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Spence was on his feet again. “I’d better call Washington. David will want to hear this immediately.”
“Phone’s in the bedroom on the nightstand.”
“Thanks. And, by the way, great breakfast,” Spence said over his shoulder as he left the room.
Gray turned on the radio to listen to the news and weather while he cleared the kitchen. Methodically he returned perishables to the refrigerator and staples to the pantry.
In the course of putting things away, he opened the drawer where he kept large utensils and exchanged a long-handled spatula for a Beretta.
Then he turned on the faucets and began filling the sink with hot, soapy water. He dunked the dirty dishes into the sink. As he washed them, he kept both eyes on the toaster. When its chrome surface reflected movement behind him, he yanked the pistol from his waistband, spun around, and fired.
His gun hand dripped soapsuds onto the kitchen floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Barrie’s return flight to Washington was long and turbulent. National Airport was as chaotic as a Turkish bazaar. By the time she retrieved her car from the parking lot and reached the TV station, she was frazzled. She hoped to sneak in, check her desk for mail and messages, then leave without being seen or having to talk with anybody.
There were no messages on her e-mail; four were in her telephone mailbox. Two were from acquaintances, one was from the dry cleaners saying they couldn’t get the stain out of her blouse, and the last was from Charlene the kook, demanding to know why Barrie hadn’t returned any of her previous calls.
Barrie wondered what Charlene’s hot news flash was: terrorist infiltration of the Boy Scouts, mafia activity among Eskimos, cyanide in Corn Flakes?
“Poor thing,” Barrie muttered as she deleted the phone messages. “She’s probably just lonely and wants someone to talk to.”
“Who does?”
“Dammit, Howie!” she exclaimed, swiveling her chair around. “Does sneaking up and scaring the daylights out of me give you some kind of sick thrill?”
“You wouldn’t’ve jumped if you didn’t have a guilty conscience.”
“Don’t start. I’m in a black mood.”
“You are?” he exclaimed in a shrill voice. “What about me? I was the one who covered your ass when the feds came calling. I was the one you lied to and made to look like a fool in front of Jenkins. Memo, schmemo!”
“I’m sorry about that, Howie. Truly. I wouldn’t have lied if it hadn’t been necessary.”
She stood to leave, but he blocked her path. “What are you investigating, Barrie? Tell me.”
“Not till I’ve got more.”
“Why didn’t you take a photographer with you?”
She had wondered when it would occur to Einstein here that she hadn’t requested a video photographer to accompany her when she went in pursuit of a big story. What was a TV news story without a visual?
“It would have been premature to take a photographer. You’ll be the first to know when someone’s ready to go on record with a statement.”
His expression turned nasty. Nastier. “I’m only a few years away from retirement. If you think I’m gonna blow my pension on you, you got another think coming. You were a bad risk to start with, but I took a chance on you.”
“For which I’ll be eternally grateful. Now, I’ve crossed the Continental Divide and two time zones. I’m tired, cranky, and none too fresh in the hygiene department. I’m going to pick up my dog and go home to bed. Good night.” She squeezed past him.
“Okay, fine, bury yourself. But don’t expect to drag me down with you! That’s the last time I’ll go to the mat for you.” She was almost out of hearing when he got in a parting shot: “And you look like hell.”
* * *
She considered leaving Cronkite at the kennel overnight but decided she needed the company. Besides, she hated to keep him confined any longer than necessary.
She arrived at the kennel minutes before closing. Both the personnel and Cronkite were overjoyed to see her. “He’s well behaved, but terribly spoiled,” the young woman said as she relinquished the pet to his owner.
“Yeah, I know. But he’s a prince among dogs.” Barrie knelt down and ruffled his coat while he enthusiastically lapped at her face.
