Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [91]
“Congratulations, Grandpa.”
“I’ll forget you said that. What’s happening in sunny Savannah?”
“Hot. Wayne St. Pierre called. He said that he’d invited you to a party but since you’re out of town he wondered if I’d like to come stag.”
“Men go stag.”
“Whatever. I told him where you were staying in case he wanted to reach you.”
“Marylee has a boyfriend.”
“Good for her.”
“He’s a quarter-inch deep. A lawyer.”
“Your favorite people.
“I’m heading for Mac Smith’s place now. He said he wanted to talk more about the case.”
“Good. I’m not going to Wayne’s party.”
“Your call. I’ll stay in touch.”
His next call was to Cynthia at his office. She reported that nothing was new, no calls from potential clients or bill collectors. “Oh,” she said, “Will Sayers called from the newspaper. He wanted you to know that he’s heading for Washington a few days sooner than he expected. Here’s his phone number there.”
Brixton found a scrap of paper in the car and jotted down the number. After ending the call with Cynthia he got back on the road and continued toward the center of Washington. As he drove he had an idea. What if he could persuade Sayers, a member of the almighty press, to call Mitzi Cardell and ask for a statement from her about the Louise Watkins investigation? He wasn’t sure Sayers would do it based upon the little Brixton had as evidence, but it was worth a try.
A half hour later he parked in the Watergate’s garage and was on his way up in the elevator to the Smiths’ apartment.
CHAPTER 32
A meeting took place that afternoon in the windowless basement room of the two-story modern office building south of the Pentagon. Dexter sat in one of four folding metal chairs at the folding metal table.
Across from him was a man of medium height. His hair was the color of beach sand after a rainstorm. His cheeks were slightly pockmarked, his ears larger than his face called for. He wore a light green T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. Although he was slender, the muscles of his arms were nicely defined and his chest strained against the shirt’s fabric.
“You realize, James, that your work will be spasmodic,” Dexter said in his pinched voice. “You’ll be on call at all times and are to take orders only from me. We will meet at various locations chosen by me. You are also aware that while your assignments will be generously compensated, the duration of your employment can end at any time. Is this all understood?”
“Sure, I understand,” James Brockman said.
He’d been recruited over the course of months, carefully vetted including a psychological evaluation, and meticulously informed of his responsibilities should he be called upon to undertake an assignment for his employer.
“You’ve impressed us, James. Your sense of duty and patriotism is exemplary. So few of us have the privilege and honor of serving this great nation in such a direct way in its time of need.”
“I’m happy to serve.”
“I know that you are. I suggest that you fall into your normal lifestyle, doing nothing to attract attention. I believe that the advance you’ve been given is sufficient for you to enjoy a financially sound lifestyle until you’re needed.”
“No problem.”
“Fine. You’ll hear from me soon.”
Dexter ignored Brockman’s extended hand and his newest hire left.
• • •
Bob Brixton sat with Mac Smith in Smith’s home office.
“And she mentioned a young black girl without you having said it?” Brixton said after Smith had filled him in on his call to Mitzi Cardell.
“Yes, which says to me that she’s obviously aware of what occurred in that parking lot twenty years ago.”
“I had an idea while driving,” Brixton said. “Willis Sayers is here reopening the Savannah Morning News bureau. I was wondering whether he’d be willing to call her and ask some questions. If she thinks the media is on to it she might decide to open up a little.”
“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Smith replied, “although it could backfire, cause her to stonewall even further.”
“You’re right, but I’d still like to give it a try.