might sound, the guilty ones always fish. He needed to know what we knew; specifically, whether or how we could implicate him. De facto, the man was worried about something, and I spent a moment thinking about what that something might be. Well, for one thing, we could access the phone records for the Daniels household and see how often they spoke, and how far back their relationship extended. Also we could do a little background digging into how exactly Clifford Daniels got transferred from DIA to this office.
But so what? We could possibly prove that Tigerman misled us and, possibly, plumb the depths of his evasions. But evading the truth in Washington is hardly a crime; it's the ticket to higher office.
I looked at Mr. Tigerman and informed him, "I'm afraid our five minutes are up." I stood. "Thank you for your time, sir. We'll be sure to get back to you when it becomes necessary."
This did not sound like a threat, but it was fair warning, and Tigerman heard what I was saying. He stood, as did Waterbury and Bian. Tigerman studied my face a moment, then said, "I believe you need a little free advice, Mr. Drummond."
It was irresistible, and I said, "Okay, why don't you tell me who murdered Clifford Daniels?"
Tigerman suddenly looked very unhappy.
And Waterbury finally had the opportunity to flex his prosecution complex, and barked, "That's enough out of you, Drummond." He looked at Tigerman, to be sure this display of bootlicking was noted, and added, "The police are convinced Daniels killed himself. But Drummond has some wild and incredible fantasy that he might have been murdered. I ordered him not to raise this issue inside this office."
Tigerman produced a forced smile. "It's all right, Mark." He said to me, "You believe he was murdered? Why?"
"Just say I believe in the old saying."
He raised an eyebrow. "What saying would that be?"
"There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession."
Again he tapped his fingers on the table. "That's a very amusing insight. But, Mr. Drummond, it refers to suicide, not murder."
"So it does. But if we find what Daniels had to confess, I think we'll also find his murderer."
This did not appear to amuse him. He said, "You might find that Daniels was involved in very sensitive work in support of our war effort. I have no idea why he . . . why he killed himself. But I hope you do find out, and I hope you treat whatever you discover with the discretion it might deserve."
I looked at him, then at Waterbury. "Since we're giving free advice . . . by tomorrow morning Clifford Daniels's death will be in the public domain. He is a figure of considerable media interest, the press will become nosy about his death, and they can-- and I'm sure they will--dig. There is no shortage of people inside this government with issues and agendas who will leak their own theories and suspicions. Are you prepared for that?"
I allowed Tigerman a moment to mull that reality.
I said, "Now, is there any other 'advice' you'd like to offer us?" He turned his back and walked back to his desk. We walked out, and as the door closed behind us, I heard him say, "Be careful."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Waterbury went back to his office, and Bian and I walked through the long corridors, back toward the exit and North Parking.
After a few moments of silence, she remarked, "I don't think that went well."
"Were you expecting a confession?"
"No. A crack in his veneer would've been helpful, though."
"He's a career lawyer and a government bureaucrat. If he tells the truth, his lips fall off." I asked, "But as a man, what did you think of him?"
"I guess he was slicker than I anticipated. Basically, a very arrogant person, overconfident, high IQ . . . not the type who scares easily. He exposed nothing . . . until the very end." She saw that I was surprised she had picked up on that, and asked, "Why do the guilty ones always fish?"
"Be careful. He could just be curious, concerned for a dead member of his staff, or wondering how this is going to play with the press."
"You really believe that?"
I smiled.
She asked, "Did we accomplish anything?"
"Personally, I found his glibness reassuring."
"You'll have to explain why that's a good thing."
"For the hunter, the complacent prey is always best."
She nodded and thought about that. "That's a good one. Chinese proverb?"