“In the meantime, can we offer protection to Connolly?”
“He’s not in our custody, Detective,” Gates answered. “He hasn’t given us anything in return for protection, so that is not something I’m inclined to give.”
“How about providing some unofficial monitoring then?”
Gates turned his gaze towards the FBI director. “What do you think?”
“I think we put some people in his building and keep an eye on him,” Mitchell decided. “And Detective McRyan, for the record, I think we could probably stand to rattle a few more cages around here.”
* * *
At a little past 7:00 p.m., Kristoff pulled into the parking garage underneath the Watergate South condos and parked. He made his way to the lobby, checked in at the security desk and then took the elevator up to the eighth floor and to the condo unit at the end of the hallway. He knocked on the door and was admitted by the Bishop himself.
“Good evening, Nicholas, welcome.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kristoff replied.
The condo unit was, like any other place he’d met the Bishop over the years, impressive, stunning, ornate; in other words, perfect. Two stories, large open windows, immaculate furnishings, the best money could buy. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace and a bottle of red wine open on the table. The boss was having a glass and poured one for Kristoff who inhaled the smell of a delightful Cabernet. He took a long sip and savored the taste before he swallowed. “Lovely.”
“Come with me over here,” the Bishop waved to the large bank of windows looking to the east, the top of the lit Washington Monument visible in the distance over the other Watergate condo building, Watergate East. “We are on the eighth floor here, my friend. As you look directly across the courtyard here to the east building, on the eighth floor and wait for it.”
Kristoff watched as a light was turned on across the courtyard at his same level in the east building.
The boss handed over a set of binoculars. “Who do you see?”
The killer put the binoculars to his eyes. “Heath Connolly.”
“Yes. That is the only home he owns. I am aware of no others. He’s lived there ten years and I’ve never known him to live anywhere else.”
Kristoff put the binoculars back to his eyes and took in the layout of the apartment from across the expanse of the large courtyard. There was only one way of entry. It was the second unit from the end of the building and Kristoff expected that there was a stairway at the end of the hall. “I’ll just have to find a way into the building,” he said quietly.
“No, you won’t,” the Bishop answered. “You’ll only need to get out.” The Bishop handed Kristoff a key card and a set of keys. “Two floors above Connolly’s place is an empty apartment. The key card gets you in the building and the keys get you into the apartment. From there, I will leave it to you as to how you wish to handle this.”
Kristoff looked at the apartment two stories above. “What do you know about the apartment immediately below?” The lights were on inside and it looked like a man and woman were inside.
“That unit is owned by two K Street lobbyists who also regularly attend events at the Kennedy Center, including the opera tomorrow evening.”
* * *
Connolly let himself into his condominium and locked the dead bolt. The first thing he did was go to his bedroom and to the top dresser drawer. He took out his Browning 9mm, checked the clip and carried the gun back to his wet bar in the living room. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down in his easy chair, set the gun on the coffee table in front of him and turned on the television.
Sunday night was usually as dead a time as there was for politics. However, with less than two days to the election and a scandal breaking by the minute, all the A-level cable and network talent were on the airwaves. The first polls would be out in the morning. Going into the day, Thomson was leading the vice president by three points nationally and anywhere from three to four points in the key states of Iowa, Wisconsin, Ohio and Virginia.
That would not be the case Monday morning.
The leads would be bigger and insurmountable.
The media had been merciless on the vice president, the Republican Party and now the speculation was running rampant about him.