Terminal Secret Read online

  Sherry held her stoicism but two streaks of tears betrayed her.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Then one night he hit me. We were living off Georgia Avenue, in a small apartment, trying to pull together a couple of lives that were spinning in opposite directions. A neighbor called the police and he was arrested for domestic abuse. I didn’t want him to go to jail.”

  “But the police have no choice on a domestic abuse incident if there is physical evidence.”

  “Right.”

  “And then… ?”

  “Well, fast-forward half a year and repeat the same scene, the same excuses. Nothing changed for the better. Marcus changed for the worse. I left one day while he was out of the house. Left with a stroller, my baby, and a suitcase. You can imagine where it went from there.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Restraining orders. Court appearances. Custody rulings. We were estranged. I had full custody. He maintained no visitation rights. We hadn’t spoken in years.”

  “‘Hadn’t spoken?’ That means you saw him again at some point.”

  “He ambushed me here in Georgetown last week. The day he was shot, according to the paper. Popped out from an alley and said we needed to talk.”

  “About what?”

  Sherry took a long pause and a knock on the back door shook her from her daze. She looked up at the small security camera screen in the corner and identified her cappuccino specialist from next door. She disengaged the lock on the large metal fire door, pushed it open, and grabbed the two cups of coffee.

  Back at the table, Dan prodded her for an answer. “What did Marcus want to talk to you about?”

  “He said we may be in danger.”

  “Why?”

  Sherry paused again and Dan knew the big lie was coming. There was always one. Always something hidden in the pile of truths that a person couldn’t come to terms with.

  “He didn’t say exactly. But apparently he was right.”

  “Drugs? Unpaid debt?”

  “Those would have nothing to do with me. Like I said, we hadn’t spoken in years.”

  “Something do to with your husband? Politicians make their fair share of enemies.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. My husband is a good man. A politician, but a good man.”

  “I will reserve my judgment on him. I don’t want it to interfere with my objectivity.”

  “He has nothing to do with this.”

  “I hope you have nothing to do with this either.”

  “Can you help find out who killed Marcus?”

  “I can look into it. The article you just showed me said he was killed in Arlington. I’m sure law enforcement is investigating. They have a competent police force. But I have connections. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “For what?

  “To find the killer?”

  “You haven’t hired me yet, and if I agree to work the case, it’s going to take me more than ten seconds to solve.”

  “If you choose to accept the job, what’s your going rate?”

  “My going rate for paying customers is four hundred an hour, plus expenses. I only bill for work that I do. I don’t typically have more than a couple of clients at a time, so you can estimate twenty hours a week, sometimes more. Figure something in the neighborhood of eight thousand a week. Plus expenses.”

  Sherry stood from the table and opened the sliding door on the small closet in the back of the store. She removed a large cardboard box concealing a small safe bolted to the floor and entered the combination into the lock. She pulled out several stacks of cash, shut the door to the safe, replaced the cardboard box, and put the money on the table. “That’s forty thousand dollars. It should cover the first month.”

  Dan looked down at the money on the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to write a check? You can maintain your anonymity with a cashier’s check.”

  “I don’t want to write a check and I don’t want a receipt. I don’t want any record of us doing business. My husband absolutely cannot find out that I’ve hired you. When we meet, we meet here, or another location within walking distance of this store.”

  “Not a problem. You control where we meet, unless I think it’s dangerous.”

  “You ever worked as a bodyguard?”

  “No. And I wouldn’t be a very good one. I can’t do two things at once. It would be hard for me to investigate Marcus’s death and protect you at the same time. I can find a bodyguard for you if you like.”

  “Can they be invisible?”

  “Probably not. And the effectiveness of security personnel is limited when they have to be a secret.”

  Dan smiled at Sherry, who was no calmer now than when he had entered the store. Usually clients showed some sign of relief during the initial meeting. Sharing secrets, asking for help, the first steps in seeking resolution… all of these generally helped relieve some of the anxiety that most clients had bottled up. With Sherry, it did not.

  “You any good with that gun under the table?” Dan asked.

  Sherry looked down sheepishly. “Never shot it.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Sherry reached under the table and pulled out a .45 caliber Springfield XD semiautomatic pistol. She raised the gun in the direction of Dan, who quickly redirected her hand towards the wall. “The second rule of a firearm is not to point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot.”

  “Sorry,” Sherry replied, relinquishing her grasp. “What’s the first rule?”

  “Always assume the firearm is loaded.” Dan took the gun, released the magazine, and then racked the slide. The bullet in the chamber popped up into the air and Dan caught it before it hit the table.

  “Quick reflexes.”

  “I play with guns on occasion.”

  “That gun is not mine. It’s my husband’s. I took it from the closet. He doesn’t know I have it.”

  Dan removed the slide, spring, and barrel, and checked to see if the gun had been maintained. He noted a slight sheen to the metal and considered the weapon to be in working order. He slipped the spring and barrel back into place, replaced the slide, and pushed the magazine back into the weapon. He handed the gun back to Sherry without racking the slide. “Take the gun home. Put it back where you got it. You aren’t going to hit anyone with that unless you have practiced with it or if they’re standing next to you.”

