The Divine Appointment (30 page)

The secretary took the cup from Cooper. “I’ll get rid of it. And you have a call from a reporter with the
Washington Post
on hold. Do you want to take it?”

“What’s his name, and did he say what he wanted to talk about?”

“Judge Shelton’s confirmation hearing, and I’ve forgotten his name.”

“I’ll take it in my office.”

Arlington, Virginia

Holland and Jill were finished with breakfast, and their table was cleared. Jill had a notepad and pen that Holland had retrieved from the backseat of his cluttered Camry. Holland held his wireless to his ear. He had been on hold for five minutes.

He was surprised when Cooper Harrington finally took the call.

“Mr. Harrington, this is Holland Fletcher with the
Washington Post
. I want to ask you some questions about the confirmation hearings.”

“Did you say your name is Holland Fletcher?”

Holland detected hesitation in Cooper’s voice.

“That’s right, Holland Fletcher. I’m with the
Post
.”

Holland mouthed the words “He doesn’t know me” to Jill.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” Cooper said. “You’re not one of the senior reporters with the
Post
, are you?”

“Still working my way up the ladder. That’s why I hope you can help me with this article on the confirmation hearings.”

“I’m listening. Go ahead.”

Holland asked Cooper several bland questions about why Senator Proctor had changed his position on Judge Shelton and about what Cooper thought would happen next. Cooper gave benign responses. Holland savored the cat-and-mouse game.

Jill doodled on the notepad while Holland and Cooper bantered back and forth. Finally she motioned with her hands to Holland. “Hurry up,” she whispered.

Holland nodded his understanding. “Mr. Harrington, I appreciate your time. I have one final question, and I’ll be finished. Did you know a young lady named Jessica Caldwell?”

There was silence from Cooper’s end of the phone and Holland shot a look at Jill. It didn’t sound like Cooper had disconnected the call—only that Cooper wasn’t talking. In fact, Holland couldn’t even hear Cooper breathing.

“Mr. Harrington, are you still there? Did you know her?”

“I never heard of her,” Cooper stated flatly.

Holland narrowed his eyes. Clearly Cooper had been surprised by the mention of Jessica Caldwell’s name. He pointed at the phone and mouthed “He knows something” to Jill.

“She was a Supreme Court law clerk for Justice Robinson,” Holland explained, “and after she moved to Nashville, Tennessee, she was murdered. You sure you didn’t know her?”

“I’m sure I’ve never heard of her,” Cooper said. “What’s she got to do with the confirmation hearings?”

“Nothing. I’m working on another story and thought you might know something. That’s all.”

“Well, I don’t.” The pace of Cooper’s words was short and crisp, the tone terse.

“Last question, I promise. Then I’ll leave you alone. Would it surprise you to know that someone saw you getting into a cab with Ms. Caldwell after Justice Robinson’s memorial service?”

Again there was dead silence from Cooper.

“Mr. Harrington, would that surprise you?” Holland pressed. “I mean, if you didn’t know her, why would you be sharing a cab?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said I didn’t know her and that’s the end of it. This conversation is over.”

There was a loud slam in Holland’s ear, and he jumped in his seat. “He’s hiding something,” Holland told Jill as he closed his wireless.

She smiled wryly. “I could tell.”

The Hart Building, Washington DC

Cooper stared at the phone after he’d violently hung up on Holland Fletcher. He was mad. He was so mad that his body trembled. Fletcher knew something, and that troubled Cooper. He wasn’t certain what or how much Fletcher knew, but it was enough to make Cooper nervous. And something had to be done about it—about Fletcher. He finally dialed the number for Hal Crowder.

“Where are you?” Cooper asked.

“I’m in the parking lot of an IHOP in Arlington. Why?”

“You see Fletcher and the woman?”

“I can see them through the window, and one of my men is inside. Fletcher and the Baker woman have been in there a long time.”

“Fletcher just called me.”

“He what? He just called you? What about?”

“I can’t tell you that, but your assignment just changed.”

The Fletcher residence, Washington DC

As promised, Holland went to his apartment for a shower and a change of clothes after he and Jill left the IHOP. It was just past 11:00 a.m. when they both arrived at his apartment complex.

Jill went inside with him and sat in the den while Holland disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door. She was a little uncomfortable being in the apartment of a man she had known for less than twenty-four hours. But Holland appeared harmless, and he was rapidly growing on her. It was as if they had known each other for years. And besides, Jill knew she could take care of herself.

