Murder at the FBI Page 15

  “I don’t know. Do you have a subpoena, a warrant?”

  “No. Do I need one?”

  “Depends on what you’re fishing for.”

  “I’m not fishing, Mr. Kneeley, I’m simply asking some questions to help me in this investigation. I’d hoped you’d cooperate without the need for papers.”

  “I don’t know. Am I being accused of something?”

  “Not that I know of. Look, if you want to make it difficult, I’ll come up with any papers I need to force the issue. This is a murder investigation, Mr. Kneeley, and you might have information that can help me, and the bureau.”

  He grunted. “Write a couple of books about the bureaucracy and you get called for everything.”

  “I’ve never called you before.”

  “Yeah. All right, Miss—”

  “Saksis. Christine Saksis.”

  “Interesting name.”

  “American Indian.”

  “Really. How long have you been with the bureau?”

  “A few years. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “I had plans.”

  “I won’t take a lot of your time. Perhaps you’d prefer to come down here to Washington instead.”

  “I make it a point to spend as little time as possible in Washington.”

  She laughed. “Wish I could say the same. I could meet you in the city, say, at the Hotel Inter-Continental.”

  “What are you trying to do, Miss Saksis, make the point that you’ve done your homework?”

  “I’m not in the business of making points, Mr. Kneeley. I just know that you spend considerable time there. You are, you know, a somewhat public figure.”

  “I try not to be. It’s not good for business.”

  She was tiring of the chitchat. “I’ll be at your home on Fire Island at noon tomorrow, Mr. Kneeley. I trust you’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be here, but I’ll be making a few calls to friends of mine in the bureau to make sure a Miss Christine Saksis has reason to pay a visit.”

  “I’d be pleased if you would, Mr. Kneeley, if it’ll put you at ease.”

  Jake Stein stopped in a few minutes later. “What’s new?” he asked.

  She wasn’t sure how much to share with him. She said, “Not a lot, Jake.” She decided not to mention her planned interview with Richard Kneeley. It was happening on the weekend, which meant she didn’t have to account for her time. Besides, Lizenby had left her in charge. But there was more to her reluctance to share with Stein—the fact was she simply didn’t know who to trust anymore.

  He sat across the desk from her, propped his feet upon a low table, and asked, “What’s this I hear about George Pritchard’s widow having been here the night he got it?”

  Saksis was surprised that he knew. She asked where he’d heard it.

  “It’s making the rounds. The guard, Sam Quince, is evidently quaking with fear. Talked to him yet?”

  “No. How about you handling that?”

  “Sure. Hey, Chris, can I ask a couple of questions and make a couple of unsolicited comments?”

  “To me? Of course.”

  “I’m a little uneasy about the way this Pritchard investigation is heading.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, since Ross is pretty much out of the picture, you’re sitting in the driver’s seat. Not that that’s bad, but I get a feeling that this has now become a one-woman show, everything kept close to the vest and that the rest of us might as well pack up and get back to the real world.”

  “I’m sorry that’s the impression I’ve been giving out, Jake. I don’t mean to, it’s just that with Ross gone and by being handed it, things have gotten a little loose. That’s my fault, and I’ll do what I can to correct it.”

  “I’m not blaming anybody, but you know how things work around here. All of a sudden somebody upstairs yells for input and the only person with any is away somewhere.”

  “Meaning me.”

  “Right.” He shook his head and smiled. “Chris, I never thought I’d see the day when Jake Stein would be suggesting a meeting, but I think it’s in order, a regular meeting every day, maybe twice a day, to keep the troops filled in.”

  “I agree. We’ll start this afternoon.”

  “Good. Three?”

  “Four.”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll tell Joe. Maybe we ought to keep it between the three of us, you know, on a need-to-know basis.”

  “That makes sense. The three of us at four, right here.”

  “Okay. What are you doing for lunch?”

  “Maybe something brought in.”

  “I’m offering a real lunch, my treat.”

  “I don’t think so, but check me about noon. I may be desperate for something real by then.”

  Stein did come back at twelve, but she begged off. At 12:15 she left the building, went to a phone booth a few blocks away, and called Bill Tse-ay at his hotel.

  “Good timing,” he said. “I was on my way out the door.”

  “Bill, I’m going to New York for the weekend. I’m catching an early shuttle in the morning.”

  “Feel like company?”

  “I don’t know, I—”

  “I wanted to get to New York this trip east. Hey, why fly? Let’s drive up together tonight.”

  “That sounds nice but—can you leave by seven?”

  “Sure.”

  “Any ideas on where to stay?”

  “I can stay with friends, I suppose, but after last night I—”

  “I liked it, too, Bill. We can stay together. I’ll book something.”

  “Fine. Pick me up at seven?”

  “Right, and thanks for being a friend. I need one more than ever.”

  “Where are you calling from?” he asked. “It’s a lousy connection.”

  “A booth. I’m trying to keep a low profile around the office.” She could have admitted that she wanted to avoid having her telephone conversations recorded but didn’t want to acknowledge that such a thing was possible with one of the bureau’s own. The fact was she knew the possibility was more than distinct, and that the cases of it were as well known in the bureau gossip mill as who was sleeping with whom.

