Washington Masquerade (14 page)

Again, the banging began on the bathroom door.

“You say the wife saw no change?” Hodges asked. “Hard to hide things from your wife.” For him, Fiona knew, it was a cross to bear.

“It has been said that the wife is the last to know,” Fiona said.

Then she remembered her earlier conversation with Dolly. How, she wondered, could a wife not know?

“Would be a pretty dumb wife,” Izzy said, chuckling. “Take my wife, for example….”

The idea posed a dilemma. Was it possible to dissimulate in a close personal relationship? She thought suddenly of her relationship with Larry. How long could people get away with lying to each other? How strong was the power of denial? What idiot said that the wife was always the last to know? Know what? She let the question hang in limbo.

“I think maybe you should give her another once-over,” said Chief Hodges, as if he had read her mind.

At that moment, the bathroom door caved in, and three uniformed men stood aghast, seeing the Chief and a female officer.

“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” the Chief said, winking at the men as they left.

They found Mrs. Burns at her desk in her real estate office in Northwest Washington. Although she expressed reluctance, she made herself available, albeit with the usual dollop of attitude.

“Appears we're escalating,” she said when Fiona and Izzy were settled around her desk. “I told you this is a lot bigger than you think.”

Fiona ignored her comment, refusing to take the bait.

“Two of the three people who were closest to your husband have indicated that something had occurred months ago that affected their relationship.” She cited the firing of Charlotte Desmond and the cancellation of squash games with Perkins.

“You people are gluttons for iteration. I saw nothing, nothing at all, that could be characterized as a change in attitude or behavior on my husband's part. Nothing.” She shook her head and expelled a deep breath to emphasize her exasperation. “I told you that ad infinitum.” The telephone on her desk rang. She picked up the receiver, listened, then spoke.

“Later,” she said. “I'm in the middle of something. I'll call back.” She sighed and looked at Fiona. “I also told you before that any routine investigation like this had to end in failure. Do I have to repeat this idea? Just pick up a newspaper or look at television! The country—no, beyond that—the world has been baffled by my husband's killing.”

“Death,” Izzy corrected.

Mrs. Burns turned away and offered a cynical chuckle.

Fiona noted that, if anything, she was still on her original tack, grown even more confident by the media onslaught in support of her accusation. Suicide had morphed into murder.

“Finally, people are waking up,” she said haughtily.

“And you observed not even the slightest change in…,” Fiona pressed, “in the routines of the household, in living patterns—coming home later than usual, problems with sleeping, a change in, you know, personal relationships?”

“Like between us? The intimate side?”

Fiona saw a light flush mantle her cheeks.

“That, is none of your business.” Mrs. Burns smoldered. “You have no right to ask such questions.”

Fiona had hit a raw nerve, expecting some hostility, but Mrs. Burns' reaction was hotter than expected. Fiona let it pass, not wanting to further diminish her cooperation. Mrs. Burns, perhaps noting that her comment was too reactive, seemed to retreat as well.

“If you must know, there was no change in that department.”

“We appreciate your answer, Mrs. Burns. Unfortunately, we have to explore every angle.”

“Just doing your job is it?”

Fiona caught the unmistakable note of sarcasm.

“It has its unpleasant characteristics, Mrs. Burns,” Fiona replied, offering an expression she hoped would be interpreted as apologetic.

“Don't you ever give up? You are looking under the wrong rock, people.”

“That's where the secrets are normally hidden,” Fiona said, leaving the question unanswered.

“This is not a job for the police alone,” Mrs. Burns said. “Everyone knows that this is simply not a local situation. Why belabor the obvious? Sooner or later federal agencies will have to act. The media will never give them a pass. In the long run, the truth always wins. My husband's death will not go unpunished.” She seemed to be winding up for another speech of accusation but then retreated and mumbled. “What's the use?”

“Search your memory, Mrs. Burns,” Fiona persisted, keeping on track. “He had his reasons for the disguise, for telling his best friend he had a knee problem when he didn't, for having Charlotte transferred. These things happened months ago about the same time. Surely, something must have changed that you noticed. Something—a change in schedule, something he had done before but could no longer fit into his scheduling.”

“Boy, you'd make a great real estate salesman. Nothing stops you.” Oddly, the observation seemed to impact on her attitude, which seemed to have softened.

