Hawkins’s friendly smile disappeared. “You mean the grand inquisitor, don’t you? What makes you think I’d cooperate with Maureen Gaylord’s witch hunt?”
Evans laughed. “We like to think of our investigation as an official inquiry authorized by an act of Congress. And I only have a few general questions for you.”
“Such as?”
“In his speech, the president said that you invited Charlotte Walsh to the safe house.”
“That’s what the president said.”
“Then President Farrington asked you to accompany his wife to the fund-raiser.”
“You know all this from the speech.”
“Right. What I don’t know is what you and the president talked about when you got to the farmhouse.”
Hawkins flashed a cold smile. “I’m sure you appreciate that I can’t discuss conversations I’ve had with the president of the United States.”
“You’re not an attorney or a priest, are you?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have any privilege that makes your conversations confidential.”
“What’s your next question?”
“I can get a subpoena.”
“Do what you have to do, Agent Evans.”
Evans could see that Hawkins wasn’t going to cave in, so he moved on.
“Where did you go after you left the safe house?”
“You know, you should be looking at Senator Gaylord and her people.”
“For what reason?”
“I’m not an idiot, Agent Evans. Our little exchange before you told me you were working for Kineer revealed that I knew about the Ripper’s MO and would be able to fake a copycat killing, as suggested by the story in Exposed. I’m guessing that Gaylord’s people had the same information and an excellent motive to get rid of Walsh to keep her from testifying that Gaylord put her up to her stunt at the farm.”
“That’s interesting. I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”
“Now, if there’s nothing else…”
“Actually I did have one more thing I wanted to ask you about.”
“What’s that?”
“Chicago.”
“What about Chicago?” Hawkins asked cautiously.
“Did you bring Charlotte Walsh to see the president in Chicago or was it another member of your staff?”
All emotion vanished from Hawkins’s features. One moment Evans had been talking to a human being and the next moment he was standing opposite a machine.
“It’s been nice talking to you,” Hawkins said. “Tell the members of the Ripper Task Force that they did a great job and the president appreciates it.”
Hawkins turned his back on the agent and walked away. Evans watched him disappear before strolling over to the members of the press corps who were still around. He’d spotted Harold Whitehead earlier. Whitehead worked for the Washington Post, and they’d run into each other several times since Evans moved to D.C. The reporter was in his early sixties, and he’d been working in the newspaper business before the big corporations and twenty-four-hour news channels had converted the news from information to entertainment, as he constantly reminded people. Early in his career, he’d reported from war zones and visited the scenes of disasters, but a bad hip and a serious heart attack had ended his globe-trotting days and landed him on the political beat.
“I hear you’re working with Kineer at the independent counsel,” Harry said.
“You hear correctly,” Evans answered as the men shook hands.
“So, did Farrington off the coed?”
“As soon as I find out, you’ll be the first to know. Are you up for a beer?”
“Always,” Whitehead said as he eyed Evans suspiciously. Reporters sought out heads of serial killer task forces and the right-hand men of independent counsels, not vice versa.
“You know The Schooner in Adams Morgan?” Evans asked.
“Sure.”
“See you there.”
During the drive from the White House to the bar, Evans thought about Maggie Sparks. While he’d waited with her for the ambulance, Evans realized that she meant a lot to him. He’d thought about all the reasons he’d given himself for not trying to get to know her better and he’d decided that none of them made sense. He vowed that he would find out how she felt about him when he had some time to breathe.
The Adams Morgan section of Washington was funky and crowded with jazz nightclubs, pizza parlors, Ethiopian restaurants, and bars. While many of the local bars catered to young professionals or college kids, the clientele of The Schooner were laborers, firefighters, cops, and gentlemen who were between jobs. Evans arrived at the bar at ten past two. Harold had beaten him by twelve minutes, and the agent found the reporter nursing a beer in a booth in the back.
“Okay, Keith, what’s this about?”
“Can’t a guy buy another guy a beer without a hidden agenda?”
“You’re an underpaid government employee, Evans, and you’ve got alimony payments. You don’t make enough money to treat me to a beer.”
“Sad but true.”
“So?”
“We’re off the record or you don’t get your beer.”
“Prick.”
“Well?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Whitehead answered grudgingly.
“It’s Charles Hawkins. I want to know as much as you can tell me about him.”
“What’s your interest in the Farringtons’ attack dog?”
“We’re trying to figure out what happened on the evening Charlotte Walsh was killed. I asked Hawkins about it and I got nowhere. We know he was at the farmhouse after Walsh left, but he won’t tell me anything. I want to know who I’m dealing with.”
“A very dangerous guy, according to the rumors. A former army Ranger with combat experience.”
“You called him ‘the Farringtons’ attack dog.’”
Whitehead nodded. “Hawkins is completely dedicated to the Farringtons. There’s nothing he won’t do for them. He’s like those knights of the Round Table, totally devoted to the king and queen. Hawkins could have turned his relationship with the president to his advantage, but I’ve never heard a hint that he’s made a penny off of it. I think he would consider it dishonorable.”
“Now that you mention it, he doesn’t dress for success like some of the other movers and shakers I’ve met.”
“His relationship with the Farringtons makes Hawkins one of the most influential men in Washington, but you’d never guess the power he wields by looking at him. He buys his suits off the rack, doesn’t wear a Rolex like every other Washington player, and still drives a Volvo he bought before Farrington became governor of Oregon.”
“How did Hawkins and the president meet?”
“They both went to Oregon State. The president was the star of a basketball team that made it to the Sweet Sixteen. Hawkins played, too, but he rode the bench most of the time. They both excelled in the classroom, but, from what I hear, Hawkins was a plodder while academics came naturally to Farrington. The biggest difference between the two was self-confidence, which Farrington had in spades and Hawkins lacked. The people who knew them at OSU told me that Farrington had a clear vision of his future, but Hawkins had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, so he enlisted in the army.”
“I remember reading somewhere that Claire Farrington went to OSU, too.”
“Hawkins met her there. She was a star on the volleyball team. They started dating their senior year. Claire had met the president when she and Chuck double-dated with him. She and Farrington lost touch after college. During his second year in law school, Farrington ran into Claire at a party hosted by an intern at the medical school where she was studying. By the time Hawkins left the army, Claire and Christopher were an item.”
“Was he angry when he learned that Farrington had stolen his girl?”
“Hawkins had bigger problems when he left the military. He was wounded in action, and he returned to Portland depressed and hooked on painkillers. The only people who cared about him were Claire and Christopher. Claire got him into rehab and helped him recover. Christopher represented him for free when he had legal problems with the VA. When Hawkins got out of rehab, Farrington asked him to work on his state senate campaign and to be his best man. From what I hear, Hawkins wasn’t bitter that Farrington ended up with his girl.”