  The four o’clock meeting started on time. Chris Saksis, Jake Stein, and Joe Perone sat behind her closed door and went over what they had. It was a sham, Saksis realized, because she was determined to not mention certain developments to which only she was privy. She wondered whether Stein or Perone were playing the same game, keeping something back in their own self-interest. Probably, she decided. It was the way things seemed to work in the bureau. She only hoped that when all the dust settled and there was a resolution of the case, none of them would be hurt, especially not her. She wasn’t especially proud at that bit of self-preservation, but there was no sense denying it existed, and that it was growing stronger every day.

  She had decided before they arrived to introduce the question of Rosemary Cale’s affair with Pritchard. When she did, not mentioning the fact that her information had come from the waiter in New York, Joe Perone grinned and said, “My understanding was that they kept seeing each other right up until the time he died.”

  “That’s my understanding, too,” Saksis said. “Does anyone know where Pritchard was staying the last few weeks of his life?”

  “I read your report on the interview with Helen Pritchard,” Stein said, “and I wondered the same thing. Rosemary’s place?”

  “That crossed my mind,” said Saksis.

  “Did you ask her?” Perone said.

  Saksis shook her head. “It didn’t occur to me then, but maybe we’d better pursue it.”

  “My pleasure,” said Perone. “I always wanted to get close to the redhead.”

  “She’s leaving the bureau,” Saksis said.

  “So I heard,” Stein said. “Succumbed to the lure of private industry.”

  “Bigger bucks,” said Perone.

  “I prefer upward mobility,” Stein said.

  “
You would,” said Perone.

  “What about the foreigners-in-training?” Saksis asked. “And Bert Doering?”

  “It’s hands-off all the way around,” Stein said.

  Saksis sat straight up. “That’s official?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why hadn’t I heard about it?” she asked.

  “Why haven’t any of us heard everything everybody else has heard?” Stein asked. “That’s what I meant this morning, Chris. Instead of Ranger being a unified investigation into a murder, it’s a group of individuals going their own separate ways, the group be damned.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  “Yes, it is,” said Stein. “For instance, Chris, you chase after Rosemary Cale, interview her, and pretty much come to the conclusion that her affair with Pritchard was still going hot and heavy even though she denies it. You didn’t share that with us. If you had, I could have added that Miss Cale met Pritchard at a local hotel and went to bed with him the week before he died. Instead of conjecture, that pooling of information could make a difference.”

  Saksis sat back. What he’d said hadn’t surprised her. It was the meaning behind it, the tacit accusation that she’d been holding back evidence, which, of course, she had. How much did Stein know?

  “What else, Jake?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, not much, I suppose, but the point is that—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Jake. You’ve already said it very nicely.”

  He said, “It’s the same situation with Helen Pritchard. You find out that she was in the building, but that’s as far as it goes. It stays with you. No good, Chris, not if we’re going to get to the bottom of things. By the way, the guard, Sam Quince, got axed.”

  Saksis registered her dismay. “He didn’t deserve that,” she said. “He had fifteen years in.”

  “He deserved worse,” Stein said.

  Saksis was intensely uncomfortable. She glanced at Perone, looked down at her hands, then said, “Nothing will be held back again, I promise. I can make the excuse that Ross’s in-and-out stature has contributed to it, but I won’t.” She also wondered how Stein knew about Helen Pritchard. She’d ask at another time.

  Stein laughed. “The jury will disregard the statement. Hey, Chris, don’t look so glum. I’m not coming down on you. I just don’t want to see any of us, including you, wind up on the short end, that’s all.”

  “I know, I know, Jake. Thanks.”

  “What about this Richard Kneeley?” Perone asked.

  Saksis covered her surprise by asking in a flat voice, “What about him?”

  Perone looked at Stein before he said, “That print-out Barbara Twain ran on him is interesting, especially since there was that R.K. in Pritchard’s book, and a Raymond Kane on the sign-in sheet.”

  “I found it interesting, too,” said Saksis. “I was the one who asked Barbara to come up with it.”

  “What are we doing about it?” Stein asked.

  “We’ll follow up,” Saksis said.

  “Want me to do it?” Stein asked. “I’ve read his last couple of books, the best-sellers. He digs deep, that’s for sure. He evidently knows how to get the goods out of the agencies.” He asked Perone, “How do you figure he does it, Joe, finds some disgruntled employee, pays him off, and ends up with the files?”

  “How else?” Perone replied.

  “You know what I was thinking, Chris?” Stein said, lacing his fingers together and staring at the ceiling. “I was wondering whether Kneeley was involved in a book about us.”

  “Us? The FBI?”

  “Yeah. Why not? He wouldn’t be the first.”

  “And maybe Pritchard was mixed up in it in some way,” Perone said.

  Both men stared at Saksis. She avoided their gaze, then deliberately met it. “That thought crossed my mind, too, but there’s nothing to substantiate it.”

  “I’ll see if I can come up with something,” Stein said.

  “No, not now,” Saksis said. “I’d rather have you pursue the business of Helen Pritchard being here in the building that night.”

  “I thought you’d gotten close to her,” Stein said.