Fiona watched Mrs. Burns' expression, which indicated that she might be sincerely searching her memory. She raised both her palms, a gesture that indicated consent. They waited through a long silence until Mrs. Burns spoke again.

“We… well, we made a point of having breakfast together every morning and dinner together every night. We both believed that being together at meals was essential to our sense of family. We believed strongly in parental participation. We both were active in carpooling, although he was more active than I….” She paused. “Occasionally, he would miss his scheduled time and prevail upon me or another parent to take his place.” She grew thoughtful and rubbed her chin in contemplation. “He did need more substitutes than usual during the past year.” But she quickly added. “He got very busy, I guess. Lots of parents of children at the National Cathedral School are busy people with very important jobs.”

“You say, the past a year?”

“I didn't keep track. Maybe less. Sometimes I would sub for him, sometimes others would. It was routine.” She frowned and looked at Fiona. “Don't read too much into that. He was a columnist. He had deadlines. Parenting is very complex these days, very labor-intensive. Adam was a particularly devoted parent. Not that I wasn't, but he could better manage his time.”

She had brought up the parenting aspect in context, which indicated that she had fixated on the subject.

“I'm a parent, Mrs. Burns,” Izzy said. “I know the drill.”

“Well….” Mrs. Burns seemed to be struggling for an answer to some inner question. “I doubt if it means anything. There were always time concerns. If either he or I couldn't make it, some parents were available to step in, and some were not. Adam was apparently working on something that was keeping him busier than usual, creating time conflicts. I never questioned him, and he never questioned me. Believe me, he wouldn't let Lisa down if he didn't have a damned good reason. Actually, he was the only dad in the carpool.”

“Are you saying,” Fiona said, catching the inference, “that there came a time when he was not as reliable…?”

“No, never that. If he could, he would. He'd never let down his girls. He was the same way with Barbara, our oldest child. Never. He'd always been like that. Better than me. He was a passionate, involved, and loving father. Not that I'm not the same as a mother, but he was more so, if you know what I mean. His girls were his most important possessions.”

“More important than you, Mrs. Burns?” Fiona asked.

The woman was startled by the sudden interjection. Fiona allowed the thought to sink in.

“Probably,” she replied, but without rancor. “Of course, he was a wonderful, devoted, loving husband, but his children… our children were our highest priority. You might say I felt the same way, but the thing about Adam… the most characteristic thing about him….” Her mind seemed to be wandering to some distant place of memory, “…his intensity. Few, if any, could ever match his intensity… in everything.”

Intensity in everything
, the words stuck in Fiona's mind. She looked at Izzy who, she noted, seemed fixated on the woman and what she was saying, absorbing the information, obviously making judgments, and presumably hatching theories about her relationship with her husband. Fiona was forcing herself to observe the imaginary timeline.

“Are you saying, Mrs. Burns, that he might have been involved in something that kept him from his parental chores?”

“Did I say that?” Mrs. Burns asked.

“You said that at some point he was not as diligent in his carpooling duties, for example. Looking back, when did this lack of diligence begin?”

“Let's see. The girls start practicing in August, goes to November, I think. It's impossible to pinpoint, maybe the end of last season. I can't be sure.” She continued to calculate. Then she looked up, and her eyes met Fiona's.

“I really can't be sure. Why should it matter?” she said.

“Was there much carpooling between soccer season?” Fiona asked.

“It wasn't that intense. Some. He would do his share.”

“He never missed?” Fiona asked.

“Sometimes. I told you, we're all busy people.”

“More than usual?”

She seemed exasperated, but there was something suddenly hesitant in her response.

“I just don't understand….”

“We're trying to pinpoint how long he was….”

“When you think his behavior changed?” Mrs. Burns shot back. “Frankly, that is absurd. Nothing changed in his character, in his behavior, in his way of life. What is the point of all this?”

Fiona cut a glance at Izzy, who nodded and winked. Fiona pressed on.

“But something occurred in your husband's life… in his work… that forced some changes in his schedule about ten months ago, something that forced him to make adjustments in his parenting chores.”

“I suppose.” Mrs. Burns was becoming reflective, her eyes glazing, as if they were turning inward, poking around in hidden thoughts.

