* * *
Walter Dabney and Associates was located off the Fairfax County Parkway in Reston, Virginia. The area was home to lots of government contractors, from massive ones like Lockheed Martin to one-person shops. Dabney’s business wasn’t a Fortune 500 behemoth, but as Decker and Jamison walked into the bright, open, and fashionably furnished reception area on the top floor of a modern glass-and-steel six-story building, it was apparent that Dabney had built a very successful enterprise. Though the hour was late, the news had reached the local and national pipelines and people who worked here had not gone home, as normal. They were out in the hallways looking pale, confused, and distraught.
After showing their IDs, Decker and Jamison were escorted to a small conference room by a young woman. A minute later a woman in her late thirties opened the door and stepped in. She was about five-five, with a runner’s trim build, shoulder-length reddish-blonde hair, and square-rimmed glasses perched on her freckled face.
“I’m Faye Thompson. I’m a partner here. Is it…is it really true?”
Decker said, “I’m afraid so.”
“Is Walter…?”
“He’s still alive, but the prognosis is not good,” said Jamison.
Decker said, “We’d like to ask some questions.”
“Of course, please have a seat. Would you like anything? Coffee, water?”
Jamison opted for water and Decker for black coffee. Thompson ordered a hot tea.
When the drinks arrived and the door closed behind the assistant, Decker took a sip of his coffee and said, “Tell us about Walter Dabney.”
Jamison took a small recorder out of her pocket and put it on the table. “Do you mind if I record this?”
Thompson shook her head and sat back. “I’m not sure where to begin. Walter is a great guy. I joined the firm a year out of college. I’ve been here fifteen years, made partner eight years ago. He was a wonderful mentor and friend. And also one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. I can’t believe what happened.”
“So nothing you observed to explain what he did?” asked Decker.
“That Walter would shoot and kill someone on the street? No. No way. It’s unthinkable.”
“We know he went downtown this morning for a meeting at the FBI. Were you aware of that?”
“Yes. We’re consulting with the Bureau on some projects. We partner with some major contractors, lending our expertise to give the Bureau the best possible resources so they can do their job at optimal levels.”
Decker said, “That’s the official pitch anyway.”
Thompson stared defiantly at him. “And it’s also the truth. We’re very highly ranked in our space. Our reputation is stellar.”
“So he didn’t come into the office today?” asked Decker.
“Not that I’m aware of. We officially open at eight-thirty. But those with a key card can come and go when they want.”
“But if he did come here the security system would have a record of that?”
“Yes. I can check.”
“Thanks. Was he in the office yesterday?” asked Decker.
“Yes. I met with him. I had just come back from overseas and was filling him in on what had taken place. I’m still jet-lagged. And now this.”
“Where overseas?”
Her lips pursed. “What does that have to do with what happened?”
“Maybe nothing. But I like to get a full picture.”
Thompson kept looking at him as she took a sip of tea. “The Middle East. That’s about as specific as I can be.”
“Any projects that he was working on that might explain what happened this morning?”
“I highly doubt it. And I can’t really get into that. Most of the projects we work on are classified. And most of the people who work here and all of the partners have the highest security clearances. What security clearances do you have?”
“I don’t even have a security system where I live.”
Thompson’s eyebrows hiked and she glanced at Jamison. “So what else would you like to know?”
Jamison said, “How did he appear yesterday? Normal? Worried?”
“Normal.”
“Nothing that would have raised your suspicions?”
“Like what?”
Decker said, “Unusual phrases. Agitation. Lack of focus.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Might he have been on drugs?”
Her complexion changed. “Walter! Most assuredly not. I’ve only seen him drink the occasional glass of wine.”
“Yes.”
“What was it?” Jamison asked eagerly.
“Apparently a string of words that made absolutely no sense to any of the people there.”
“So gibberish? Because of the brain injury?”
“Well, having suffered a brain injury myself, I can tell you that one person’s gibberish is another person’s revelation.”