around to hold your sweaty little hand.”
Mace slipped on her helmet and fired up her bike. Then she lifted up the visor so she could eyeball the woman. “Hey, Mona, I’ve been gone for twenty-four months and the best you can do is interim U.S. attorney? You need to ratchet up the political humping, babycakes, before your looks really slide into your ass.”
Mace popped the clutch and sped off. In the side mirror she saw Ms. Interim staring at her. That had been pretty stupid, Mace had to admit, but she had actually shown restraint. What she’d really wanted to do was find a wood-chipper, stuff Mona in it, and get right to work.
She had a chunk of time before she was to meet the rich Altman and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend her first day of freedom. She clicked the Ducati into high gear.
As she roared along down by the river, the seagulls dipped down to grab shiny trash off the muddy Potomac before tilting their wings and angling skyward. The monuments basked in the glow of a warming sun. Tourists wandered around, maps in hand; Secret Service agents hovered at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue keeping the man safe. Over on Capitol Hill, senators, House reps, and armies of aides and golden-tongued lobbyists shuffled through their elaborate dance of running the country right into the dirt.
In many ways the town was sick, corrupt, maddening, frustrating, and patronizing. Still, Mace couldn’t help but smile as the Ducati blew past an Old Town Trolley carrying a load of out-of-towners eyeballing with awe the shrines to Tom, Abe, and the mighty white obelisk to George.
That was because this was her town.
Mace Perry was back.
CHAPTER 12
ROY KINGMAN was sitting in the managing partner’s office that was only a bit larger than his space, though it did have a water view. Chester Ackerman was a few inches shorter than Roy, and he carried the heft of a man who liked his food rich and often. He had a horseshoe of graying hair around his broad head and a large nose with a bump at the end. Roy guessed he was about fifty-five, though he suddenly wondered why he didn’t know for sure.
Ackerman brought in far more business to the firm than anyone else. Roy had always found him sharp, tough, and big-voiced. Today, the man was none of those things. He sat across from Roy, his face sweaty, his hands trembling, and his voice low and croaky.
He wagged his head from side to side. “I can’t believe this shit. I can’t believe it happened. Here!”
“Just calm down, Chester.”
“How the hell am I supposed to calm down? There was a murder three doors down from my office.”
“And the police are investigating it, and they’re probably already running down some solid leads.”
Ackerman lifted his head and stared at him. “That’s right, you used to work down there, right?”
“Down where?”
“With the cops.”
“I was a defense attorney, so I was actually on the other side. But I know how the police work a crime scene. And this is high-dollar Georgetown, so they’ll pull out all the stops. Hell, even the chief herself was down here asking me questions.”
Ackerman blurted out, “Who do you think might’ve done it, Roy?” He looked ten seconds from stroking.
Roy said, “I have no idea who could’ve done it. I worked with Diane but I didn’t really know her personally. You were fairly close to her, weren’t you?”
“No, not really. I mean, she never really talked about her personal life with me.”
“You talked to the police?” he asked.
Ackerman rose and looked out the window, his hands fingering the striped braces he favored. They had gone out of style sometime in the nineties, only the man apparently hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. “Yeah. They asked me some questions.” He turned around to face Roy. “And I told ’em just what I’m telling you. I’m scared and I don’t know a damn thing.”
“It could just be random, you know.”
“Random, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Guy follows Diane in, kills her, and exits. Maybe it was a simple robbery.”
“But there’s a guard in the front lobby.”
“Ned’s more of a joke. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve come in the building in the morning and he’s nowhere to be found.”
“What the hell do we pay building fees for?”
“If you want serious perimeter protection, hire a real security firm who’ll send a trained person who carries a gun. The only thing Ned can