Holland had warned Jill before they entered about the condition of his apartment. He was a bachelor and lived like a bachelor, he said, and he washed clothes only when he absolutely had to. When she entered, Jill discovered that Holland’s apartment was messier than his Camry.

It resembled a fraternity house more than the apartment of a junior-level reporter. Three empty pizza boxes covered the scuffed coffee table. Two mostly empty soda bottles sat on the end table beside the worn couch. And the kitchen table was barely visible beneath the pile of newspapers and mail.

It was in stark contrast to her own apartment. Clearly, Holland’s apartment needed a woman’s touch.

“I’m going to use your computer,” Jill called out.

“Help yourself,” Holland replied from behind the closed bedroom door. “I’ve got an unlimited broadband connection.”

Jill sat in front of the computer on a cloth-covered secretarial chair that swiveled. She heard the water from the shower start as she clicked on Holland’s Internet connection. A Web browser opened. She typed the name
Cooper Harrington
into the search engine, and dozens of links popped up. She clicked on a few and read some articles about Cooper. She thought about how to uncover his connection with Jessica Caldwell, but nothing readily jumped out at her.

What had Cooper said that upset Jessica so much?
Jill wondered.

She also remembered that a car registered to Senator Proctor was in the vicinity of Jessica’s town house the night she died.

“I wonder if I can find Senator Proctor’s itinerary for May,” she said to herself.

Jill found Senator Proctor’s official government website but couldn’t find a link for archived travel itineraries or appearances. The website only listed future events. She went back to the search engine and searched for Senator Proctor and any reference to Nashville, Tennessee. After a few tries, she found an archived article in the
Tennessean
newspaper in Nashville. As Jill began to read the article, she heard Holland turn off the shower.

“Holland, come in here as soon as you can. I’ve got something to show you.”

Two minutes later Jill heard Holland enter the den from his bedroom. She swiveled in her chair. His red hair was still damp, and he’d shaved. His feet were bare. She could tell his clothes were clean, but they looked similar to the ones he’d had on previously.

Jill scanned Holland from head to toe. “Is that all you own? Polo shirts and khaki pants?”

Holland stretched his arms out from his sides, studied himself, then looked back at Jill. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? It’s comfortable.”

Jill thought Holland needed a new wardrobe but decided it wasn’t her place to say something. “Forget it. Come here and look at this.”

Holland walked to where Jill was sitting in front of the computer. “What’d you find?”

“This article from the
Tennessean
. It’s dated the day Jessica Caldwell’s body was found. You recognize anybody in that picture?”

Holland narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Senator Proctor and Cooper Harrington. Who’s the woman?”

“The caption says that it’s Senator Proctor’s wife, Evelyn. They were all in Nashville, attending a fund-raiser for Senator Proctor, the night before Jessica’s body was found.”

Holland straightened his back. “But what does any of that mean?”

“I haven’t told you this before, but my boss and I found a traffic surveillance photograph of a car registered to Senator Proctor taken near Jessica Caldwell’s town house within the time frame the coroner said she died.”

“And you don’t know who was driving?”

“Not yet.” Jill studied the photograph again and nodded confidently.
But I’ll find out
.

“So it could be any of the three?”

“Right, but which one would have a motive to kill her?”

Holland walked away. Jill swiveled and stared at his back.

Holland verbalized his thoughts without turning around. “We know she was pregnant, so any of the three would have a motive to keep that under wraps. The question is, did any of them know about the pregnancy?”

“My guess is that Cooper knew,” Jill said slowly, “and that’s what he was talking to her about after the memorial service that made her so upset.”

Holland lay down on his couch and crossed his feet. He stared at the ceiling. “So our theory is that she and Senator Proctor had an affair, and she got pregnant. Proctor tells Cooper about it. Then Cooper said what to Jessica? That she needed to have an abortion or what?”

Jill stood and began walking around Holland’s den. She was careful not to step on, or trip over, anything lying on the floor. It was a difficult task.

“Probably,” Jill responded. “Or that she had to keep it quiet. Give the baby up for adoption. Or something like that. He might even have threatened to hurt her in some way.”

“And Jessica refused to do what he said, so one of them killed her?”

“That’s the theory.”

“That seems like a stretch to me, but I’ll bite,” Holland said. “Which one? Cooper or Proctor?”

“Don’t forget about Mrs. Proctor,” Jill reminded him. “She was in Nashville that night, too. Maybe she found out about the affair or the pregnancy or both and didn’t want the competition.”

