The Inner Sanctum (3 page)

Robinson was interrupted by a scream from the bar. He turned quickly in his chair to see what had happened.

"You're an ass!" a young woman yelled at a man wearing a charcoal suit and red tie. "You aren't going to talk to me like that and get away with it!"

The man shrugged nervously as the lobby went silent and he became the focus of the crowd's attention. Suddenly the woman reached toward the bar, picked up her glass and splashed its contents in his face, then ran for the exit.

Robinson watched the commotion a moment longer, then turned back to face Roth, who seemed to have found the incident amusing. Robinson picked up his glass. He was irritated and took a long swallow. "Gordon, I don't appreciate your accusation that I would use my position at the IRS to investigate Elbridge Coleman because he is white and Malcolm Walker is black." Justice Department or not, Robinson wasn't going to put up with a comment like that.

Roth waved a hand. "I'm sorry. It was an inappropriate remark. You have every right to be angry. Look, the truth is that we suspect there might be something strange going on in Coleman's campaign. I don't think we at Justice would go as far as to suspect conspiracy, but we want to do some more digging." Roth placed his glass down on the table. "Are you all right, Mr. Robinson?"

Robinson felt his pulse suddenly racing out of control, his heart beating as if it would burst. "I don't know. I'm feeling a little light-headed." He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. "God, my tongue!"

"What's wrong?"

"It's so dry I can barely feel it." He slurred his words as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Maybe I should call a doctor."

"No, I . . . God!"

Roth stood, deliberately knocking over Robinson's beer glass. "What is it?"

Robinson grabbed his chest. "My heart," he gasped. "Jesus Christ, it feels like somebody's stabbing me with a knife!" He stood up, wavered for a moment, then stumbled forward and fell to the carpet.

Roth turned to the crowd. "Help us here!" he yelled. "Is anyone a doctor?"

A man from a nearby table jumped up and raced toward them, dropping to his knees as he reached the stricken Robinson. A waitress ran to call 911. People stood, pushing forward to see what was going on. And without attracting attention, Gordon Roth slipped through the onlookers to the outer edge of the crowd, then walked calmly to the escalators.

Robinson gazed up at the young man about to administer CPR. The table in the corner of the lobby had been available because Roth wanted a secluded place in which to operate. Roth had made certain the waitress brought a glass for Robinson's beer because it was easier to drop poison in a wide-mouth glass than a thin bottle. And the woman throwing the drink in the man's face had been the diversion. It had given Roth the opportunity to slip the drug into the glass undetected. Everything made so much sense now. If only Robinson had listened to his instincts, to that alarm screaming at him from within.

The young man bent over to breathe oxygen into Robinson's lungs. It wouldn't make any difference, Robinson knew. They were too efficient, too careful. There would be no second chances. Then his eyelids fluttered shut, and he was gone.

A few moments later, Gordon Roth climbed into the passenger side of the white Explorer parked on a side street near the hotel.

"So, how'd I do?" The young woman who had thrown the drink in the bar smiled at Roth from the driver's seat.

"An incredible performance." He leaned across the seat and kissed her, pausing to stroke the pearl necklace he had purchased for her earlier in the day. "Oscar potential."

"Really?"

"Really."

The young woman giggled. "Now what?"

"Let's have some dinner."

The police officer moved slowly toward the Explorer, parked beneath a light near the loading dock of a deserted warehouse. His senses were on alert, but he wasn't overly concerned. It was probably nothing more than a drunk couple fooling around. It happened here in the Fell's Point area all the time. Probably just a man and woman who had met at a nearby bar and couldn't go home because they were both married and were too cheap to rent a hotel room. The policeman shook his head. What a wonderful world.

He flashed his light inside the truck and instantly realized the situation was much more serious than he had anticipated. A young woman sat behind the wheel, hands at her sides, head back, eyes wide open but unseeing, her throat slashed from ear to ear.

Gordon Roth watched the officer from the darkened window of an abandoned building overlooking the loading dock. As the officer trotted back to his squad car to radio for assistance, Roth removed the wig, beard, and mustache, stuffed them into a bag already containing the bloodied clothes he had worn to kill the woman, and headed toward the stairs.

** Chapter 2

One day was much like another to an IRS revenue agent. There were audits, reviews, and paperwork today, just as there had been yesterday, just as there would be tomorrow. Jesse sighed as she surveyed the mess covering the top of her desk. It never got any better. No matter how hard she worked there was always more to do.

She leaned back in her chair and scanned the front page of the Wall Street Journal. A short article about the initial public offering of a high-tech company caught her eye. The company had raised $400 million dollars yesterday by selling 40 percent of its stock to public investors. The entrepreneur who had started the firm ten years before could retire forever if she so desired. And the investment banking firms managing the transaction--Goldman Sachs and Merrill Lynch--had earned almost $25 million in underwriting fees.

Jesse shook her head as she surveyed her small, drab office. Investment banking in New York City. Now that would be exciting. Her $28,000-a- year government salary would be a drop in the bucket to those people.

It wasn't that she was greedy. It was simply that she knew what it meant to go without, and it wasn't any fun. She had grown up in Glyndon--a rural town north of Baltimore--with her nine brothers and sisters. While her classmates had spent weekends buying clothes, records and tapes, she had worked at a local stable making money to help put food on the family table. Her father--a lineman for the phone company--worked hard, but with so many mouths to feed a lineman's pay didn't go far, even with the overtime. And her mother had stayed home to care for the children and pursue her lifelong dedication to the Catholic Church.

Jesse reread the article. What would it be like to earn several hundred thousand dollars a year? Was it such a bad thing to want that?

