“The Bureau found the drugs; you filed your report. You said you were going back to catching counterfeiters and standing post. I remember it pretty clearly because it’s when you also gave me that fabulous career advice.”
“I got a call from Anne Jeffries last night. She said the drugs were bullshit. She threatened to sue us.”
“She’s full of crap. And she can’t sue us for doing our job. Hell, it’s not like we planted the heroin in Johnson’s house.”
Alex glanced over at her. “But what if someone else did?”
She stared back at him skeptically. “Planted drugs? Why?”
“That’s for us to find out. Right from the get-go this case hasn’t made sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if you accept the fact that Patrick Johnson made a ton of money dealing drugs; he was getting married and didn’t see a way out.”
“If he didn’t see a way out, why did he agree to get married in the first place?”
“Maybe despite her dowdy looks, little Annie is Superwoman in bed and wouldn’t give it up anymore without a ring on her finger. So he pops the question and then has second thoughts. He feels trapped and decides the only way out is to bite the bullet.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“You don’t know a lot about women, do you?”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning that being only a man’s lust repository gets a little old after a while. Women want permanent relationships of the diamond variety. Men want conquests.”
“Thanks for stereotyping the entire human race; it was very informative.”
“Well, here’s another theory for you: Johnson was dealing drugs, but with his marriage he wanted to quit the business. It’s not the sort of business you just walk away from. As a wedding gift his associates gave him a bullet instead of a toaster.”
“On the island where he had his first date? How would they have known?”
“Maybe from Anne Jeffries, the lady who is now protesting so much that her sweetie was never involved in drugs.”
“So she’s lying to us?”
“She’s either incredibly stupid or else she knew about the drugs.”
“So if she had no problem with it, why would he kill himself?”
“Maybe he wanted to walk away from the business, but she didn’t want him to.”
Alex shook his head. “So now in cahoots with the druggies, she kills her fiancé?”
“It’s as plausible as your theory.”
“I don’t think Anne Jeffries could tell the difference between a kilo of heroin and a box of sugar even if we shoved them down her throat.”
“Whatever.” Simpson folded her arms across her chest. “So where are we going?”
“Remember the two guys we met out at Roosevelt Island, Reinke and Peters? I called them. They’ve finished the handwriting analysis, and I thought we could go learn those results, get our note back and then snoop around.”
She exclaimed, “Snoop around! Did you know that when the president goes to NIC, the Secret Service isn’t even allowed on certain floors with him because our security clearances aren’t high enough?”
“Yeah, I know. That still pisses me off,” Alex said.
“So what do you expect to find out there?”
“As part of our investigation we need to know what Johnson did at NIC.”
“What happened to the man who didn’t want to screw up his last three years?”
Alex stopped the car at a red light and looked over at her. “If I’m afraid to screw up, then I should just turn in my badge right now. And since I’m not willing to do that . . .”
“And this wonderfully patriotic epiphany just hit you?”
“Actually, an old friend pointed it out to me last night.”
The light turned green and they started off again. He glanced over at her, and that’s when he suddenly noticed it, because she’d unbuttoned her jacket.
“That’s a SIG .357.”
She didn’t look at him. “My other gun was a little heavy.”
Alex also noted that she was not wearing her usual flashy breast pocket handkerchief.
They were passing through western Fairfax County on Route 7 when Simpson finally spoke again. “I had dinner with my father last night.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Alex shot back. “And investigating a person’s workplace is standard for this sort of case.”
“Patrick Johnson’s work area is restricted to the highest security clearance levels,” Reinke said firmly. “No exceptions. Your clearances aren’t good enough. I checked.”
Alex leaned forward and eyed Reinke. “I guarded the president of the United States for five years. I worked on the Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force while you were still banging cheerleaders in college. I’ve stood post at meetings of the Joint Chiefs where they talked about stuff this country is doing that would make both of you crap in your Brooks Brothers pants.”
“Your security clearances aren’t adequate,” Reinke reiterated.
“Then we have a big problem,” Alex said. “Because I’ve been assigned to investigate this case. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”