He paused very generously to allow us that moment.
No eye contact was made, and nobody gasped, fled from the room, or passed around final bequests, but clearly this was an unwelcome reality-a few people at this table might think twice before putting a down payment on a condo in Florida, or even buying a full gallon of milk. No doubt Peterson and Townsend had rosy bull's-eyes on their prominent backsides. Mrs. Hooper, because of her prestigious portfolio and high public profile, could well be morgue bait. But the rest of us appeared to be free and clear, except as target practice.
In a world of haves and have-nots, being a have-not is not always a bad thing.
Anyway, the mood was set. Six people were dead, murdered, and it was up to Margold to explain how, and then for all of us to figure out why, and by whom.
Townsend pointed at Margold and said, "Proceed."
CHAPTER FOUR
My new pal Jennie spoke for fifteen minutes. She used a felt-tip marker and wallboard to create a visual of Terrence Belknap's home and security systems, took everybody through the arrival of the government car, through the perp's walk up the pathway, then through the trail of death from the front door to the basement. She was indeed very bright. She spoke articulately, minimized the FBI jargon, knew which details were important, had good recall, was organized and succinct, and she had a pleasant voice. Wisely, she did not speculate, or even elaborate beyond the facts.
She finished up by saying, "We in the FBI classify murders into two broad categories: organized and disorganized. This might sound generic, even oversimplified. It is not. It's a very complicated judgment and we draw many inferences and discoveries from those classifications. Unquestionably, this was an organized killing."
From my observation of the faces of the players around the table as she spoke, nearly everybody had listened attentively, raptly, even apprehensively. Mrs. Hooper fell into none of these categories, tapping her pencil on the table, yawning, totally bored and disconnected. She put down the pencil and asked, "Is there a relevance I'm supposed to draw from that observation?"
"Well… it has great pertinence to those involved in the hunt for the murderers," Jennie replied. She paused. "Here's what's noteworthy to you. During my years in the Behavioral Science Unit, I observed over three hundred murder sites and studied countless others. This killing… it's one for the books… flawless intelligence, preparation, and execution. This operation was planned weeks in advance. We should expect… well, whatever they have planned over the next two days, expect the same pattern."
"The leopard doesn't change his spots. Tell us something we don't know."
Jennie nodded. "All right. Here's what's curious… even alarming. It is axiomatic in our business that political assassins are disorganized. Their motives may be myriad, but their profiles and patterns are not. They are nearly all social losers, frustrated individuals, of low intelligence and ability. They fixate on the target and the statement they want to make. They take only elementary precautions to avoid evidence and witnesses, to create an escape plan, to avoid detection. In fact, nearly all political assassins want to be identified. Irrelevance is the mental hell they're trying to escape."
"All right, what was their motivation?"
"There's no way to know. Not yet."
"At what stage will you know? After the President's dead?"
Set aside the nasty tone, and Mrs. Hooper had posed a pressing and beguiling question. Jennie replied, "If they have a message, they'll choose the time and place to convey it." She added, "Personally, I'm not sure they have a message."
"And what would you call the note they left?"
"I haven't read it. I'm not prepared to analyze it."
"But you know what it said."
"I heard a summary. It didn't sound like a message. It sounded like… like an announcement-a taunt."
She was right, it did. I mean, they open the game by capping the President's right-hand man, and then leave a note that reads, Up Yours, more to follow, then the big guy himself. These people had big egos and brass balls. But gosh, wouldn't we all look bad if they got away with it?
Surveying the faces around the table, Jennie asked, "Other questions?"
After a moment, Townsend asked, "How long were you in the house?"
"Twelve minutes, sir. Two sweeps."
"Twelve minutes?" Those unblinking eyes regarded Jennie for a full ten seconds. The effect was unsettling, almost creepy, like staring at a dead fish and waiting for it to speak. But eventually the lips parted and he said, "That was an impressive analysis for such a short time."
"Thank you, sir. Mr. Drummond here was invaluable. He figured out there was more than one killer, and he pointed out a number of other clues I might have overlooked."
"That's why we have teams," Townsend replied. "We all bring something to the party." He then said, "You have some speculations and leads, I assume."
"I do."
"Proceed."
"We believe the killers had a detailed understanding of the security. They knew how to circumvent the security systems, they may have known a female agent would answer the door, and apparently they knew Terrence and Marybeth Belknap breakfasted together." She paused, then added, "They knew exactly how to deploy themselves in order to kill everybody in that house efficiently and simultaneously"
Mr. Wardell of the Secret Service didn't like the direction she was going and said, "I hope you're not implying that one of our people might be involved."
"I implied nothing."
"You'd better not."
Jennie nodded. Though of course she had implied exactly that, and Mr. Wardell worked up a little steam. "Look… before anyone jumps to a bad conclusion, the Secret Service has been officially guarding the President and his people since 1902. Can anyone here name a single instance of betrayal?" He looked at the faces around the table and added, very insistently, "No federal agency matches our vetting and security procedures."
For a moment the room was silent. Then Phyllis Carney commented, "Charles, I don't mean to be contrary, but really… we at the CIA take a backseat to nobody when it comes to safeguarding against traitors and betrayals."
It took a moment before we all realized the sound we heard was Charles Wardell's balls rolling around on the floor. He said, "I… I didn't mean to imply that our systems are airtight."
Margold nodded appreciatively in Phyllis's direction and said, "Anybody with knowledge about the security at that house needs to be put under a microscope immediately."
Townsend turned to Wardell. "Provide that list to Meany this morning. And for impartiality's sake, the Bureau will handle the interrogations and investigation."
Poor Mr. Wardell did not look happy to carry that word back to his beloved Service. He was realizing, of course, that the crap was about to rain on the American praetorians and there was not a big enough umbrella to hide under. At least he could look his peers in the eye and claim he fought the good fight.
Townsend glanced back at Margold and asked, "Further leads? Speculations?"
"Well, the driver, Larry Elwood, and the location of his car have to be targets of immediate and primary interest. Elwood is a suspect, obviously However, his car arrived five minutes late and his face is not visible on the videos. This could imply his car was hijacked and the man on our tape is an impostor. Also, the car is a mining site for forensics."
"Good point." Townsend turned to George Meany "What are we doing about the car?"
"An APB has been issued."
"Not enough. Scramble helicopters and notify every local jurisdiction to conduct a street-by-street search. Put out a description to every tolltaker in the five-state region. Assume they changed plates. Focus on the car model."