  “I did, but… Look, I’ve talked to Kneeley,” she said.

  “You have?” Stein said. “Did you tell me that?”

  “You know I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to follow through on it myself, that’s why.” It had reached a point where she was beginning to resent Stein’s tone. She leaned on the desk and said, “Jake, I understand and appreciate everything you’ve said here, but I think there are two things to be considered. One, I have been put in charge of Ranger in Ross’s absence. Two, I report to him.”

  “No argument about that, Chris. I just want to see Ranger succeed—for all our sakes.”

  “Yes, I know that.” She lightened the mood. “Let’s take what’s left of the weekend and enjoy it, forget about Ranger and George Pritchard. I need time away from it, and I’m sure you do, too. We’ll meet first thing Monday morning and really lay out every scrap of information that we’ve managed to gather.”

  “Ross will be back Sunday,” Stein said.

  “Yes, I was told. Maybe he can join us and—”

  “Are we wrapped up here for today?” Perone asked, looking at his watch. “I have another thing to get to.”

  “We are as far as I’m concerned,” Saksis said.

  Stein and Perone went to the door. Stein looked back at Saksis and asked, “Plans for tomorrow?”

  She shook her head. “Sleep late, some tennis, the gym, maybe even find time to finish a book I started before all this happened.”

  “My kid’s seventh birthday is tomorrow,” Perone said. “Fifteen little monsters at a bowling alley. I’d rather be in a shootout with the ten most wanted.”

  They all laughed, and Perone and Stein left, closing the door behind them.

  “Oh, boy,” Saksis muttered. She checked her watch. It was a few minutes before five. She’d have to go home and pack, gas up the car, and do it fast if she was to be on time to pick up Bill.

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Saksis yelled.

  Melissa Edwards opened it. “Miss Saksis, here’s that photograph you wanted.” She handed Chris a small envelope.

  “Thanks,” said Saksis. “Have a good weekend.”

  She opened the envelope. Inside was a photograph of Rosemary Cale from her personnel file. She put it in her purse, gathered up some papers she wanted to take with her, and was about to leave when the phone rang. She hesitated, then picked it up.

  “Miss Saksis?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Assistant Director Gormley. I’d like to see you in my office.”

  “Well, sir, I was about to leave and—”

  “It won’t take long, Miss Saksis, and it is important. I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Gormley was seated behind his desk when Saksis arrived. He didn’t bother getting up to greet her. She glanced about the office, decided to take one of two red leather wingback chairs, and lowered herself into it. Gormley’s expression hadn’t changed since she entered his office. It was stern.

  “Miss Saksis, what I have to say is extremely unpleasant, and I wish it weren’t necessary. But it is.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  He drew a deep breath, got up and stood behind his red leather swivel executive chair. He gripped its edges, moved it slightly back and forth. “Miss Saksis, it’s come to my attention that your assignment to Ranger and to the Pritchard investigation represents a serious conflict of interest.”

  “It—how so, sir?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware, Miss Saksis, that there is a bureau regulation against—how shall I say it?—against close fraternity between male and female special agents.”

  If the situation weren’t so obviously serious, she might have laughed at his choice of terminology, but if ther
e was one thing Chris Saksis wasn’t interested in at the moment, it was humor. The affair with Ross Lizenby had surfaced. Of course it had. They’d played it out too publicly for it not to have happened. How could she have been so stupid? How did he find out? What were the official ramifications? Those questions, and a dozen others, managed to invade her thoughts during the few seconds of silence in the room.

  “You do know to what I’m referring, Miss Saksis.”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “You don’t? I’d like to believe that, of course, but considering the circumstances, it’s difficult.”

  “Mr. Gormley, I’m not trying to be coy, but I would appreciate a clearer statement of what it is you’re getting at.” She hoped she hadn’t been too forward.

  A tiny smile formed at one corner of his mouth. “Yes, of course, I appreciate directness. I was just trying to be delicate.”

  “About what?”

  “About your affair here within the bureau.”

  She realized that there was no sense in denying, in playing games with him. He knew, and that was that, and the only thing that might mitigate the situation was further directness on her part. She said, “If you’re alluding to a relationship that has begun to develop between me and another special agent, I can do nothing except acknowledge it, chalk it up to a lapse of judgment, and assure you that it no longer exists.”

  What she’d said evidently amused him, judging from the smile that again originated at one corner of his mouth and almost made it all the way across to the other side.

  “Is what I said funny, Mr. Gormley?”

  “No, no, please forgive me, Miss Saksis. It’s just that—”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just that when someone in a relationship dies, it’s assumed that the affair is over.”

  “I—”

  “Miss Saksis, the point is that your role as an investigator into the death of Special Agent George L. Pritchard is blatantly and inexcusably inappropriate.”

  “My role in—George Pritchard? There must be some mistake.”

  “Is there? I think not.”

  “Oh, no, you’re wrong, sir, very wrong. Are you suggesting that Mr. Pritchard and I had an affair?”

  “I’m suggesting nothing, Miss Saksis. I’m presenting you with an unfortunate fact that you should have made known the moment you were assigned to the Ranger unit.”