Immaculate Deception (18 page)

"I don't think you have enough to declare this case
anything but suicide," the mayor said. He looked pointedly at Fiona.
"Despite all your fanciful speculations and conundrums." He turned a
withering gaze on the Eggplant.

The Eggplant averted his eyes, looked at his hands.

"Not yet," he whispered, his words barely
audible.

"I would suggest then that you either shit or get off
the pot," the mayor said. It was a sharp blow, crudely executed and she
felt awful for having been partially responsible for it. Congressman Rome said
nothing, his silence implying that he was totally in agreement with the mayor's
assessment.

"There is still one compelling question," Fiona
said, unable to remain unmoved. Her voice broke for a moment and she cleared
her throat. An emotional loudmouthed pushy woman was anathema to these men.
Such behavior would have totally destroyed their case, that is, if it could
possibly be destroyed further.

"What is that, sergeant?" the mayor asked, his
tongue thick with contempt. He looked at his watch. "I know you have to
get back, Mr. Rome."

"We do have a vote on the floor." He, too, looked
at his watch. "I've got a few minutes left."

"You were saying, sergeant," the mayor said.

"The question of paternity. That is still open."

"Let's face it, the woman was married," the mayor
said, looking toward the congressman.

"In name only," Fiona said. She had already
referred to the woman's anonymous lover. Were they trying to bury such a
notion?

"One never knows what goes on between couples, even
couples who are separated. Does one?" the mayor said with an intonation
that suggested this was a piece of wisdom direct from the highest authority.

"You and your wife were good friends with her,"
Fiona said, turning to the congressman. She knew that, in some way, it was a
breach of protocol to bring the congressman into it on such a personal basis.
"Did her husband ever visit her in Washington?"

"Not for a few years, as far as I can remember. But
she often went up to Boston."

"Had she been up there about eight weeks ago?"

"Really, sergeant, I wasn't privy to her
schedule," the congressman said. "Besides, our relationship was
social but not that intimate. We were colleagues, often together in the House,
working on various committees. Barbara, my wife, felt sorry for her, living
alone like that. All work. No play. We tried to include her in a great deal of
our social plans. Beyond that ... you're asking for more than I could
give." He paused and studied her. "I can tell you this. I never saw
her in a one-on-one situation with any man."

"It could have been a closet kind of thing,"
Fiona said. This time she could not contain herself. "It goes on very
often with powerful men."

The mayor laughed.

"A cutie stashed under the desk."

"Something like that."

"Did you uncover something like that?" the
congressman asked.

"Only Foy," Fiona said lamely.

"Foy?"

"He had access. He was her constant companion,"
she said without conviction. Her objective was to keep this case alive at all
costs.

"That's really quite hard to believe," Rome said. "The man is obviously a homosexual."

She cut a quick glance at Cates.

"And so it seems. But we haven't been able to come up
with a single bonafide homosexual incident." She was stretching it, of
course, ignoring Foy's alleged pass at the apartment desk man. The mayor turned
his eyes away and awkwardly shuffled papers on his desk.

"That seems to be pushing things a bit, sergeant.
Really."

"One never knows in a murder case," Fiona said
pointedly. "The least likely are often the guiltiest."

"But if Foy were the father," Congressman Rome
said, "that only makes the case for suicide stronger. Why would he kill
her? What possible advantage would it be to him?"

"Maybe..." Fiona hesitated. She had not really
thought this one through. "Maybe he was upset that she did not want to
marry him. Maybe he was wildly in love with her. Who knows?"

"Beyond the pale, sergeant," the mayor said. He
was right, of course.

"People have motives, they..." She felt helpless,
inert. Her theories were losing their power, even to herself. She looked toward
the Eggplant whose eyes seemed to mirror his defeat.

"I really think you've done a grand job," Congressman
Rome said. "You've established an excellent motive for Frankie's
suicide." He shook his head. "It's fine, as far as we in Congress are
concerned, to continue your investigation. Naturally, my own inclination would
be to end this once and for all. I want you to be dead sure, of course. But so
far nothing said here this morning indicates anything more than suicide."

