in order.”