“How did it affect your daughter?”

Fiona had to repeat the question to rekindle Mrs. Burns' attention.

“She seemed understanding, knowing that her dad was involved in significant work. He was a national figure, after all. She knew that. Not that it mattered. To her, he was Daddy, just Daddy.” She paused. “She was not overjoyed when he didn't show up for a soccer game or practice, and she was not bashful in registering her complaint. She liked him to be there watching her. I think she felt the same way about me observing her, but for her, well, her daddy was the apple of her eye.”

The idea of jealousy as a motive for murder stirred Fiona's interest. It was a stock motive, a universal killing idea, high up on the charts. It was, Fiona thought, cutting another glance at Izzy, worth hot pursuit.

“And that bothered you?”

“Bother me? Don't be ridiculous. You can't be serious. Having a crush on one's father is one of the most natural emotions for a young girl. It was the same with our older daughter. Sure, they love their mom, but to be loved by their dad, that is the grand prize for a young girl.” She turned suddenly to Fiona. “How did you feel about your father, Sergeant Fitzgerald? I have since learned he was an important Senator.”

Fiona felt her own pull of nostalgia, which, for a brief moment, almost overwhelmed her.

“I worshipped him,” she said, her voice suddenly giving way. She had to clear her throat to speak. “My father was my sun and my moon. I know the feeling. Not that I didn't love my mother.” Suddenly the old feelings of guilt surfaced. “It was no contest. My father was numero uno in my life. Even now.”

“Well then, no further explanation needed. My dad is a doctor. I adore him. We talk often. So you see, Officer Fitzgerald, not all families are dysfunctional, and many daughters do love their dads. So let's agree not to read any nasty thoughts into such a relationship,” Mrs. Burns said. Fiona felt her reaching out to their commonality. “The truth is that Lisa was very upset when he wasn't there, when he had to change his schedule. I won't deny it. She told him so in no uncertain terms. He was very contrite and apologetic.”

Why, Fiona wondered, is she dwelling on this?

“But he continued breaking his schedule?”

Again, she seemed to turn inward, obviously pondering the situation, like walking into a room where the furniture had been rearranged.

“It doesn't change the conclusion. He was obviously involved in something very, very important. To disappoint his daughter in anything required something of major, major significance.”

“Something secret, very secret,” Fiona said.

Mrs. Burns nodded, her mind obviously churning over other observations that fit the hypothesis.

“I lost my husband to power-mad people thirsty for revenge,” she said emphatically, too emphatically. The dramatic language was laden with unmistakable conviction.

The telephone rang again. She looked at it, resisted picking it up, then turned again to Fiona.

“I have business, Officers. We're living on one paycheck now.”

It was clearly disingenuous. Economic sustenance did not appear to be a problem, considering what Burns' income had been. It was, Fiona knew, a signal for the interview to end.

Fiona and Izzy stood up.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Burns,” Fiona said, beginning to tote up what they had learned.

“If Freud was still in fashion,” Izzy said, “you could lay the deed on her doorstep. Ergo, she could not abide her husband's lust for their daughter, a classic dilemma. Incest, according to our Jewish sages, is an abomination. It is implied in the commandment on adultery.”

“Jesus, Izzy!”

“Jesus, one of ours, terrific carpenter.”

“Beware, Izzy. In certain circles, them's fightin' words.”

Beyond the badinage was a pregnant idea. She had encountered it before in her own homicide career and the books were full of it. It was not a farfetched motive, except that Jane Harrington, to whom she was showing a house, had confirmed Mrs. Burns' whereabouts at the fateful moment of her husband's demise, which was locked into a specific time frame.

***

They had coffee at a Starbucks outside the
Post
building. They had set up another appointment with Charlotte Desmond and were waiting for her to show up. She hadn't wanted to meet them in the
Post
City Room, and they had determined that instead of being eager to assist them, she was now a reluctant witness.

“Okay, we did confirm a change in parenting, give or take a year,” Izzy said. “But she avoided mentioning any change in her relationship with her husband.”

“Like what?”

“What goes on between a husband and wife? The little things that indicate a weather change—short temper, change in attitude, long silences, angry exchanges, little dissatisfactions—you know what I mean, Fi? Observed nuances, a forgotten kiss good-bye….”