D.C. Dead (27 page)

The front door opened and Holly waved them inside. “Mrs. Kirby invites you in,” she said. “She’s in her bedroom, if you’d like to follow me.” Holly led them to a bedroom door, opened it, but stopped them before they could enter. “Let’s preserve the scene for the local cop shop.”

Charlotte Kirby was sitting up in bed, but her head had rolled to one side. The wall behind the bed and a picture hanging on it were spattered with blood and brain matter, and there was a hole in the picture.

“From what I can see,” Dino said, “self-administered gunshot wound to the head, via the mouth. Fairly small caliber.”

“I concur,” Stone said.

“So do I,” Holly replied.

“Why is it that everybody we need information from in this case either offs himself or somebody does it for him?” Stone asked plaintively.

“I’ve noticed that,” Holly said drily, taking out her cell phone and pressing a speed-dial number. “Okay,” she said, “time to get the locals in here. They’ll need a wagon and a crime-scene team. Looks like a suicide.” She hung up.

“I don’t see a weapon,” Stone said. “Can’t I just tiptoe in there and look around for it?”

“Absolutely not,” Holly replied. “They’ve been nice enough to clear the street for us, so we’re not going to fuck up their crime scene by way of thanks.”

“Oh, all right,” Stone said.

“If somebody fired the shot for her, they’ll still find a gun,” Dino said. “The March Hare is not stupid, that much we know.”

“Oh,” Holly said, “I think poor Charlotte had plenty of reason not to want to ever leave her bed again.”

“I’ll bet there’s a diary in the bedside drawer,” Stone said.

“I’d certainly like to find out,” Dino replied. “Holly?”

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Holly said. “You want to tiptoe in there and take a peek, it’s on your head.”

“Nah,” Dino said, “it’s on Stone’s head. He’s the only one here who doesn’t have a government job to hang on to.”

“Oh, all right,” Stone said. He slipped off his shoes and tiptoed across the rose-colored carpet to the bedside table and, with his pen, engaged the drawer pull and slid it open. He poked around in the drawer with the pen, then closed it and tiptoed back to the door. “No diary,ۀ “No d” he said. “Just condoms, lubricant, and tissues.”

“Charlotte was ready for anything, wasn’t she?” Holly asked.

Stone started down the hall, back toward the front of the house.

“Where are you going?” Holly asked.

“I want to see what else is in this house,” Stone replied.

Dino followed, producing a pair of latex gloves from a pocket and donning them.

Holly trailed the two. The three of them stood in the neat living room and looked around, then Stone walked into what turned out to be a den.

There was a desk and some bookcases and a filing cabinet. “You do this one, Dino,” Stone said. “You’re gloved.”

Dino started with the filing cabinet. “Bills, tax returns, a file of clippings from travel magazines,” Dino said, after a minute’s look.

“Try the desk,” Stone said.

Dino walked to the desk and opened the three top drawers. “Bingo,” he said.

42

SOMEONE HAMMERED ON THE FRONT DOOR. HOLLY WENT TO answer it, and Dino stuffed the diary under his belt in the small of his back. Holly returned with two police detectives and a couple of people with satchels. Holly directed them to the bedroom, but one detective remained with them.

“So,” he said to Holly, “I know who you are. Who are these two?”

“Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti, NYPD, and Stone Barrington, NYPD, retired.”

The detective nodded. “I read the papers. This got something to do with that lady from the White House?”

“The corpse in the bedroom is the lady from the White House,” Holly replied.

“Be right back,” the detective said. “You three stay here.” He walked down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Don’t you dare give him that diary,” Holly said to Dino.

“I hadn’t planned to,” Dino replied.

The detective returned. “How come you’re gloved?” he asked Dino.

“Because I’m the only one carrying gloves.”

“What did you touch with those gloves?”

“I had a look in the filing cabinet in the study and in the top desk drawers.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing I’d want in my scrapbook.”

“Did the lady have a diary?”

“I looked in the bedside drawer,” Stone said, “and there was no diary. I didn’t touch anything, though. Your people have a clean shot at prints.”

“Gee, thanks,” the detective said. “Suppose I print all of you, anyway?”

“Suppose you go fuck yourself,” Dino said.

“Now, gentlemen,” Holly interjected. “Everybody be nice. Detective, I’ll confirm that nobody touched anything.”

“How’d you get in the house?” he asked. “The front door was locked.”

“The bހack door isn’t,” Holly said, careful about her use of tense.

“You spooks don’t run the Arlington PD,” he said.

“We have neither the time nor the inclination,” Holly replied. “We’re grateful for your help.”

Stone spoke up. “You should be grateful,” he said to the detective.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because if she hadn’t made the request, you’d have two TV trucks out there and a yard full of reporters clamoring for a statement.”

The detective made a mock curtsy in Holly’s direction. “Thanks for keeping my picture out of the papers. The chief might have seen it.”

“Here’s an idea,” Dino said. “Why don’t you call them back in?”

“Good idea,” the detective replied.

“Detective,” Holly said, “I don’t think you need us anymore.”

“Christ knows that’s true,” he replied. “Good afternoon and good riddance.”

Holly herded Stone and Dino out the door. “Let’s move,” she said. Then, when they were outside: “Dino, don’t let that diary fall down your pants.”

THEY WERE BACK IN the suite at the Hay-Adams before Dino produced the diary. Holly grabbed it, sat on the sofa, opened it to the last page, and read aloud.

“‘Those two from New York grilled me relentlessly this afternoon. I told them everything, and it was embarrassing, but it turned me on. Took care of that when I got home. Now I’m depressed.’”

“She doesn’t sound all
that
depressed,” Dino said, “not if she could do herself after our conversation.”

“I never knew being interrogated was a turn-on,” Stone said.

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Dino replied.

Holly was turning pages, scanning them. “My goodness, she described every sexual encounter with Brix, even the masturbatory ones!”

“Was she sleeping with anybody else besides Brix?” Stone asked.

“Apparently not,” Holly replied.

“Then the paraphernalia in her bedside drawer was just in case?”

Holly closed the diary and tossed it to Stone. “This only goes back to the first of last year. She must have earlier ones.”

“I don’t think it’s worth trying to get them out of the Arlington cops,” Stone said. “Not if this one covers the time leading up to the deaths of Brix and his wife.”

“You can read the whole thing,” Holly said, rising. “I’m going back to the office.”

“Why don’t you brief the director,” Stone said. “I’m not ready to face her again.”

“What can I tell her?”

“Tell her we’ve hit a brick wall. Tell her all our possible witnesses are dead.”