The Laid Plans

"Oh, God! The papers will love this." Captain Miller took a deep breath. "Why don’t you think the boy’s guilty?"

"He admits he was in the girl’s suite, but he said she told him to leave because she was expecting someone. I think the kid’s too smart to come up with a story that stupid. What I do believe is that he knows who Chloe Houston was expecting. He won’t say who it was."

"Do you have any idea?"

"It was her first time in Washington, and they were on a tour of the White House. She didn’t know anyone here. She said she was going to the ladies’ room. There is no public rest room in the White House. She would have had to go outside to the Visitor’s Pavilion on the Ellipse at 15th and E streets or to the White House Visitor Center. She was gone about fifteen minutes. What I think happened is that while trying to find a ladies’ room, she ran into someone in the White House, someone she might have recognized. Maybe someone she saw on TV. Anyway, it must have been somebody important. He led her to a private washroom and impressed her enough that she agreed to meet him at the Monroe Arms."

Captain Miller was thoughtful. "I’d better call the White House. They asked to be kept up-to-date on this. Don’t let up on the kid. I want that name."

"Right."

As Detective Reese walked out the door, Captain Miller reached for the telephone and dialed a number. A few minutes later, he was saying, "Yes, sir. We have a material witness in custody. He’s in a holding cell at the Indiana Avenue police station….We won’t, sir. I think the boy will give us the man’s name tomorrow… Yes, sir. I understand." The line went dead.

Captain Miller sighed and went back to the pile of papers on his desk.

At eight o’clock the following morning, when Detective Nick Reese went to Paul Yerby’s cell, Yerby’s body was hanging from one of the top bars.

Chapter 18

DEAD 16-YEAR-OLD IDENTIFIED AS DAUGHTER OF COLORADO GOVERNOR BOYFRIEND IN POLICE CUSTODY HANGS HIMSELF POLICE HUNT MYSTERY WITNESS

He stared at the headlines and felt suddenly faint. Sixteen years old. She had looked older than that. What was he guilty of? Murder? Manslaughter, maybe. Plus statutory rape.

He had watched her come out of the bathroom of the suite, wearing only a shy smile. "I’ve never done this before."

And he had put his arms around her and stroked her. "I’m glad the first time is with me, honey." Earlier, he had shared a glass of liquid Ecstasy with her. "Drink this. It will make you feel good." They had made love, and afterward she had complained about not feeling well. She had gotten out of bed, stumbled, and hit her head against the table. An accident. Of course, the police would not see it that way. But there’s nothing to connect me with her. Nothing.

The whole episode had an air of unreality, a nightmare that had happened to someone else. Somehow, seeing it in print made it real.

Through the walls of the office, he could hear the sound of traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, outside the White House, and he became aware again of his surroundings. A cabinet meeting was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. He took a deep breath. Pull yourself together.

In the Oval Office were gathered Vice President Melvin Wicks, Sime Lombardo, and Peter Tager.

Oliver walked in and sat behind his desk. "Good morning, gentlemen."

There were general greetings.

Peter Tager said, "Have you seen the Tribune, Mr. President?"

"No."

"They’ve identified the girl who died at the Monroe Arms Hotel. I’m afraid it’s bad news."

Oliver unconsciously stiffened in his chair. "Yes?"

"Her name is Chloe Houston. She’s the daughter of Jackie Houston."

"Oh, my God!" The words barely escaped the president’s lips.

They were staring at him, surprised at his reaction. He recovered quickly. "I – I knew Jackie Houston…a long time ago. This – this is terrible news. Terrible."

Sime Lombardo said, "Even though Washington crime is not our responsibility, the Tribune is going to hammer us on this."

Melvin Wicks spoke up. "Is there any way we can shut Leslie Stewart up?"

Oliver thought of the passionate evening he had spent with her. "No," Oliver said. "Freedom of the press, gentlemen."

Peter Tager turned to the president. "About the governor…?"

"I’ll handle it." He flicked down an intercom key. "Get me Governor Houston in Denver."

"We’ve got to start some damage control," Peter Tager was saying. "I’ll get together statistics on how much crime has gone down in this country, you’ve asked Congress for more money for our police departments, et cetera." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"This is terrible timing," Melvin Wicks said.

The intercom buzzed. Oliver picked up the telephone. "Yes?" He listened a moment, then replaced the receiver. "The governor is on her way to Washington." He looked at Peter Tager. "Find out what plane she’s on, Peter. Meet her and bring her here."

"Right. There’s an editorial in the Tribune. It’s pretty rough." Peter Tager handed Oliver the editorial page of the newspaper, PRESIDENT UNABLE TO CONTROL CRIME IN THE CAPITAL. "It goes on from there."

"Leslie Stewart is a bitch," Sime Lombardo said quietly. "Someone should have a little talk with her."

In his office at the Washington Tribune, Matt Baker was rereading the editorial attacking the president for being soft on crime when Frank Lonergan walked in. Lonergan was in his early forties, a bright, street-smart journalist who had at one time worked on the police force. He was one of the best investigative journalists in the business.