D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

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??Horniness is not a motive for murder, especially when he couldn’t possibly have been horny.”

“Shame is a motive for suicide, though,” Dino pointed out.

“I guess,” Stone said.

They got into the car.

“Where to?” Dino asked.

“Home, James. We’ve got nobody else to talk to, except each other.”

TEDDY FAY AND LAUREN CADE finished cleaning their hangar apartment and got into a shower together.

“You know,” she said, soaping Teddy’s back, “this place isn’t half bad.”

“Have I ever asked you to live in a place that was half bad?”

“No, you’ve done very well by me in that regard. Tell me, what are we going to do with ourselves in D.C.?”

“Well,” Teddy said, starting to soap her front, “I’ve got some work to do on a couple of gadgets.” Teddy had made a fortune inventing kitchen tools that were sold on late-night television. “Gotta keep the money tap running.”

“I won’t argue with you about that,” Lauren said. “I want to see the National Gallery and the Smithsonian. I’ve never been to Washington before.”

“There are enough museums and galleries to keep you busy for a year,” Teddy said. “Not that I think we’ll be here for a year. I know you get antsy if you’re too far from a beach for too long. I just want to be here long enough to throw Todd Bacon and his crew off the track.”

fonadgetsTODD BACON, AT THAT MOMENT, was in San Diego fielding phone calls from his team, and he was baffled by the result. They had found three instances of Cessna 182 RG landings at West Coast general aviation airports, but each of them had been traced to owners who were obviously not Teddy Fay.

“You look puzzled,” his number two said.

“Aren’t you? Where the hell did he go?”

“Well, if he isn’t on the West Coast, that leaves forty-five other states where he could have landed. Oh, and did I

mention Canada?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Todd said.

“Todd, if we don’t get a solid lead soon, they’re gonna pull the plug on us,” number two said. “We’re going to find ourselves in some South American jungle looking for drug factories, and I don’t like bugs and snakes.”

“I’m thinking,” Todd said, “I’m thinking.”

22

STONE, DINO, AND SHELLEY TURNED UP AT FAIR SUTHERLIN’S place fashionably late; they were the first ones there. Fair lived in a small, elegant apartment building on a broad avenue near Dupont Circle, and her space, its furnishings and pictures indicated an income of which her government salary was but a small part.

As Dino was introducing Shelley, two other couples arrived, and before those introductions had been made there were six couples present, including a network anchorman, a columnist for the Washington Post, and a right-wing Republican senator, each with a wife in tow. Everybody was terribly glad to see everybody else.

A young man in a white jacket took drink orders, and a young woman in a white jacket poured champagne for those who did not have another choice. They drank for forty minutes, then someone opened a pair of sliding doors, and the twelve took seats around a long, beautifully set table.

“Fair,” the senator’s wife said, “I don’t know how you have amassed so many beautiful things in your short life.”

“By the deaths of my parents and all four of my grandparents,” Fair replied. “I’m an only child, and I have three very complete sets of china, silver, and crystal, in opposing patterns. By the way, since Stone, Dino, and Shelley are new at my table, I should tell them about my one rule: no politics will be discussed.”

There were murmurs of assent, then there was complete silence for a little more than a minute.

“How ’bout those Redskins,” the anchorman offered.