D.C. Dead Read online

  Stone drained his glass. “One more of these and I’ll be unable to either move or shake. I hope you’re driving.”

  “We’re being driven,” she said, “courtesy of the Agency. There’s a little flap on, and we’re battening a few hatches, just in case, and mine is one of the hatches.”

  “I place myself entirely in your hands,” Stone said, “except that I’m still buying dinner.”

  “You talked me into it,” she said, heading for the door.

  They took the elevator to the lobby and walked out to the portico, where the usual black SUV awaited.

  “I’m going to ham guarve to g

  ive you a leg up,” Stone said, “what with the tight dress.”

  “I’ll manage,” she said, “and remember, don’t talk shop in front of the driver—not your shop or mine.”

  “Didn’t I already shut up?” Stone asked, opening the door for her.

  17

  THE RESTAURANT WAS NOT SMALL, BUT INTIMATE NONETHELESS. They were seated at a banquette, back-to-back with another. “I’m surprised that the place is so full at this early hour,” Stone said.

  “Washington, like L.A., is an early town, because everybody goes to work at the break of dawn,” Holly said.

  Stone ordered a second drink for them, and they relaxed. He was vaguely aware of some people being seated behind them, but his attention was on Holly. “I like you with your hair up,” he said. “You have a lovely neck.” He leaned over and kissed it.

  “Careful,” she said, “you’ll attract attention.”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot we were being discreet. I guess that rules out what I was going to do with my hand.”

  “Do it later,” she said. “Look across the room: see the man squeezed into the booth with that distinguished-looking couple? His name is Lyle ‘Scooter’ Hardin. He’s a social columnist, has a blog. He’ll work the room, then move on to Georgetown, and everyone will see their name online tomorrow morning.”

  As Stone watched, the man left the booth and crossed the room, headed directly for them.

  “Watch yourself,” Holly said, smiling at Stone.

  Then the man was hovering over their table. “Good evening, folks,” he said.

  “Good evenin’,” Holly replied, affecting an accent slightly more southern than her own.

  “You’re at the Agency, aren’t you?” he asked Holly.

  She looked blankly at him. “Which agency is that? There’s lots of them, aren’t there.”

  “Oh, come on, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.”

  “Have you spent much time in Atlanta lately?” Stone asked. “That’s where we’re from.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Hardin said. “May I have your names for my column?”

  “Column?” Stone asked. “You’re with the newspapers?”

  “The newspapers are dead media,” Hardin replied. “The Internet is where everything’s at.”

  “You shouldn’t end a sentence with at,” Holly said sternly.

  “Huh?”

  “We don’t want our names in the paper,” Stone said.

  “Or on the Internet,” Holly chipped in.

  “We don’t do facetube, and we don’t twit,” Stone said.

  Scooter smirked at him. “Sir, I don’t think you’re the rube you’re pretending to be.”

  “Who are you callin’ a rube?” Stone asked. “Good God, I hope everybody in Washington isn’t as rude as you are.”

  “Please let me buy you a drink,” Hardin said, swiping a chair from a nearby table and pullm gu caing it up to theirs.

  “We already have a drink,” Stone said, “and tonight, one’s our limit.”

  “Now, really,” Hardin said, “that gorgeous dress didn’t come from Atlanta.”

  “We have a Saks Fifth Avenue,” Holly said, indignantly. “At Phipps Plaza.”

  Scooter pointed at Stone. “That suit didn’t come from off the rack at Saks,” he said.

  “I’ve got a tailor in London,” Stone replied. “I’m there a lot on business.”

  “And what business would that be?” Hardin asked.

  “None of yours,” Stone said.

  “Well,” Hardin said, “I know the lady’s at the Agency, and you’re, let’s see, at State?”

  “Sir,” Stone said, “I’m a Republican, and I find your suggestion insultin’. The lady’s a Republican, too, and she has a very nice little art gallery at home.”

  Holly put her hand on Stone’s arm. “Don’t tell him any more, sugar, we don’t need his kind of publicity.”

  Stone took a deep breath and let it out, as if he were trying to control himself. “Sir,” he said to Hardin, “if you want to go on with this, you and I are goin’ to have to do it outside, if you get my meanin’.”

  The maître d’ materialized at their table. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Stone, “is this gentleman annoying you?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Stone replied. “Except the ‘gentleman’ part.”

  “Mr. Hardin,” the man said, “I’ve spoken with you about this before.”

  Hardin threw up his hands. “All right, all right, I surrender.” He beat a rapid retreat.

  “I want to apologize to you both,” the maître d’ said.

  “I’d be grateful if he didn’t get my name from the reservations list,” Stone said, slipping the man a fifty.

  The maître d’ declined the money. “Don’t worry, Mr. Barrington, we will see that your privacy is respected.” He bowed and left.

  They ordered dinner and another drink, and suddenly, Stone picked up the words “two cops from New York” from the banquette at his back. Holly heard it, too. They stopped talking and listened to the woman’s voice.

