“She did.”
“And did you see her?”
“No. I had to cancel.”
The call had come in just before three o’clock. “Darling, it’s me. I’m lonely for you. I’m at the lodge in Maryland. I’m sitting by the pool, naked.”
“We’ll have to do something about that.”
“When can you get away?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Oliver turned to face the group. “If what I’m about to tell you should ever leave this office, it would do irreparable damage to the presidency and to our relations with another country. I’m doing this with the greatest reluctance, but you leave me no choice.”
As the group watched in wonder, Oliver walked over to a side door leading to a den and opened it. Sylva Picone stepped into the room.
“This is Sylva Picone, the wife of the Italian ambassador. On the fifteenth, Mrs. Picone and I were together at her lodge in Maryland from four o’clock in the afternoon until two o’clock in the morning. I know absolutely nothing about the murder of Chloe Houston, or any of the other deaths.”
21
Dana walked into Tom Hawkins’s office. “Tom, I’m on to something interesting. Before Frank Lonergan was murdered, he went to the home of Carl Gorman, a clerk who worked at the Monroe Arms. Gorman was killed in a supposed boating accident. He lived with his sister. I’d like to take a crew over there to do a taped segment for the ten-o’clock news tonight.”
“You don’t think it was a boating accident?”
“No. Too many coincidences.”
Tom Hawkins was thoughtful for a moment. “Okay. I’ll set it up.”
“Thanks. Here’s the address. I’ll meet the camera crew there. I’m going home to change.”
When Dana walked into her apartment, she had a sudden feeling that something was wrong. It was a sense she had developed in Sarajevo, a warning of danger. Somebody had been here. She walked through the apartment slowly, warily checking the closets. Nothing was amiss. It’s my imagination, Dana told herself. But she did not believe it.
When Dana arrived at the house that Carl Gorman’s sister lived in, the electronic news-gathering vehicle had arrived and was parked down the street. The ENG was an enormous van with a large antenna on the roof and sophisticated electronic equipment inside. Waiting for Dana were Andrew Wright, the soundman, and Vernon Mills, the cameraman.
“Where are we doing the interview?” Mills asked.
“I want to do it inside the house. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”
“Right.”
Dana went up to the front door and knocked. Marianne Gorman opened the door. “Yes?”
“I’m—”
“Oh! I know who you are. I’ve seen you on television.”
“Right,” Dana said. “Could we talk for a minute?”
Marianne Gorman hesitated. “Yes. Come in.” Dana followed her into the living room.
Marianne Gorman offered Dana a chair. “It’s about my brother, isn’t it? He was murdered. I know it.”
“Who killed him?”
Marianne Gorman looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Did Frank Lonergan come here to see you?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “He tricked me. I told him where he could find my brother and—” Her eyes filled with tears. “Now Carl is dead.”
“What did Lonergan want to talk to your brother about?”
“He said he was from the IRS.”
Dana sat there watching her. “Would you mind if I did a brief television interview with you? You can just say a few words about your brother’s murder and how you feel about the crime in this city.”
Marianne Gorman nodded. “I guess that will be all right.”
“Thank you.” Dana went to the front door, opened it, and waved to Vernon Mills. He picked up his camera equipment and started toward the house, followed by Andrew Wright.
“I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” Marianne said.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It will only take a few minutes.”
Vernon entered the living room with the camera. “Where do you want to shoot this?”
“We’ll do it here, in the living room.” She nodded toward a corner. “You can put the camera there.”
Vernon placed the camera, then walked back to Dana. He pinned a lavaliere microphone on each woman’s jacket. “You can turn it on whenever you’re ready.” He set it down on a table.