Whiplash
Page 90
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Savich said, "So, yet again, it comes back to Hoffman."
Maitland nodded. "The problem is, Hoffman's been around awhile, so it's no surprise Dane has already turned up a great many people you might call enemies. Before Hoffman was elected to Congress, he was a high-powered Wall Street lawyer, involved with the SEC's regulation of the investment industry. Talk about cutthroat. And there's lots of family money-that says it all.
"It's slow going. No one specific to grab onto, yet. Oh yeah, I got a call from a Gabe Hilliard, claimed he was a close personal friend of Hoffman's, wanted to know when we were going to get this resolved."
"I met him. Senator Hoffman plays golf with him every week. His son is going to marry Corliss Rydle."
"Small world," Maitland said. Astro yipped when Maitland bent toward Savich, nearly crushing him. "Sorry, dog. Any luck with Hoffman's wife?"
"No, unfortunately. I did try a second time, but I couldn't get through. It would have been so nice if she'd just spit it all out that first time, but Ollie came into my office, like I told you, and she disappeared. I don't know why she can't get through to me any longer. Maybe there are time limits on this sort of communication, I simply don't know. There've been no more manifestations outside the senator's bedroom window either. It's like she's just-gone."
"So you got a piece of her story at least. Like you, I just wish she'd give us a name, and save us a whole lot of misery. My nightmare scenario," Maitland continued, "is Hoffman meeting with the president and there's another attempt to kill him." He picked up a sleeping boneless Astro in one big palm, gently laid him on a bright teal-blue sofa pillow, and rose. He started pacing and talking nonstop, thinking aloud, "You've got to speak to Hoffman again, and we've already got Dane and his crew eating and sleeping this thing. There's got to be someone in Hoffman's background we can tie in. Maybe it's a revenge thing, from long ago, you know that old saw-revenge is a dish best served cold? Yeah, that could be possible."
Savich said, "You know what I always come back to? How was it no one in the kitchen saw anyone put arsenic in the shrimp at the Foggy Bottom Grill? It means someone who works in the kitchen is lying, and that someone had to be paid off. But as you know, every employee at the Foggy Bottom Grill has been questioned, and in-depth background checks haven't turned up anything yet. And I'm sure Dane's been trying to run down who had access to the Brabus. The small charge you described that blew out the steering was a sophisticated piece of equipment, and installing it wasn't easy. It was intricate work and would have taken some time."
Maitland said, "Senator Hoffman's driver, Morey Hughes, claims no one ever got close to the Brabus. He even took a lie detector, turned out clean as a whistle. Morey rolled his eyes and said, 'That car costs more than I'll make in a lifetime. Do you think I'd let anyone near it? No sir, that Brabus is guarded closer than Clinton's black book.'"
Savich looked down into his now empty teacup, at the mess of tea leaves at the bottom. He'd always enjoyed staring at the leaves and making out various shapes. He saw, oddly enough, what looked like a magician in a black top hat waving a wand.
Maitland said, "Have all the Foggy Bottom Grill employees had lie detector tests as well?"
"Not all, but we've scheduled them. No one's refused and demanded a lawyer."
"Let me know the results. Then I want to hear you've got it figured out."
"You'll be the first. Go home, sir, get some sleep."
49
Savich knew it often came down to clearing out his mind. It was a matter of believing that all the facts one needed were there, waiting to be put together properly, not all that different from a picture puzzle.
After Mr. Maitland left, Savich checked on Sean, who was sleeping so deeply a clap of thunder probably wouldn't have disturbed his dreams. Then he returned to the living room and settled down, only to have his cell phone belt out Elton John. When he slipped the cell back into his pocket, he leaned his head back in his chair, closed his eyes, and thought about nothing at all. And what came immediately to his mind was Dane's call.
One of the Foggy Bottom Grill sous chefs, Emilio Gasparini, who'd been passed over in the first wave of lie detector tests because he'd said he'd been sick in bed with the flu, didn't show up for his rescheduled test. Dane's gut had started to salsa when he discovered Emilio hadn't shown up for his shift at the Foggy Bottom Grill either. Dane told Savich he'd bet his new kayak they'd find a drug problem or maybe gambling debts if they dug deeper. Emilio hadn't prepared the senator's shrimp that day, but he'd had access, and anyway, it didn't matter, because all the other Foggy Bottom Grill employees had passed their lie detector tests with flying colors.
