They stood around in the Oval Office and stared at those canceled checks and they realized Calhoun Barnes also needed to be canceled. At some point on the merry-go-round, Merrill Benedict, the White House spokesman, probably was instructed to quash the leaked reports about Barnes being a leading candidate, and perhaps to salt the ground with a few hints about Barnes's past, present, and maybe, about his future.
Margaret Barnes looked at me and held out her glass. I retrieved it and returned to the bar. Over my shoulder I asked her, "How did your husband learn his candidacy was in trouble?"
"He was recalled to Washington again, to meet with the Attorney General himself, Not only was Calhoun's nomination scratched, he was told he would also be charged. A task force had been created to investigate, though the evidence was already sufficient to ask Calhoun to resign from the federal bench immediately."
"And did he?"
"No… he… well, he was shocked and very upset. He asked to be allowed to think about it overnight, and was granted that wish."
Jennie suggested, "He then came home and he told you about all this?" Mrs. Barnes nodded, and Jennie asked, "What did you do, Margaret?"
After a long hesitation, she said, "Well… he was, as I said, upset… crushed, actually. I… I allowed him to vent. He cried.. like a little child… he kept bawling. I told him I was heartbroken for him, that this was so unfair, that Phillip was a mean and spiteful bastard." She hesitated a moment, staring off into space. "I told him we'd get through this, and to go to bed. He… he said he wanted a nightcap, here… in the study, to think this out. I wish now… well, I wish I had talked him out of it." She stared at Jennie. She pointed up at a beamed rafter, and then at a short stool on rollers beside the bookshelf. "Right here… in this very room."
It was amazing, I thought, how good Jennie was at this, how falsely sensitive, and how blithely intuitive. I was aware that profilers are trained not only in developing sketches of killers but they are also masters of the art of interrogation. Yet, as in art and war, good training and practice only get you so far. Truly, Special Agent Margold was a prodigy. She placed a hand on Margaret Barnes's shoulder and said, not all that softly, "You're lying."
Margaret recoiled." I… I don't understand what you mean?"
Jennie said, "You did not tell Calhoun it would be okay. You told Calhoun he had destroyed everything. You told him his career was over, ruined, that he had dishonored himself, and this family. And you suggested there was only one way out-only one way to short-circuit an investigation… one simple way to avoid the utter shame and disgrace that would follow. You planted the seed in his head, and you prayed he would do it. Didn't you?"
Margaret stared at Jennie a moment, a bit surprised and a lot shocked that her pal, the good cop, had suddenly become a bad cop and was not really her pal at all. She shook her head in denial. "No… I did not… I wouldn't-"
"In fact," Jennie continued, more harshly, "there was one thing you didn't tell him. You didn't describe how Phillip learned of his bribes, or where Phillip got those canceled checks"
Margaret Barnes was now staring into her sherry glass. Clearly Jennie Margold had penetrated a great deal further into this family's maelstrom of hatreds and treachery than she was meant to go.
After a moment, Jennie insisted, "You told us Phillip lost his case against Calhoun because he lacked access to the firm records. But aside from that, surely Calhoun was too sly to bribe judges with traceable checks from his firm's account. He would've used your private account. Copies of those checks are in the Bureau's possession-would you like me to make a call to verify which account they were drawn from? Perhaps you'd rather have me access your phone records during that month, to see if you and Phillip were in contact?"
Margaret wasn't going to confirm this charge, but neither did she try to deny it. Though, in fact, it didn't matter. We needed neither her confirmation nor her disavowal, and suggesting suicide to her husband-no matter how exquisitely timed-is not even a misdemeanor, much less a crime.
She continued to stare at Jennie, and in some weird way I thought Margaret Barnes was glad that we knew the whole truth. Her husband had crippled her, destroyed her life, alienated and corrupted her child, and in the end she had turned out not to be the numbingly passive lamb she appeared.
I looked at my watch. It was after two. I said, "Mrs. Barnes, when was the last time you heard from your son?"
"Not in years."
"Do you know where he is?"
"No, I do not."
"Can you give us the names of any of Calhoun's close friends, anybody who might know?"
"I don't know his close friends."
"If you hear from him, will you call?"
"Certainly" She was lying, of course,
I looked at Jennie. "Any more questions?"
"No."
We both stood. I asked Mrs. Barnes, "Do you need assistance getting to your bedroom?"
"No, I… I believe I will just sit here awhile."
We bid her good night, and left her cradling her sherry in the room where her former husband stored his greatest feats, and where she stored her greatest memory.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ted awaited us outside, and Ted could keep waiting. Jennie and I both walked halfway down the block, out of Ted's earshot and, in my case, far away from this house of fossilized horrors. We whipped out our cell phones, she called George and I called Phyllis.
Two hours learning about the Barnes family had put me in a foul mood. According to my watch the hour was quarter past two, and I actually looked forward to rousting Phyllis. But she was already awake and apparently she had caller ID, because on the first ring she answered, a little too jovially, "I'm glad to see you've learned your lesson about checking in, Drummond. Have you learned anything interesting?"
"I think it's interesting. Jason's our man."
"You're sure?"
"As close as we can get beyond beating a confession out of him."
"Tell me about it."
So I did. And three feet away Jennie told George about it, and, interestingly, we must have been synchronized because we finished and signed off at nearly the same instant.
Jennie looked at me and said, "George agrees we now have enough to take to a federal judge for an arrest warrant."
"Right."
"Jason's picture will be distributed to the Secret Service, the Bureau, local cops, and every major network and newspaper. Within an hour, the manhunt will be on."
"Good call."
"Thoughts… observations?"
I said, "For starters, turning off the recorder was a big mistake."
"Really?"
"No doubt about it. If Jason's caught, that part of the conversation-from his own mother's lips-any competent prosecutor would have put it to devastating use."
She regarded my face for a moment. "You think?"
"Well… I don't mean to nitpick."
She reached into her purse and withdrew the recorder. Then she reached into the side pocket of her jacket and took out a second recorder. She smiled. "Every veteran agent brings along a backup."
I stared at the second recorder. "Remind me never to cross you."
"I will. Frequently."
"Now, a question." I asked, "Why did she stay with him?"
"The usual reasons. Convention and practicality."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, hers was a social class and a generation defined by a successful marriage and a successful husband. Calhoun was regarded as a prime marriageable specimen, and until the very end, he was… successful."