  “I think this proves that Will Lee is trying to pin that murder on somebody,” she said. “He’s got these out-of-towners in to write a report that he’s going to leak to the media, saying Brix Kendrick didn’t kill his wife. And after he’s already confessed!”

  “It is odd,” her companion replied.

  “What none of the investigations has turned up is Brix’s affairs,” she said.

  “Brix was having affairs?” her companion asked. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, one of his lovers is a friend of mine, and she lives in terror that she’s going to get pulled into the investigation and get her name in the paper and her husband will divorce her.”

  Then another couple joined the two, and the subject of their conversation changed.

  Holly kept her voice low. “I don’t know which is more interesting: that she knows you’r knrsae in town, or that Kendrick was having affairs.”

  “Neither do I,” Stone said. “I thought our investigation was a closely held secret.”

  “Well,” Holly said, “it may be a secret, but it’s apparently not closely held.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “You remember in the movie when somebody says to Jack Nicholson, ‘Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well: Stone, it’s Washington.”

  “I learn a little more about it every day,” Stone said.

  “Oh, by the way, don’t make any plans for lunch

  tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re going to be invited to have it with the president.”

  “How do you know that?” Stone asked.

  “Stone, it’s Washington.”

  18

  STONE AND DINO WERE KEPT WAITING AT THE WHITE HOUSE for more than half an hour before being ushered into the Oval Office, where a waiter was setting up a table.

  The president greeted them with handshakes, then they sat down. “You’re having lobster salad,” Will Lee said, “because I’ve heard you like it.”

  “That’s entirely true,” Stone said, while Dino nodded.

  “I’m having something unspeakable,” Lee said. “Kate has me on a diet. I mean, I exercise five days a week, I don’t know why I have t
o be skinny, too.”

  “You look just fine to me, Mr. President,” Dino said.

  “You know, I think so, too,” Lee said. “I’d order the lobster salad, but it would get back to Kate in a heartbeat.”

  The waiter returned with a cart and served lobster salad to Stone and Dino, then put something before the president, who grimaced. “I’ve learned not to ask what it is,” he said.

  “If it’s any consolation, Mr. President,” Stone said, “when we had lunch with Mrs. Lee, she had something fairly awful-looking.”

  “That’s comforting,” Lee said wryly.

  “But she made us eat it, too,” Dino said. “Or tried to. We had lunch at a diner later.”

  The president laughed heartily. “Serves her right,” he said, “but don’t ever let her know. You’ll never hear the end of it. Wine, anyone?”

  “We wouldn’t dare,” Stone said.

  “All right,” the president said, swallowing without chewing, “tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Gossip,” Stone said.

  “We have gossip?” Dino asked, looking confused.

  “I’m sorry, Dino,” Stone said, “I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Mr. President, Holly Barker and I had dinner last night at Maison Blanche, and—”

  “I heard she was wearing a smashing yellow dress,” Lee said.

  Stone’s jaw dropped.

  “It’s Washington,” the president said.

  “Yes, sir,” Stone said. “Well, anyway, we were sitting at a banquette, and there was another one back-to-back with us, and we overheard a conversation between a couple that was an eye-opener.” “I can’t wait to hear this,” Dino said.

  “Dino, I said I was sorry. Anyway, Mr. President, the woman at the table said that Brixton Kendrick had had a number of affairs.”

  “Brix?” Lee asked, looking astonished.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So we’re reduced to restaurant gossip?” Dino asked.

  “It’s the best lead we’ve had so far,” Stone said.

  “What about the lipstick?” Lee asked.

  “I’m afraid that’s gone nowhere, sir,” Stone replied. “But it was the rest of the conversation that was interesting.”

  “I can’t wait,” Dino said.

  Stone shot him a dirty look. “The woman said that a friend of hers had been having an affair with Kendrick, and that she was terrified that she would be questioned by us, and her husband would divorce her.”

  “By you?” the president asked. “She knew about you?”

  “Mr. President, it’s Washington.”

  Lee nodded. “So she said she actually knew someone who was having an affair with Brix?”

  Stone nodded. “I thought that gave the conversation more weight than mere gossip.”

  “Who was this woman at the restaurant?” Lee asked.

  Stone produced his notebook. “I got that from the maître d’ before we left: the couple were Mr. and Mrs. Biddle Trask.”

  “Biddle Trask? He’s the secretary of commerce. I appointed him.”

  “I don’t know his wife’s name,” Stone said.

  “Elizabeth—Betty. I think you’d better have a word with her, and you tell her I sent you—personally.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “My secretary will give you her address.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The president looked thoughtful. “That puts a whole new complexion on this affair, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s something we didn’t know,” Stone said.

  “Or just found out,” Dino said.

  “I handled a few murder cases when I was a young lawyer,” Lee said. “Well, one murder case. Anyway, if this information is true, then it might make Brix’s suicide more understandable. He could have feared his past coming out.”

  “I’m afraid this information, if it’s true, might go against your contention that Kendrick didn’t kill his wife,” Stone said.

  The president nodded. “I must admit, it took the wind out of my sails. I hope I haven’t gotten you two down here for nothing.”

