Also, I was relieved to see that Mr. Townsend did not appear pissed, distraught, or even moody; he actually looked collected and impassive, as though this was just another day, another investigation, another job to be done. Of course, it wasn't. But good leadership is four-tenths being there and six-tenths looking the part.
Anyway the day had been a scorcher-literally and otherwise-and nobody had changed clothes, or showered, and the room was windowless, so it smelled a little ripe, though that was the least of our worries.
In fact, two minutes into it, everybody was stone-cold sober, stealing glances at their watches and waiting for Dr. Death and his nasty pictures to go away, when he got to something I found interesting and useful.
We had finished reviewing the anatomical donnybrook at Belknap's house and a new corpse flashed onto the screen: an aged and scrawny body sprawled on his left side across his front porch.
One glance and you knew this guy had scribbled his last illegible dissent. The doc pointed at the slide and said, "See here how Fineberg was blown nearly in half. Really the only thing holding him together is his spine. Even a layman can detect from the severity of trauma that his death was virtually instantaneous. Until the autopsy's complete I won't venture the exact cause of death… but see here." He pointed at a fresh slide. "The right side of Fineberg's body, the hollowed-out side, took the brunt of the blast."
There followed a number of lavish close-ups of Phillip Fineberg's oozing entrails, exposed rib cage, and so on.
"The depth of the tissue damage," the doc continued, "and the heavy accretion of gunpowder on Fineberg's skin suggests the device exploded, we estimate, within three feet from his body Of particular interest, judging by the angle of the entry wounds, the device was some three feet off the ground when it exploded. This is curious, yes? The explosion occurred at approximately the same height as the doorknob."
He paused to allow everybody to consider this novel possibility. Mr. Gene Halderman of Homeland Security was thoughtfully stroking his chin, no doubt thinking, "Ah-hah-the old bomb in the doorknob thing."
The doctor then said, "But when we found no trace of brass, or even brass enamel, we ruled that out. The device dispensed hundreds of particles composed of iron bauxite, a mixture of tiny pellets and some coarser pieces with sharp, uneven edges, perhaps from the shell of the device. What this means, we don't know. We do bodies, not bombs. So we've forwarded shrapnel fragments and powder residue over to-"
George Meany suddenly pushed back his chair. "Wait! — hold on a minute…" He regarded the picture a moment before he informed the good doctor, "From what you're describing… I think…"He paused until he had everybody's undivided attention. "That… that sounds like a Bouncy Nancy" His eyes roved around the table, and in response to the confused expressions he added, "If you're unfamiliar with this device, it's…" and proceeded to give the unwashed and unknowing a brief description of Bouncy Nancys and how the weapon matched the damage inflicted on Fineberg, and so forth.
He summarized by saying, "Incidentally, I should mention another suspicion I've been toying with. Regarding the Merrill murder, the police investigators were of the opinion that a rifle was used to send his car out of control. I looked at that car-it was pretty banged up, and had caught on fire. Hard to say for sure, but I suspect an antitank weapon might've been used."
George was scoring big-time points with his boss, Director Townsend, who sat nodding and wide-eyed throughout.
Mrs. Hooper stared with newfound awe and admiration at the deductive wunderkind.
Gene Halderman leaned back in his chair, hands sweeping through his pompadour, no doubt thinking, "Wow. When I grow up…"
Jennie shot me a bemused smile. I smiled back.
That George. What can you do?
George said, "In fact… I think… Well, this might be a new and very critical lead. How did these people get their hands on controlled and sophisticated military hardware?"
Nobody had a ready answer to that question.
After a moment Townsend asked, "Did you serve in the military, George?"
"No… I entered the Bureau out of college."
"And your apparent familiarity with military munitions, how did you come by that?"
"I try to stay up on things, sir. I recall reading about mine types. And as the doctor was describing the judge's injuries, it struck me th-"
"Were you aware I was a Marine platoon leader in Vietnam?"
"Yes… I think I knew that."
"That I still carry shrapnel in my left hip? In fact, it might interest you to know the shrapnel came from the very device you're trying to describe."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Is it painful?"
Those unblinking eyes regarded George. "Bouncy Nancy? The proper nomenclature is a Bouncing Betty."
George glanced very briefly at Jennie Margold, who had become curiously occupied dislodging something from under a fingernail. Then he returned his boss's stare. "I misspoke." After a moment he added, "Of course I meant a Bouncing Betty."
"Of course you did." Those dead-fish eyes turned to me. "Drummond, right?"
"Yes sir."
"You were at the crash site?"
"I was."
"And you were briefed on Fineberg's death?" The question was obviously rhetorical, and he offered, "Maybe you have other observations you'd care to share with us-that is, to share directly."
Phyllis's eyebrows rose. I cleared my throat. "Well… actually, Agent Margold discovered another important connection."
Jennie looked up from her fingernails. Townsend replied, "Proceed."
So I did. "During our search of Jason Barnes's townhouse, we discovered a small batch of military manuals on his bookshelves. I thought nothing of it, actually."
"Yes?"
"But at the crash site, Agent Margold recalled that one was the Army field manual on the Light Antitank Weapon, or LAW."
"Is that so?"
"Another was the field manual on military mines."
For a moment you could hear a pin drop. Actually it was the sound of two tons of shit hitting the floor. Chuck Wardell lurched forward in his seat. "There could be a thousand perfectly innocent explanations for that."
Phyllis responded quickly, saying, "No doubt there could be. But shouldn't we focus on the one that's not at all innocent, Charles?"
"I… I can't believe this," Wardell stammered. "Jason Barnes is a fine and loyal agent. He has no motive, and… and I… I won't sit here… and… and let you people… let you lynch him… and…"
His convoluted syntax aside, I actually admired Mr. Warden's effort to cover Barnes's ass. In a ruminative moment it struck me that were it my gilded ass up in the air, I shared no tribal loyalties with anyone in this room, and nobody was going to rush to my defense. I glanced at Phyllis, but she appeared to be preoccupied staring down Mr. Wardell. I looked at Jennie, and she nodded and smiled. She was really nice. I smiled back.
I really needed to make a few friends. If we didn't start making progress, pronto, this thing would turn ugly, and I was the lowest-ranking person on this team. As a rule of thumb in Washington, it's always lonelier at the bottom than the top.
Anyway, before it turned really pissy Director Townsend asserted himself and informed Mr. Wardell, "Nobody's lynching Jason Barnes." Everybody nodded-there were no hasty lynchers in this room.
After a moment Townsend emphasized, "Absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence. Everything I've heard is circumstantial." Again, everybody nodded and a modicum of equanimity was restored. He then looked around and asked, without even a hint of irony, "Can anybody tell me what we know about this Jason Barnes?"
Jennie-on-the-spot was apparently prepared for this pointed question and she swiftly and efficiently recounted the observations we had picked up at Jason's home, his personal quirks and habits, and so forth. Wisely, she did not reveal or even imply that Jason was an exact match for the type of compulsive, organized killer we were looking for, mollifying Mr. Wardell, for the moment. She reached down to her briefcase and said, "I made copies of his Secret Service personnel file. Why don't I distribute them?"