eighteen-year-old daughter, Paige. He looked hunted when I told him about his assignment. Of course, I also told him his sacrifice meant we got Agent Cinelli on loan. He sighed and accepted his fate.”
“And you thanked him for taking one for the team?”
“Yes. I told him he was bound to get cake, and maybe that’d make his sacrifice worth it.”
She laughed. “I can’t wait to meet Rebekah Manvers. You said her husband won’t be there? He’s up to his ears in meetings, even on Sunday?” She gave him a sideways grin. “Imagine, having to work on a Sunday.”
Savich steered around an SUV filled with a family, obviously tourists, the driver moving slowly enough to see the sights with his family. “We need to speak to her husband, find out what he knows, what he’s gotten out of Rebekah. You’ll find this interesting: Rebekah claims her husband never trashed Zoltan, never questioned her about seeing a medium. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t have strong feelings one way or the other. And after her attempted kidnapping, I imagine he got in her face about telling him what happened, about what Zoltan said, what her grandfather supposedly told her.”
“He might not believe her attempted kidnapping had anything to do with Zoltan and this Big Take.”
“And he could be right.”
“But you doubt it.”
“Yes, I do. I’m about ready to bring Zoltan in for questioning, see what shakes out. Regardless, Congressman Manvers will have a lot of questions. I know I would in his position.”
“Do you think she told her husband everything?”
“If I were her, I would have. We’ll see what happens. But you know, I’m surprised Zoltan’s played her cards this way. Even if Rebekah’s kidnappers had succeeded, it would have painted a big X on her chest.”
Twenty minutes later, Savich pulled into a wide driveway behind Rebekah’s Beemer on Belmont Road NW in beautiful Kalorama Heights. Savich had long thought the Heights was the prettiest place in Washington. He and Sherlock occasionally walked here with Sean, and, of course, visited the ice cream shop in Kalorama Circle. The lots were big and filled with trees, denuded now on November 1. “The silver Beemer, that’s Rebekah’s car,” Savich said. “Behind it is Griffin’s new Range Rover, isn’t it?”
“Yes, an identical twin with his last one, but with that lovely new car smell. I wonder if the story about his now-deceased Range Rover going over a cliff was a new one for the insurance company.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Nah, I bet they’ve heard it all.”
Sherlock got out of the Porsche and looked around. “This is quite a place.” The house was two stories, with ivy climbing up the age-mellowed redbrick walls. The grounds were beautifully maintained, like the rest of the yards in the neighborhood. The house itself looked well settled, probably more than a hundred and fifty years old. Sherlock said, “I bet before the War of 1812, this site was probably a lovely wooden Colonial. But after the Brits burned Washington, wood was out, only brick.”
“At least in this old neighborhood.”
Griffin answered the door, greeted them, and turned to Rebekah Manvers, standing behind him. Savich introduced her to Sherlock.
Griffin said, “Rebekah, like I told you, I have to go to a birthday party.”
“You didn’t say who’s celebrating. A friend, relative?”
“Nope, I only know the person giving the party. Please, don’t ask. I’ll be back about three o’clock, hopefully, and I’ll stay until your husband gets home. About six, you said?”
Rebekah nodded. Griffin gave Savich a salute and left, whistling.
Rebekah looked after him. “What’s that all about?”
Savich merely smiled and said, “Ask him when he gets back. You’ll find it amusing.” He studied Rebekah’s face and saw no obvious signs of stress, though he knew she still had to feel afraid. But looking at her now, it wasn’t obvious. “Is your arm all right today?”
“Yes, only a little sore.” She rotated her shoulder to show him. She was wearing a white camp shirt over black skinny jeans and black socks on her feet, no shoes. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Rebekah looked back and forth between Savich and Sherlock, cocked her head. “You’re not only partners, are you? You’re together, right?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, and gave her a sunny smile. “You’re very perceptive.”
Rebekah smiled, shook her head. “The two of you—it’s obvious to me you guys have a connection.”
Sherlock decided on the spot she liked Rebekah Manvers.
They followed her into a high-ceilinged, old-style living room filled with early American