He cringed under the gaze, finally looking down at the floor.
Burton smiled to himself at the exchange. That was okay, the kid would
thank him in a few weeks. For pulling him out of this black widow’s web.
“Nothing really surprises me, Chief. Not anymore. How about you?” He
looked at her and then at Collin.
Russell ignored the remark. “If the money is not transferred out, then
we can expect him to go public somehow soon thereafter. What exactly are
we going to do about it?”
The Chief of Staffs calm demeanor was no sham. She had decided that she
was through crying, through vomiting every time she turned around, and
that she had been hurt and embarrassed enough to last the rest of her
life. Come what may, she felt almost numb to anything else. It felt
surprisingly good.
“How much does he want?” Burton asked.
“Five million,” she replied simply.
Burton went wide-eyed. “And you got that kind of money? Where?”
“That doesn’t concern you.”
“Does the President know?” Burton asked the question knowing full well
the answer.
“Again, that doesn’t concern you.”
Burton didn’t push it. What did he care anyway?
“Fair enough. Well, in answer to your question, we are doing something
about it. If I were you I’d find a way to pull that money back somehow.
Five million dollars isn’t going to do much to someone not among the
living.”
“You can’t kill what you can’t find,” Russell shot back.
“That’s true, that’s so true, Chief.” Burton sat back and recounted his
conversation with Seth Frank.
KATE WAS FULLY DRESSED WHEN SHE ANSWERED UM DOOR, thinking, somehow,
**skip**that if she were in her bathrobe the interview would endure
longer, that she would appear more and more vulnerable as each question
came her way. The last thing she wanted to appear was vulnerable, which
was exactly how she felt.
“I’m not sure what you want from me.”
“Some information, that’s all, Ms. Whitney. I realize you’re an officer
of the court, and believe me, I hate to put you through this, but right
now your father is my numberone suspect in a very. high-profile case.”
Frank looked at her with a pair of earnest eyes.
They were sitting in the tiny living room. Frank had his notebook out.
Kate sat erect on the edge of the couch trying to remain calm, although
her fingers kept fluttering to her small chain necklace, twisting and
turning it into small knots, tiny centers of bedlam.
“From what you’ve told me, Lieutenant, you don’t have much. If I were
the ACA on that case I don’t think I’d even have enough to get an arrest
warrant issued, much less a bill of indictment returned.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Frank eyed the way she played with the chain. He
wasn’t really there to gather information. He probably knew more about
her father than she did. But he had to ease her into the trap. Because,
as he thought about it, that’s what it was, a trap. For someone else.
Besides, what did she care? It made his conscience feel better anyway,
to think that she didn’t really care at all.
Frank continued. “But I’ll tell you some interesting coincidences. We
have your father’s print on a cleaning van that we know was at the
Sullivan place a short time before the murder. The fact that we know he
was in the house, and in the very bedroom where the crime was committed,
a short time before. We have two eyewitnesses to that. And the fact that
he used an alias and a false address and Social Security number when
applying for the job. And the fact that he seems to have disappeared.”
She looked at him. “He had priors. He probably didn’t use his real info
because he didn’t think he’d get the job otherwise. You say he’s
disappeared. Did you ever think he just may have taken a trip? Even
ex-cons go on vacation.” Her instincts as a trial lawyer found her
defending her father, an unbelievable thought. A sharp pain shot through
her head.
She rubbed at it distractedly.
“Another interesting discovery is that your father was good friends with