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“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“And what was your impression of them?”
“Bill was too nice for his position. We all said that, never to his face, of course. As for Bruno, his personality fit his job perfectly, if you ask me.”
“Tough, ruthless. Not above bending the rules to get results?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. He was tough, but I never knew him to cross the line.”
“And yet I read that there were a lot of problems in the U.S. Attorney’s Office back then.”
“There were. Like I said, Bill Martin was too nice sometimes. Some of the prosecutors did cross the line. But let me tell you, a lot of the police officers back then were doing it. There were shakedowns all the time. During the protests in the late sixties and early seventies, I recall dozens of cases of officers fabricating evidence, making arrests for nonexistent crimes, intimidating people, blackmailing them. It was bad, real bad. A disgrace.”
“And yet you’re saying Bruno didn’t participate in any of that?”
“Well, if he did, I certainly didn’t know about it.”
“Did you know Bill Martin’s wife, Mildred?”
“A piece of work, that one. Always wanted to live beyond her means. She wasn’t a fan of Bruno’s, I can tell you that.”
“So I gathered. Then it wouldn’t surprise you if she bad-mouthed Bruno, made up lies about him?”
“Not at all. She was like that. She wanted her husband to be this hard-charging man of justice, secretly hoping it would take him, and her, to the big time, meaning big money. Now, Bill wasn’t like that. Bruno was. I think she was jealous.”
Joan sat back and digested this new information slowly. She studied the woman closely. She appeared to be telling the truth. If she was, this changed things.
“Would it surprise you if Mildred was involved somehow in either her husband’s death or perhaps Bruno’s disappearance?”
“It would about Bill. I really think she loved him. But about Bruno?” She shrugged. “Mildred could be vindictive as hell.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“That given the opportunity, she might have shot him and not thought twice about it.”
Joan flew back to Virginia and picked up her car. As she was about to head out of the airport, her phone rang. It was her office, reporting back on her inquiry about the whereabouts of Bob Scott and Doug Denby. The report was startling. The magnificent Agency, with all its expensive resources and high-level contacts, couldn’t find Bob Scott. About a year ago the former Secret Service agent had seemingly dropped off the planet. They’d traced him to Montana, where he’d apparently been living off the land. After that, nothing had been heard of him. He’d been divorced for years, was childless, and his ex-wife was remarried and knew nothing about her former husband’s whereabouts. The Agency had also checked with sources at the Secret Service, but even they could offer no help. The pension payment checks sent to the Montana address had been returned over the past year.
Doug Denby had been easier to track. He’d returned to his native Mississippi after inheriting considerable property and money and was currently enjoying life as a country squire far from the bare-knuckled sphere of politics. He clearly wasn’t running around killing people.
Joan clicked off her phone and was about to pull out onto the highway when the phone rang again. It was Jefferson Parks.
“Let me tell you,” said the deputy marshal, “you still got a lot of admirers at the Secret Service. All I heard was how great you are. Made me want to puke.”
Joan laughed. “I have that effect on lots of men.”
“So any luck?”
“None so far. Bruno’s law and campaign offices were pretty much dead ends.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve had no luck tracking down Bob Scott. There’s been no trace of the guy from about a year ago.”
“Okay, look, I know we’re just a little old underfunded federal law enforcement agency, and we don’t have the fancy stuff you folks have in the private sector, but how about I try to track down this guy from my end.”
“Whatever you do will be very appreciated,” remarked Joan pleasantly.