"Jesse?" Sara Adams leaned into the office and knocked on the open door.

"Hi, Sara. Come in." Jesse put the paper down. She disliked being interrupted during her morning perusal of the Journal, but her expression gave away no hint of irritation. She made it a practice to be as polite as possible. Treat others as you would have them treat you, her mother had always said. Jesse had always followed that advice.

"Reading about investment bankers again?" Sara pointed at the Journal as she sat down in a chair before the desk.

"How'd you know?"

"I saw the article on Goldman and Merrill taking that high-tech firm public. I know how much you want to do that." There was distaste in Sara's tone.

"Is that so wrong?" Jesse sensed the resentment.

"From what I've heard, the people working at those investment firms in New York are driven by nothing but money. It's a dog-eat- dog world in a dog-eat- dog city."

"So you don't think I'd survive?"

"Forget about survival, I'm talking about quality of life. All they ever do is work. Fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. They're miserable, even if they don't realize it. Just as you would be if you got a job up there." Sara adjusted an earring. "And any free time you had would be spent in that cement jungle called the Big Apple. You were raised in the country, for crying out loud. In Glyndon, Maryland. You'd hate New York City."

"I could do it," Jesse said quietly.

"You're one of the nicest, most genuine people I've ever met. Why would you compromise yourself? Just for the money?"

"Is it so bad to want comfort? To want a few nice things? I'd like to be able to help my mother out, too. She's getting old, and it's hard for her to stay in the house now that she's alone. She needs to be in a retirement community, but she doesn't have the money. God knows I can't provide that for her on twenty-eight thousand a year and take care of myself too." Jesse's frustrations rose to the surface.

"How are you paying for school?" Sara was relentless. "It's got to be costing a lot of money."

"Loans."

"So you might be making more money when you graduate, but you'll have all those loans to pay off."

"It'll be worth it in the long run." Neil's words from last night.

"Be happy where you are with what you have. Take the time to live a little." Sara's face brightened. "Speaking of which, I want you to come with me tonight to the Mount Washington Tavern. This new guy I've been dating has a cute friend. I told him all about you, and he wants to get together. He's a banker, Jesse. You know, stable with money. The type you ought to be dating these days." Her tone grew maternal.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I'd like to come out with you, but on short notice we're having a guest lecturer tomorrow night in one of my classes. The woman is a legend in the financial community, and I need to prepare. I don't want to look foolish in front of her if I'm asked a question."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You never have time for yourself. It's rush, rush, constantly. You're going to drive yourself crazy going to business school three nights a week just to make it to New York. It can't be worth all the stress."

"I think it is."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. You couldn't leave the branch."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't be able to tell Neil Robinson you were resigning. You're his golden girl."

"He respects your work just as much as he does mine, Sara."

"He wouldn't want to hear you were leaving," Sara said firmly.

"I think he'd be happy for me." She didn't want to tell Sara the extent of Robinson's support. Sara might get the wrong idea. "He'd encourage me to go to New York."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Sara hesitated. "Look, I know I sound negative. I'm sorry about that. I know you're working really hard with the job and school, and I admire your drive and determination." The hard edge in her voice faded away. "Come out with us tonight," Sara urged. "We'll have fun. Besides, you need to get back into the dating scene. We're both going to be thirty pretty soon, and it won't be easy to find a husband after that. Look at the statistics."

Jesse wadded up the napkin and tossed it at Sara. "God, you are a perfect revenue agent, aren't you? So caught up in statistics and probabilities."

"Good morning, ladies." Helga Ketzer's thick German accent preceded her through the doorway. "Here is the file you wanted, Jesse," she said loudly, moving into the office. Helga, the secretary Jesse shared with several other revenue agents, was short, stout, and opinionated. She placed the heavy file on the desk and turned to go.

"Wait a minute, Helga," Sara called. "We need your opinion on something."

Helga turned back around. "Yes?"

"Don't do this, Sara," Jesse implored. She hated being the center of attention, even with people she knew well.

Sara ignored the plea. "We were just talking about Jesse's love life, Helga."

"Please don't," Jesse begged.

"And I was saying how she needed to start dating again," Sara continued. "How she needs to find someone."

Helga put her hands on her hips and looked at Jesse. "Yes, child, you must find a husband soon. It's such a waste for you to be alone. You are so nice, and beautiful. Well, you could be beautiful." The older woman brought her hands to her mouth and laughed. "Did I say that?"

"Excuse me?" Jesse managed a smile through her embarrassment.

Helga moved close to Jesse. "You have natural beauty. Blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and beautiful skin. But you need to pay more attention to yourself." Her voice became more forceful. "You always wear your hair up in a bun. Let it down once in a while. Use some makeup. And these clothes you wear, they are so loose and baggy. Let men see what you have. A little cling on a curve never hurt. You know that's what they see first. It's a shame but it's true."

"Helga!" Color rose to Jesse's cheeks.

Helga pointed at Sara. "Jesse, you should do as Sara does. Wear makeup and fix your hair." A sly smile crossed the older woman's face. "Of course, if you fixed yourself up, you would have the men's undivided attention, so perhaps Sara wouldn't want you to do that."

"What?" It was Sara's turn to be embarrassed.

Jesse laughed quietly. Helga was a piece of work.

"Sorry, Sara, I call things as I see them." And Helga was gone, humming to herself as she walked away.

Sara stood up, as if to follow Helga. "Sometimes that woman makes me so mad."

"Hey, you invited her into the conversation," Jesse pointed out. "Besides, she just likes to talk. You know it doesn't mean anything."