Whiplash - Catherine Coulter [17]
"You should know that Bowie Richard's family and Vice President Valenti's family are close. Really close."
Just dandy, Savich thought, a SAC with juice and a German federal agent, both. Not to mention a multinational pharmaceutical house with as much money and resources as the FBI.
"Look, guys, it's the hand we've got to play. I know you'll deal well with Bowie Richards, Savich. Here's a couple of photos of Helmut Blauvelt." Maitland slid over two five-by-sevens.
Dice took one look at the photo and quickly closed her eyes. "Eeew, he's got no face left. Why would someone do this to him?"
The dead man looked middle-aged from the clumps of bloody brownish gray hair still on his head, Savich thought, and Dice was right, someone had whaled on him and hadn't stopped. And why was that?
Dice kept her eyes on Maitland's face. "This overkill, it makes no sense. One blow and he's dead. Was it to keep him from being identified? That might have been true fifty years ago, but give me a break. Surely the murderer had to know we'd still be able to identify him."
Maitland said, "In addition to smashing his face beyond recognition, the killer also cut off his fingers, so no fingerprints. It wasn't as if the killer didn't try.
"Savich, I called Bowie, told him I was sending you and Sherlock. He wasn't all that happy. More resigned, I guess you'd say. Do you know him?"
"I met him once at Quantico, maybe three years ago. I remember he's got a little girl who's about two years older than Sean."
Dice carefully turned over the photo of Helmut Blauvelt. "Now I think about it, I remember hearing his wife died a few years ago. Wasn't she killed driving drunk, something like that?"
Maitland nodded. "Let's just say it was bad and leave it at that. Bowie's a cracker and a bulldog. Try to work with him, Savich, not go through him. I don't want to hear about any calls from Vice President Valenti to Director Mueller."
Dice Flanders shoved her tortoiseshell glasses up on her nose. "When you and Sherlock bring down the bad guys, sugar, you be sure and ask them what the devil Schiffer Hartwin's bad boy was doing here, won't you?"
"You can count on it, Dice," Savich said.
"Well, if that's it," Maitland said, motioned for Savich to take the photos, and stood. "Any questions, funnel them through me. Savich, hang on a minute."
As Dice Flanders passed him, she patted his face. "I sure liked hearing you play your guitar at the Bonhomie Club last week. Your new country western tune nearly made me weep. If I weren't old enough to be your mama, I'd give Sherlock a run for her money."
Savich laughed. "Sherlock wrote it."
"Talented girl, curse her," Dice said, and gave a little wave as she walked out of the conference room. "You guys take care of this mess, all right? And be careful."
The air changed around Savich, became heavy, pressed against his face, as if charged somehow, just as it had the previous night in Chevy Chase in the senator's backyard. Nikki? Please, not just yet. Come back later.
The air immediately softened. Savich was aware that Mr. Maitland was talking to him. "Savich, bring your brain back to the party. Where'd you go?"
Savich shook his head, smiled, wondering how he'd looked in those seconds. Had his lips moved? Surely not. "Just an errant thought, sir."
Maitland said, "Savich, you and Sherlock need to be on an FBI helicopter in two hours. Pack some clothes, I don't know how long you guys will have to be there. You'll be staying at the Norman Bates Inn in Stone Bridge proper-yeah, someone's got a twisted sense of humor there, but it's the closest lodging. Schiffer Hartwin's U.S.A. headquarters is located at the edge of Stone Bridge, Van Wie Park right behind it. You need anything, call me or Dice. Keep us in the loop, every step."
Savich barely made it back to his office when he picked up a faint jasmine scent. He turned his back to his office door and looked out his open window to the small park across the street. He smiled at the sight of Old Sal feeding her pigeons. She must have gotten