The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [480]
Jed Coombes, Callie’s editor, called out, a mixture of sarcasm and bitterness clear in his voice. “It’s true, she won’t give us the time of day.”
This brought more laughter.
“You’re gonna fire her?”
A thoughtful frown. “Probably not.”
When it was over, when finally all the TV vans and reporters had left, Sherlock went home to Sean, and Savich stopped in to see Jimmy Maitland at FBI headquarters.
FBI HEADQUARTERS
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
IT WAS WINTER, dark at five-thirty. A cold drizzle slapped against the window in Jimmy Maitland’s office. Savich sat in front of his boss’s desk, his hands clasped between his legs, staring at his shoes.
“MAX has come up dry, and so have we,” Savich said. “Günter seems to have completely disappeared in 1988.”
“Anything at all useful about Günter before 1988?”
Savich shook his head. “He could be an American, an Albanian, an Armenian. He left no clues. The guy’s a pro.
“As for the rest of it, the local investigation—we haven’t turned up a fingerprint, a footprint, usable DNA, not even a vague description by a witness. The garrote leaves no trace, one of its advantages.
“We’ve followed up on all the phone records, checked every deleted file on computers that could be connected to the Justice, but nothing has fallen out of that.
“Some of what we’re looking at—further background checks on everyone who could be involved, review of both victims’ financial records, interviews with felons Justice Califano convicted and white-collar criminals he bankrupted, going back many years—these will take more time, but as you know, they’re a bit of a stab in the dark. So far, all we really have is the connection MAX gave us to Günter, and the fact that whatever it was that triggered Justice Califano’s murder, Danny O’Malley was somehow able to find out about it.
“Our interviews have been useful, but nothing seems to tie into anything substantial yet. All the inconsistencies, even the downright lies don’t seem to matter. And Danny—the only person I can believe about Danny is Annie Harper, and that’s because Dr. Hicks hypnotized her and I questioned her myself.”
Jimmy Maitland said, “Danny O’Malley sounded like an opportunistic little prick.”
“Yes, unfortunately he was. And deep down, Annie knew it, but she was too young and too in love to admit it. She does now.”
“You sound like her father, Savich.”
“I felt ancient when I was speaking to her.”
“Nothing on the briefcase, the black book, or the cell phone.” A statement, not a question.
Savich shook his head.
Jimmy Maitland said suddenly, “When was the last time you were at the gym?”
Savich’s head whipped up. “Two, three days. Why?”
“That’s your problem. You need to sweat this out of your system, have one of the guys bust your butt a little, let this slide off you for a while. Go, Savich, go work out, you need it.”
Savich slowly rose. “Maybe you’re right, sir.” He grinned. “Then I can get Sherlock to rub me down with BenGay.”
“Hey, that woman Valerie Rapper still at the gym? The one who came on to you?”
Savich was clearly startled. “How did you know about her?”
Jimmy Maitland, father of four sons, all of them built like bulls—like their father—and all firmly in the control of his wife, whom he could tuck under his armpit, said, “I know everything, and it’s best you never forget that, boyo.”
Savich was actually smiling when he left the Hoover Building to head to the gym. And when he walked through the front door of his house, so beat he could barely walk upright, Sherlock shoved him into the shower, then fed him a big plate of spinach lasagna. He fell asleep lying on his belly in the middle of the bed, Sean beside him, pressing his teddy bear’s nose in the BenGay as he followed the path of his mother’s massage.
BECKHURST LANE WASHINGTON, D.C. THURSDAY EVENING
BEN AND CALLIE followed Margaret Califano into her house. Her friends were waiting inside the front door