Rachael said, “That’s because his bookies were probably after him, and he was already on edge. You’ve got to admit, Jack, he did recover quickly.”
“Yeah, he did, but only because he knew you were looking at him and he didn’t want you to think he was a coward. Then the jerk acted like you were still going to marry him. He even tried to kiss you.”
‘You didn’t clock him, did you, Jack?” Ollie asked.
Jack was silent for a moment, his brows drawn together. “For a moment there, I gotta admit it was close.”
“What is the ex-fiancé’s name?” Sherlock asked as she poured more of Savich’s excellent coffee into Rachael’s cup.
“Jerol Springer.”
“I’ve been wondering what kind of name that is,” Jack said. “I mean, it’s almost like that guy on TV. I tell you, Rachael, I can’t believe you ever considered marrying that idiot.”
“Well, it never came to marriage, and not because of his name,” Rachael said, sipped the coffee and closed her eyes a moment in pleasure. She said, “You know, Dillon’s coffee’s as good as mine.”
There was a discreet snort; no one believed her.
Ollie said, “Why is Mr. Springer an ex? He wasn’t faithful?”
“Oh no, he was faithful as a tick, as far as I know. The moron gambled too much and I found out about it. Actually, his bookie sent one of his yahoos to see me, something that makes a person see things very clearly, let me tell you. Evidently Jerol wasn’t such a hot gambler. He was always looking over his shoulder.”
“He was into the horses?” Dane asked.
“Horses, dogs, football—pro and college—beach volleyball, soccer, the first guy to belch after drinking beer, you name it, he’d bet on it, and lose. So when Jerol saw Jack, he thought he was there to break his kneecaps. When he found out Jack was only an FBI agent, I thought he was going to cry with relief. I hadn’t seen him for a good six months.”
Dane said, “Maybe he was there because he’d heard Rachael was the late Senator Abbott’s daughter, and he saw cash registers cachinging in his brain.”
Rachael said, “Do you know what Jack did? He pretended he was living there with me, cozied himself up all over me, even draped his arm over my shoulder while Jerol was standing there looking hopeful.”
Jack grinned hugely. “It sent him on his way fast.” He frowned at Rachael. “You were being far too nice to him.”
Rachael reached in her purse and pulled out a Smith & Wesson pistol. “If he’d hassled me, I would have shot him in the foot. It was my father’s. It’s got a nice feel to it.”
“Then he wouldn’t have been able to leave,” Ollie observed.
“Oh dear, you’re right.” Rachael fell silent, sipped her coffee, her eyes on Astro, who was sleeping off vegetable lasagna from Sean’s plate on a rug in front of the fireplace.
Jack liked the Sigma Series, you pointed at what you wanted to shoot and fired, but still ... “I don’t like your having a gun; it’s not a toy.”
“Jeez, you think? Jack, you’ve seen me shoot. I’m probably better than you. Be quiet.”
“Moving right along,” Savich said, “time to get you caught up.” He and Sherlock proceeded to fill them in about their meetings with Congresswoman McManus and the Barbeaus.
“The thing is,” Sherlock said, “neither Dillon nor I think Pierre Barbeau is the person behind the attempts on MacLean’s life. Now, Mrs. Barbeau—she’s something else, a real piece of work.” Sherlock shrugged. “She’s grieving hard, as torn up as her husband, but her level of anger at Dr. MacLean ... I don’t know. I simply don’t.”
Ollie said, “Did you guys pick up any vibes about McManus? Do you think she had her husband murdered?”
Savich nodded. “I think she’s capable of having him killed.”
Sherlock said, “She’s got a real temper, but she’s learned how to control it—had to, I guess, since spewing venom at her colleagues on the floor of the House of Representatives wouldn’t make her any friends. She’s an impressive woman, though. I’d rather have her on my side any day.”
Savich shrugged. “Is she the one behind the attempts on Timothy’s life? I hate to say it, but I don’t think so. There’s no motive, unless it would be revenge for his stirring everything up, maybe creating a scandal that could annoy her for a time.”
“I think she has too much to lose for that,” Sherlock said. “Unless she knew there were too many loose ends surrounding her husband’s murder, maybe worried a new investigation would turn up something too easily.”
Rachael said, “Then where does this leave us?”
Astro Mighty Dog raised his head and barked once.
Rachael went over to sit on the floor beside him, petting him until he rolled onto his back, all four feet sticking in the air.
Savich said, “There’s Lomas Clapman, the rich guy who stole his partner’s ideas and may have committed fraud. But again, I can’t see that as a motive.”
Ollie said, “It always comes back to how the killer knew MacLean had talked. The bartender said he wasn’t aware of any other customers listening, but he couldn’t be sure. He said he never told another soul, so this remains a mystery.”
Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a disk. “All Timothy’s files are on this disk. If he hadn’t backed them up, the fire would have destroyed all his patient notes. And just who set the fire?”
Ollie said, “We’ve reviewed all the files with our forensic psychiatrists, done a lot of checking, but there aren’t any other patients they can point to as having the motive to kill Dr. MacLean. Sure, there’s some ugly stuff here and there, but murder?” Ollie shook his head. “And let’s face it, who would kill his shrink on speculation—he hasn’t told the world your secrets, but he might? It doesn’t make sense.”
Everyone thought about that for a moment.
Rachael said, “Tomorrow morning, Jack and I are going to see Jimmy’s lawyer, Brady Cullifer. If there are skeletons, he may be able to tell us about them.”
Savich sat back on the sofa, laced his fingers over his belly. “I spoke to the ME about Perky’s unexpected death. Turns out it wasn’t foul play. She died of a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot to her lungs. It’s a major surgical risk, the ME said. So there you have it.
“I then paid a visit to our two wounded bad guys from Parlow and Slipper Hollow—Roderick Lloyd and Donley Everett. Lloyd still refuses to speak to us, and as for Everett, he’s already signed a full confession. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know who hired Perky. I don’t think he’s lying.” Savich sat forward. “There’s no reason for Lloyd to know that Perky is dead. Maybe we can convince him she rolled. Whatdo you think, Sherlock?”
“I can’t imagine Lloyd’s lawyer not knowing she’s dead, but it’s worth a shot.” She didn’t sound optimistic.
“What about the fourth guy?” Jack asked. “What’s his name?”
“Marion Croop,” Sherlock said. “We’ve got an APB out on him, but no word yet.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Washington, D.C.
Friday morning
Rachael ladled hot, thick oatmeal into Jack’s bowl. He stared down at it, then up at her.
“What? Come on, dig in while the steam is still pouring off it. It’s good for you, and I make the best oatmeal in Kentucky. Here’s some brown sugar.” She spooned some over the oatmeal.
He gave her a pitiful look. “Could I have some Cheerios instead?”
Rachael punched him in the shoulder. “What is this? Here I decide to cook you my very best breakfast since you’re here as my bodyguard, and reward you because there weren’t any break-ins last night, and you want Cheerios? Out of a box?”