  Sherry looked at the gun on the table and nodded her head slightly. “You’re not what I expected, Mr. Lord,” Sherry said.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Someone a little more rough around the edges. Less educated sounding. Maybe someone a little scruffier. Meaner.”

  “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the fight in the dog.”

  “People say that, but it always seems like the big dog wins.”

  Dan smirked. “Not always.”

  “I hope you aren’t insulted. I wasn’t saying you’re small or short. I know guys hate that.”

  “That’s true, we do.”

  “Maybe it was your reputation that threw me off.”

  “What reputation is that?”

  “Someone who doesn’t care about the rules.”

  “I have my own rules.”

  “And you’re an attorney…”

  “I have a law license and a private detective license. All of my licenses are a matter of public record. But for work, as I mentioned, I don’t advertise and I only work on referrals. Almost all of my clients find me the same way you found me. A friend in trouble asks for help and my name gets mentioned. I don’t spy on cheating spouses, find lost dogs, or look for runaways. Unless there are extenuating circumstances that make it worth my while.”

  “Fame or fortune?”

  “Neither. Right or wrong. Black or white. I don’t see things in gray scale too well.”

  “So, do I sign a contract with you?”

  “No, we shake hand
s.”

  Dan stood and took Sherry’s sweating palm into his. The two exchanged cell phone numbers and then Dan took the money from the table. “Do you have a bag?”

  Sherry reached behind her and turned back towards Dan with a white paper shopping bag in her hand. “Will this be okay?”

  “Fine,” Dan replied. “I’ll give you a call in a day or two. Let me dig around a little on your baby’s father. See what I can find out. Of course you can always call me if you need to.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “How about taking some time off?”

  “And sit around the house all day with the maids and nanny? No thanks.”

  “Do you walk to work?”

  “I do. It’s a straight shot up Thirty-Fourth, right past Volta Park, then up to Q Street. But why do I get the feeling you already knew that?”

  “I did a little research. Walking from your residence to this location seemed like the obvious mode of transportation, but you can never tell.”

  “It would take me longer to find a parking space than it does to walk. Our townhouse is two blocks up, three blocks over. Ten minutes door to door. I’m here in the store from nine to three. I have a couple of part-timers who help out in the evening and on weekends. While I’m here, my son is in school. His school is two blocks up the hill.”

  “All good information.”

  “Let me see what I can find out. I’ll be in touch. Act normal.”

  Chapter 13

  “I’ve heard about this place,” Emily said, staring up at the menu board on the wall. The backs of two cooks in white shirts moved up and down the grill, repeating orders over their shoulders without turning around.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Ben’s Chili Bowl. Any DC detective worth their salt comes here. Hell, they even opened one in Arlington. It’s an institution.”

  “It’s also a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “You gotta die of something. Besides, today is my day to eat whatever I want. Just the smell of this joint will give me enough willpower to make it through my day of fasting tomorrow.”

  “I imagine indigestion will see you through tomorrow as well.”

  “You’re not going to order anything?”

  “I tell you what. I’ll order a chili dog, or whatever it is that you recommend, and you agree to come to one of my yoga classes. It may change your life.”

  “Deal. Anything a girl can do, I can do.”

  Emily laughed out loud. “We’ll see about that. What do you recommend on the menu for premature death?”

  “A chili half smoke.”

  “What the hell is a half smoke?”

  “Really? Every DC native knows what a half smoke is.”

  “Not the white girl from the suburbs.”

  “It’s like a half hot dog, half sausage. A little bigger. A little spicier. Half beef, half pork. They were initially made just for DC.”

  “Fine, I’ll try one. But hold the onions.”

  A few minutes later, the detectives sat in the corner, eating chili-slathered half smokes served on orange plastic trays.

  “Let’s go over what we know about the EPA lawyer.”

  “Or don’t know.”

  “Or don’t know,” Wallace agreed.

  “You start. Age before beauty,” Emily said, squeezing the mustard bottle.

  Wallace swallowed a large bite and began. “We have one dead woman and one potential suspect, with no weapon or evidence to support a case against the potential suspect.”

  “And the suspect is also dead.”

  “And she’s also dead. Personally, I don’t think Beth’s our shooter. No matter how many ways I spin it, the timeline just doesn’t match up,” Wallace said.

  “Let’s walk through it.”

  “On the morning of her death, the EPA lawyer stepped out of her house at roughly the same time she does every morning.”

  “Six a.m. More or less. As usual,” Emily agreed.

  “And from the EPA lawyer’s house in Spring Valley to the location of Beth’s minivan in the canal, we are looking at three miles. There are only two possible ways to end up on Canal Road heading into DC from Spring Valley. One is through Georgetown and the other is via Arizona Avenue. That’s it. In the morning, during rush hour, all lanes of Canal Road are one-way, heading into the city. So that eliminates one of our two possible routes. Unless she had wings, if Beth killed the lawyer, she would have driven down Arizona Avenue. Period.”