  Stone didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Well, since the word is out that you are in town, we’re going to have to be very careful here,” Lee said.

  “We haven’t been paid anything,” Stone said, g,” Ssailawyer,and it’s not necessary that we are paid. I think it might be better if we can honestly say that we aren’t on the government payroll.”

  The president sighed. “Dick Nixon would have had a pile of cash in somebody’s safe to handle a situation like this.”

  “Mr. President, I think we would prefer not to be paid.”

  “Then I will respect your wishes in that regard,” Lee said.

  “There’s something else to consider here,” Stone said.

  “What’s that?”

  “So far, everyone we’ve interviewed has been a White House staffer,” Stone said. “But if we interview Elizabeth Trask, then we lend credence to her gossip.”

  “I take your point, Stone,” Lee said, “but if you’ve interviewed anybody, then it’s out there. I don’t think talking to Betty will make things worse. Oh, you might tell her that I said to shut up or I’ll tell her husband she’s spreading this stuff.”

  “Mr. President, it was her husband to whom she was telling it.”

  “Oh, yes,” Lee said. “I forgot about that. Well, Biddle Trask is not the kind to spread gossip, though I’m sure he was very interested in hearing it.”

  “Mr. President, as long as we’re talking about Brixton Kendrick’s sex life, was there anyone here in the White House that he seemed to have an unusual interest in? Any woman, I mean.”

  “Well, Brix wasn’t gay,” Lee said, “I’d bet on that. Of course, I would have bet he never had an affair with anybody.”

  “That’s what everyone we’ve talked to has told us,” Dino said.

  “Brix ran the White House, in the nonpolitical sense,” the president said. “He would have had both reason and opportunity to talk to anyone on the premises, but I can’t think of anybody he seemed attracted to. Brix was a very charming guy, with both men and women.”

  “I understand, Mr. President,” Stone said, putting down his fork and placing his napkin on the table. “I think it’s time to let you get back to running the country.”

  They all stood and shook hands. Stone stopped at the president’s se

  cretary’s desk and got the Trasks’ address, then he and Dino left.

  Dino waited until they were in the car. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this conversation at the restaurant,” he said.

  Stone sighed and fastened his seat belt. “It’s a Georgetown address,” he said.

  19

  THE HOUSE WAS BIGGER THAN WHAT STONE HAD COME TO expect in Georgetown. It was surrounded by lawn and gardens, and set back from the street, with a circular driveway.

  “Maybe we should have called first,” Dino said.

  “I’d rather surprise her,” Stone replied.

  Dino pulled into the driveway, and they got out of the SUV and rang the bell. A uniformed maid answered the door.

  “May I help you?” she asked, regarding them as if they were Bible salesmen.

  “Mr. Barrington and Lieutenant Bacchetti to see Mrs. Trask, at the request of the president of the United States. ” Sesmen.”

  The woman blinked. “Please come in. I’ll see if Mrs. Trask is at home.” She showed them to chairs in a round foyer and disappeared through a door.

  “At home?” Dino asked. “Doesn’t she know if her boss is at home?”

  “‘At home’ means receiving visitors who don’t have an appointment.”

  “Thank you for translating,” Dino replied. “I think I’m going to let you handle this one. She’s not used to people like me.”

  “Cops?”

  “Italians.”

  The maid reappeared. “Mrs. Trask will see you. This way, please.” She led them into a large room
full of chintz-covered furniture and Audubon prints of birds. A handsome woman in her fifties sat alone on a sofa, looking nervous.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Trask,” Stone said. “I am Stone Barrington, and this is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti. The president asked us to visit with you.”

  “Please sit down,” she replied, waving a hand vaguely.

  Stone and Dino chose chairs.

  “Mrs. Trask,” Stone said, “I know that you’ve heard of our presence in town and why we’re here.”

  “How would you know that?” she asked.

  “It’s Washington,” Stone said.

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’m aware of your conversation with your husband at Maison Blanche last evening.”

  “Good God! Is the place bugged?”

  “I was sitting at the banquette immediately behind yours, about two feet away.”

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  “I was having dinner. It was impossible not to hear what you were saying.”

  “A gentleman would not have heard it,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height.

  “Be that as it may,” Stone said, “I am aware that a friend of yours was having an affair with Brixton Kendrick.” He took his notebook from an inside pocket and got out his pen. “The president would like you to give us her name and address.”

  “Good God, you can’t go bursting into Muffy Brandon’s house and demanding to know about her secret life!”

  Stone wrote down the name. “Mrs. Trask, we are not the SWAT team. We are investigating a murder and a suicide at the request of the president of the United States, and we will exercise the utmost discretion. What is Mrs. Brandon’s address?”

  “How did you know her name?”

  “You just told it to me,” Stone said, as patiently as he could.

  “Oh, my God! You see what you’ve made me do?”

  “Please, Mrs. Trask: Mrs. Brandon’s address.”

  The woman sighed. “She lives two houses that way,” she said, pointing. “It’s the green house with the window boxes.”

  “Thank you. Now, last evening you said that Mr. Kendrick had had numerous affairs. With whom?”