Maitland nodded. "The problem is, Hoffman's been around awhile, so it's no surprise Dane has already turned up a great many people you might call enemies. Before Hoffman was elected to Congress, he was a high-powered Wall Street lawyer, involved with the SEC's regulation of the investment industry. Talk about cutthroat. And there's lots of family money-that says it all.
"It's slow going. No one specific to grab onto, yet. Oh yeah, I got a call from a Gabe Hilliard, claimed he was a close personal friend of Hoffman's, wanted to know when we were going to get this resolved."
"I met him. Senator Hoffman plays golf with him every week. His son is going to marry Corliss Rydle."
"Small world," Maitland said. Astro yipped when Maitland bent toward Savich, nearly crushing him. "Sorry, dog. Any luck with Hoffman's wife?"
"No, unfortunately. I did try a second time, but I couldn't get through. It would have been so nice if she'd just spit it all out that first time, but Ollie came into my office, like I told you, and she disappeared. I don't know why she can't get through to me any longer. Maybe there are time limits on this sort of communication, I simply don't know. There've been no more manifestations outside the senator's bedroom window either. It's like she's just-gone."
"So you got a piece of her story at least. Like you, I just wish she'd give us a name, and save us a whole lot of misery. My nightmare scenario," Maitland continued, "is Hoffman meeting with the president and there's another attempt to kill him." He picked up a sleeping boneless Astro in one big palm, gently laid him on a bright teal-blue sofa pillow, and rose. He started pacing and talking nonstop, thinking aloud, "You've got to speak to Hoffman again, and we've already got Dane and his crew eating and sleeping this thing. There's got to be someone in Hoffman's background we can tie in. Maybe it's a revenge thing, from long ago, you know that old saw-revenge is a dish best served cold? Yeah, that could be possible."
Savich said, "You know what I always come back to? How was it no one in the kitchen saw anyone put arsenic in the shrimp at the Foggy Bottom Grill? It means someone who works in the kitchen is lying, and that someone had to be paid off. But as you know, every employee at the Foggy Bottom Grill has been questioned, and in-depth background checks haven't turned up anything yet. And I'm sure Dane's been trying to run down who had access to the Brabus. The small charge you described that blew out the steering was a sophisticated piece of equipment, and installing it wasn't easy. It was intricate work and would have taken some time."
Maitland said, "Senator Hoffman's driver, Morey Hughes, claims no one ever got close to the Brabus. He even took a lie detector, turned out clean as a whistle. Morey rolled his eyes and said, 'That car costs more than I'll make in a lifetime. Do you think I'd let anyone near it? No sir, that Brabus is guarded closer than Clinton's black book.'"
Savich looked down into his now empty teacup, at the mess of tea leaves at the bottom. He'd always enjoyed staring at the leaves and making out various shapes. He saw, oddly enough, what looked like a magician in a black top hat waving a wand.
Maitland said, "Have all the Foggy Bottom Grill employees had lie detector tests as well?"
"Not all, but we've scheduled them. No one's refused and demanded a lawyer."
"Let me know the results. Then I want to hear you've got it figured out."
"You'll be the first. Go home, sir, get some sleep."
49
Savich knew it often came down to clearing out his mind. It was a matter of believing that all the facts one needed were there, waiting to be put together properly, not all that different from a picture puzzle.
After Mr. Maitland left, Savich checked on Sean, who was sleeping so deeply a clap of thunder probably wouldn't have disturbed his dreams. Then he returned to the living room and settled down, only to have his cell phone belt out Elton John. When he slipped the cell back into his pocket, he leaned his head back in his chair, closed his eyes, and thought about nothing at all. And what came immediately to his mind was Dane's call.
One of the Foggy Bottom Grill sous chefs, Emilio Gasparini, who'd been passed over in the first wave of lie detector tests because he'd said he'd been sick in bed with the flu, didn't show up for his rescheduled test. Dane's gut had started to salsa when he discovered Emilio hadn't shown up for his shift at the Foggy Bottom Grill either. Dane told Savich he'd bet his new kayak they'd find a drug problem or maybe gambling debts if they dug deeper. Emilio hadn't prepared the senator's shrimp that day, but he'd had access, and anyway, it didn't matter, because all the other Foggy Bottom Grill employees had passed their lie detector tests with flying colors.