  “Okay, so she drove down Arizona Avenue.”

  “And we know this assumption alone causes a major timeline problem. On a good day, with traffic, it would only take ten minutes to drive the three miles from the EPA lawyer’s house to the spot on Canal Road where the minivan took a swim. On a colossally fucked up traffic day, it would take forty minutes at most.”

  “Could you define a colossally fucked up traffic day?”

  “Godzilla walking down K Street.”

  “Okay. Good to have that perspective,” Emily replied.

  “And on the day of the murder and crash, traffic was of the common annoyance variety. Until Beth crashed, which then caused a delay.”

  “And we have about an hour between the shooting and the diving minivan.”

  “An hour and fifteen minutes.”

  “Maybe she was just sitting there.”

  “With the police, rescue, and the press all converging on the neighborhood? With the sun up? Someone would have noticed. Spring Valley is a nice neighborhood, people would tend to notice a woman sitting in her minivan for an extended period of time. Particularly with sirens going off everywhere.”

  “Just throwing out the possibility.”

  “Noted. But assuming she wasn’t sitting at the crime scene for an hour, with the murder weapon in her possession, the 7:15 a.m. crash time doesn’t make sense. She’s too late to be the sniper and too early for her doctor’s appointment.”

  “Unless she stopped for coffee or breakfast before her appointment.”

  “And we checked both of those options. Starting with coffee, we had three Starbucks, an Au Bon Pain, and two coffee joints on the American University campus. All of these are within a mile or so of the EPA lawyer’s house,” Wallace said, his eyes drifting towards the door as his mind digested the timeline for the hundredth time.

  “And none of them panned out. The staff at Au Bon Pain doesn’t remember seeing her on the morning in question, and customer traffic is pretty light that early. Keep in mind that Beth didn’t look like the healthiest woman on the block. I’m pretty sure the staff would have remembered her sitting there for an hour in an empty restaurant.”

  “And the three Starbucks were also dead ends,” Emily said.

  “That’s right. The three Starbucks all had security cameras and video. Beth wasn’t on them.” Wallace continued thinking out loud. “And her credit card wasn’t used for any purchases either.”

  “And we checked the coffee shops on the AU campus.”

  “The coffee joints on the American University campus are a lot more difficult to reach. She would have had to park on the street and walk past several security cameras on campus. The campus policy also had nothing on their surveillance systems.”

  “So we know it’s not coffee or breakfast,” Emily said, chewing.

  “And the only other places open in the neighborhood at that hour are two Exxon gas stations. Neither of which had surveillance of our girl. Not to mention, if you’re going to kill someone, you would probably fill up before you did it and not in the middle of your getaway.”

  “You would think.”

  “And there are no other establishments between the sniper victim and the location of the minivan accident that are open before seven. Mimi’s Convenience Store and Berkshire Food and Drugs both open at nine.”

  “And we’re pretty sure she didn’t take a drive too far from the area or she would have appeared on a traffic camera.”

  “Right.
We checked the traffic cameras at the major intersections near the Spring Valley neighborhood. Spring Valley sits in a box between Massachusetts and Nebraska Avenue to the north and east. Nebraska turns into Loughboro Road to the south. Dalecarlia Parkway is on the west. All other roads dump onto MacArthur Boulevard. All of those possibilities have street cameras and we identified every car that passed through those thoroughfares between six and seven that morning. That eliminates virtually all of the ‘taking a drive’ possibilities. And if we limit the possibilities to roads without traffic cameras, we come back to the original route. And that route doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t take an hour and fifteen minutes to travel that route.”

  Wallace bit into a bunch of fries between his fingers. “Long story short, we don’t know where Beth was between the time the lawyer was shot and the time she ended up in the canal and neither does anyone else. We have no cell phone records and, more importantly, we never found a weapon.”

  Emily finished her chili half smoke and wiped her face with a napkin. “And the EPA lawyer’s side of the house doesn’t get us very far in solving the crime either.”

  Wallace nodded, shoving another handful of fries into his mouth.

  “We know that she worked at EPA Headquarters, right there on Constitution Avenue. We talked to her coworkers and her managers. Everyone seemed genuinely distraught and upset. Everyone was open to answering questions. No one seemed to think she was involved in litigation that anyone would murder for. She was an up-and-coming attorney, but she was still a junior attorney.”

  “Hmm,” Wallace responded, chewing and shaking his head.

  “We’re pretty sure she isn’t dating anyone and her past boyfriends all checked out,” Emily said.

  “I agree. It doesn’t look like it was a boyfriend or ex-boyfriend.”

  “As far as we know she hadn’t received any threats either in her personal life or at work. Neither had anyone she worked with.”

  Another grunt from Wallace as he picked up his second half smoke.

  “But just because she was a junior attorney, I don’t think we can dismiss the fact she was involved in legal cases that levied meaningful fines against some well-known corporation. A few million dollars in fines does buy some ill will.”