"Seems that way to me, as well, congressman," the
mayor said. He turned to the Eggplant.

"I'm sorry, captain. But we can't let this drag on
indefinitely." The message was clear, succinct. Wrap up the mother.

"I understand," the Eggplant muttered.

"We're not saying that you should stop investigating
Mrs. McGuire's death," the mayor said, growing more and more pontifical as
he spoke. "I think I can speak for the congressman when I say that you and
your staff should satisfy yourselves so that you can make your declaration
without a shadow of a doubt. Only please, captain. Do it swiftly. We don't want
this albatross around our necks. And, for God's sake, keep any waffling on the
suicide issue out of the press."

"Especially the pregnancy," Congressman Rome
said. "The media would have a field day with it. Above all, we wouldn't
want Frankie's name to be dragged through the mud. Hard to tell if there's any
real political fodder in this for the pro-lifers. I suppose both sides can
twist it to their advantage. My own call on this is that the faster we get it
behind us the better."

"Exactly my sentiments," the mayor said.

"If we had more time. More manpower," Fiona said.

"More manpower. More people know. More people talk.
More media action," the mayor said. "I'm afraid I won't have
that."

"I just feel..." Her frustration was stupefying.

"That's the point, sergeant," the mayor said.
"Feeling. Emotion." He slapped the desk. "I won't have it. Bring
me valid murder, complete with suspects or drop the damned thing." He
looked toward the congressman who nodded and stood up.

He shook the Eggplant's hand.

"You are to be commended, captain." He looked at
Fiona and Cates. "All of you. Believe me when I say your work is well
appreciated. But I tend to stand with the mayor on the issue. I know you're
trying your best to get to the bottom of this terrible tragedy. But murder is a
very serious business. We must be absolutely certain. Absolutely."

He shook hands all around. His flesh felt strong, warm,
reassuring. Everything about the man seemed reassuring.

The mayor waited for him to leave before turning to face
the remaining group. His pose of solicitation had disappeared.

"I don't appreciate this, Luther. When you requested
this meeting, I thought you had something a lot more definitive."

"I just wanted to leave the door open to other
options."

"Bet you'd just love this to be a nice juicy murder.
All that hot dogging on the tube." He looked at Fiona.

"And you, woman. There's no case here. I told the
congressman you had a case. I looked like a goddamned fool." He bore in on
the Eggplant and pointed a dark longnailed finger at him. "You got a week.
That's about it. The media will be on our ass by then, so nothing, nothing
comes from you or me other than: We are in the process of confirming suicide. I
don't want them to get the murder bug up their asses. Hear?"

"I hear," the Eggplant said.

"And another thing..." the mayor began. But he
looked at Fiona and Cates. "If you both don't mind I'd like to have a
little private conversation with Captain Greene."

It was definitely a signal to leave. Fiona felt humiliated.
She had been so sure that they would be able to convince the congressman and
the mayor. Then, as she expounded her theories, her own confidence had wavered.
Perhaps that's why they had not been persuasive. The failure was definitely her
fault. Worse, from their point of view, she probably had made the case for
suicide.

"In the absence of any real evidence it's tough to
make a case of it," Cates said. "Sorry, Fi. But you know where I
stand."

"Can't fault you for being a good soldier,
though," Fiona said as they stood in the corridor waiting for the Eggplant
to come out of the mayor's office.

"You can try. I'll say that."

"I can't much blame them," Fiona sighed.

"You were terrific," Cates said. "It was the
case itself, I'm afraid."

"I feel like a damned evangelist," she sighed.
"Trying to make people believers on faith alone."

"Well nobody can cry cover-up. Can't say we didn't
touch the bases."

"Must be something we missed," Fiona said.

"I doubt it." He smiled. "I won't throw in
the sponge, though. Not until you do. Until then, I'll try to keep an open
mind."

"Loyal to the end."