Holland closed his eyes. “I can’t imagine that she got upset over it enough to kill Jessica Caldwell. There’ve been rumors about Senator Proctor’s infidelity for years. This can’t be the first affair he had.”

“Yeah, but is it the first time the other woman got pregnant?”

Holland’s silence told her she’d made a good point.

Jill continued to pace around the room and Holland remained horizontal on the couch, face up. Jill had convinced herself that one of those three—Senator Proctor, Cooper Harrington, or Evelyn Proctor—was responsible for Jessica Caldwell’s death and not Tag Grissom.

Then she remembered Anna Grissom’s SUV in the surveillance photograph. That made four suspects besides Tag Grissom. She decided to exclude Anna from the mix, since the possibility that Anna Grissom was the culprit couldn’t be investigated from Washington DC. So she focused her attention on the other three.

How do we determine which one killed Jessica Caldwell?

Jill halted by the doorway that led to Holland’s kitchen. She looked back at him, lying on the couch. He was lying very still. She couldn’t see his face, but he wasn’t moving and hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes. “Holland,” she called.

No response.

“Holland,” Jill said again. When she moved closer to where Holland lay, she heard soft snoring.

“I knew you would crash,” she mumbled in Holland’s direction. “I just thought it would be at least after lunch.”

Jill decided to let Holland sleep for a while. She walked to the window in the den that overlooked the parking area below. There were only a few cars scattered around, and she assumed that most people were at work at this time of day on a Tuesday.

Then she noticed a dark green GMC Yukon parked in front of the adjoining building. A brown-haired man was sitting in it. He was close enough that she could see a tattoo on his arm but couldn’t make out the design.

I think I’ve seen that vehicle before…

The James S. Brady Briefing Room, the White House, Washington DC

It was 1:00 p.m. on Tuesday. President Wallace was back in the briefing room and doing the one thing that he hated more than anything else—talking to the White House press corps. It was a job hazard, he knew. But that knowledge didn’t make it any easier. Porter was in his customary position stage right. President Wallace glanced briefly at his notes as he began his remarks.

“Today I have accepted the resignation of Leslie Hughes as director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations after ten plus years of public service. My office will now begin the process of interviewing potential candidates and will hopefully make a nomination to fill the vacancy within the next two weeks.”

President Wallace addressed the crowd of reporters. “I’ll be glad to take any questions.”

A hand immediately went up from the front row of the press corps. It was Olivia Nelson, as always. President Wallace intuitively knew the question that Olivia would ask. It was the standard first question anytime there was a resignation from a member of the presidential administration.

“Yes, Olivia,” President Wallace said.

“Mr. President, was this a voluntary resignation by Director Hughes or was he asked to resign?”

President Wallace shifted his weight from one foot to the other and grinned at Olivia. “Olivia, I met with Director Hughes this morning and expressed some concerns I had. He decided that it was best if he simply resigned.”

“What concerns did you express?”

“I told Director Hughes that I was concerned about why the FBI had been unable to apprehend the person or persons who attempted to assassinate Judge Shelton and his wife. Particularly since it’s now been over six weeks since that attack and the FBI is no closer to arresting anyone than it was then. I was also concerned about why the FBI hasn’t made an arrest in the murders of Myron and Dorothy Carlson.”

President Wallace recognized another reporter in the back left section of the room.

“Do you have any potential candidates for the position?” the male reporter asked.

“I don’t have any at this point. Assistant Director Phillip McFarland will serve as interim director until a new director is confirmed, and he’s very capable.” President Wallace glanced at Porter, who signaled that it was time to end the press conference. “That’s all the time I have for questions,” President Wallace said.

He stepped down from the platform, and he and Porter exited through the door in the rear of the room.

“If Hughes was in bed with Proctor,” President Wallace told Porter, “then we just cut off his information supply line.”

The Hart Building, Washington DC

Cooper Harrington yelled and cursed at the television screen that carried President Wallace’s image exiting the James S. Brady Press Briefing Room. He used the remote to disconnect the power to the television in his bookcase and phoned Les Hughes.

“Of course the president forced me out. I wouldn’t quit on my own.”

“Did you find out who else was investigating the Carlson murders?”

“Never did. You’re on your own with that one.”

Cooper grimaced. He knew Senator Proctor would have his head on a silver platter. “What about my tape recording? Where’s that?”

“I’ve still got that, Cooper. And I’m keeping it in case I need it in the future.”