It would solve all their problems.
Besserman stared at his boss, found her smile alarming.
Farriger said, “If he were dead, it would be sad, but at least it would mean Justice can’t hurt us. But here’s the thing, Alan, I don’t believe he’s dead, not for a New York minute. Cummings is a chess player. I’ve seen him play. He’s an excellent strategist, his mind razor sharp. He thinks six moves ahead. So, it only follows that if he’s hurt, he’s still in the Washington area, somewhere smart, somewhere off our radar.”
Besserman said, “Obviously he’s not at home, and he hasn’t been there. He hasn’t used his credit cards. One of our agents did spot a black SUV idling in Cummings’s neighborhood, maybe half a block from his house. When our agent finally went to talk to the woman—yes, it was a woman—she gunned the SUV and got out of there fast. Of course, he got the license plate, ran it. The vehicle belongs to a fleet run by the Bexholt Group, the big communications security company. We’ve had dealings with them.”
He’d surprised her, he saw it, but only for a moment, then her face smoothed out again. Had he imagined it?
She said, her voice clipped, hard, “Yes, I know who they are, and yes, the CIA has been involved with them before, on a firewall installation. Do sit down, Alan. Long day, long night. A woman, you say?”
He nodded. “Was she watching Cummings’s house? I’ll call Bexholt in the morning, find out who had that SUV yesterday. Haul her in here and find out why she was there.”
Alan hadn’t moved toward the gray leather sofa. He still stood watching his boss. Farriger said, “No, don’t call them, don’t go see her. I want to handle this. The last thing I want is for the FBI and Metro to find out we brought someone here to question. No, I’ll deal with it. Any more pertinent info you waited until the bitter end to tell me?”
“There is one other thing, ma’am, but I doubt it has anything to do with any of this, whatever this is. There’s talk in his group he and his wife haven’t been getting along. Bottom line appears to be she wants him to quit the agency, go private where he could earn a lot more money. But that’s not unusual.”
She shook her head. “Still, if there is real conflict at home, it could be a red flag.”
“Justice told Pamela Snow in our office that his wife and daughters left for the Poconos a couple of days ago. I suppose her leaving could mean something.”
“It’s late, Alan. Go ahead and send your people home. We’ll pick this up in the morning. But keep me posted. He shows up, call me.”
“I will. Good night, ma’am.”
Farriger watched Besserman walk across the shined oak floor. She turned back to the window, heard the door quietly open and close. It started to rain, thick fat drops striking hard against the glass. It was mesmerizing. She would wait another day until she knew more, then she would decide what the FBI had to know.
But now she had to deal with a more pressing problem—the woman their agent had spotted watching Cummings’s house. She looked out at the heavy rainfall for several more minutes, then picked up her cell phone.
40
* * *
GAFFER'S RIDGE
JENNY'S CAFE
THURSDAY EVENING
Carson groaned as she ate the meat off a barbecue sparerib. She set the bone down in a growing pile next to the mashed potatoes, leaned back, and rubbed her stomach. She looked sadly at her plate. “Two ribs left and I can’t, just can’t eat them, or I’ll explode. Wait, there’s no substance to tomatoes, is there?” And she ate the one lone tomato slice on her plate. She waved at Jenny, gave her a thumbs-up, sat back, and sighed. “The good Lord can take me now.”
No one disagreed with her. Savich sipped on his favorite oolong tea, hot and strong and black as sin. On Savich’s plate were the carcasses of two corncobs, stripped clean.
Jenny and Aimée Rose had kept the café open for dinner, a first, and the place was packed. Jenny and Alfredo Smith, her sous chef in training, were in the open kitchen, Aimée Rose and two college-age servers running their sneakers off to take care of customers. The four visitors were seated at one of the best tables, by a large window looking out onto Winchester Street. Aimée Rose came bustling back, grinning widely.