"For better or for worse," he joked, looking at
his watch. "I'm still beating leather for the cause. Got more appointments
on the Hill."

She began to pace the corridor, wrestling with the problem.
A missing link. There had to be. But why? Her confidence level moved like a
pendulum. She sensed Cates studying her.

"I want to go back to McGuire's apartment," she
said.

"Flanagan's been through that with a fine tooth comb.
The Eggplant's sent him and his crew back three times. Nothing."

"We'll sit there, soak it all up. Maybe something will
come to us."

"Doubtful," he shrugged, "but I'm
game." Again he looked at his watch. "Take me about three, four
hours. I'll meet you there, say, three."

"Got a deal," Fiona said.

A few minutes after Cates left, the Eggplant came out of
the mayor's office, tightlipped and obviously unhappy. Probably had a real
old-fashioned dressing down from hizzoner, she speculated. Nor could she deny
what she felt for him now. Pity. Genuine pity.

"Time for a cup of coffee?" the Eggplant asked
awkwardly. He was always uncomfortable socializing with the troops, although he
had on occasion joined them for working lunches or dinners. Every year on New
Year's Day, he and the formidable Loreen had "open house," a stiffly
formal up-tight event in their large house on Sixteenth Street.

It was dress-up and egg nogs with finger sandwiches and
quiet talk. Loreen was a part of the closed black society of Washington that
had had debutante balls for a hundred years. The Howard University crowd,
sometimes referred to as black snobs, but very much the elite. Poor Loreen had
married the promising black law student Luther Greene, only to discover that he
preferred police work to law, a move for which she never forgave him. Or so the
story went.

To be appointed police commissioner was the only way he
could ever satisfy Loreen and pressure at home was explanation enough for his
occasionally hostile attitude, crankiness and the need to build around himself
a great wall of protective ego.

They went across the street to the coffee shop of the new Willard Hotel.

"I don't know what to say, captain," Fiona began
as they slid into a booth in the rear of the coffee shop.

"Not your fault," he muttered.

"It's not?"

She had already worked herself up to a dressing down.

"You were great in there."

"But I didn't do you any good, that's for sure. You'd
think they'd be proud of the way we did business. Not going off half-cocked.
Bet he really roasted you back there."

"He roasted me all right."

The coffee shop was practically empty. There wasn't much
activity at that hour. Another half hour it would begin to fill up with the
luncheon crowd.

"Tired of playing it safe, I guess," he said. The
waitress came, took their order, and went off.

"You realize, of course, that they're right. We have
been playing this case with our guts."

"It's the subconscious at work, FitzGerald. A lot more
logic than meets the eye. Sometimes you find out why much later." He
watched her through his dark cryptic eyes, offering a thin smile. He had
brought her there for a reason and she waited for it to be revealed. The
waitress brought their two coffees. He took a deep sip of his.

"My nose," he said. "That's what told me for
sure. I smelled it on her that first time, but I couldn't place it. Not until I
was sitting there, taking the man's shit. Amazing isn't it. Proves that
instinct has a reference point. Who knows why? Loreen wears the same perfume.
Goddess. I hate the shit. Can't wait until it goes away. Takes about three
hours. I actually timed it once. Nor would Benton have picked it up since it
was already gone when he got to her. But I could still smell it when I arrived
and it must have lodged in my memory bank. I'm not saying it's not possible for
a woman on the verge of a planned suicide to put on perfume. But my limited
experience suggests the lure and lust department."

"She put it on for some man," Fiona said.

"Doesn't seem like the act of a woman on the verge of
suicide. But then a smell doesn't make a case."

"But it does explain your gut reaction," Fiona
said. She wished she could explain her own so candidly.

"There must have been something in your subconscious
that made you believe that Beatrice was telling the truth. That's a helluva
leap of faith. After all, you put her at the scene within a couple of hours of
McGuire's death."

"I believed Beatrice," she said. She wanted to
say something about the intuition of sisterhood, but held her peace. It was no
time to test his understanding. "And you believe me," Fiona said.