"Then they are twin sisters."
"No, actually, they're cousins. And what is really off the wall is that they both come from a very wealthy family and are high-level executives of the same vast business conglomerate."
Pitt stared in contemplation out the window of his office, without seeing the Potomac River outside and the Capitol in the background. "Would they happen to be related to Karl Wolf, the CEO of Destiny Enterprises out of Argentina?"
Helm paused, then said, "It seems you're two steps ahead of me, Mr. Pitt."
"Dirk."
"All right, Dirk, you're on the mark. Heidi was Karl's sister. Elsie is his cousin. And, yes, Destiny Enterprises is a privately owned business empire based in Buenos Aires. Forbes has estimated the combined family resources at two hundred and ten billion dollars."
"Not exactly living on the streets, are they?"
"And I had to marry a girl whose father was a bricklayer."
Pitt said, "I don't understand why a woman of such affluence would stoop to committing petty burglary."
"When you get the answers, I hope you'll pass them on to me."
"Where is Elsie now?" asked Pitt.
"Under guard at a private clinic run by the Bureau on W Street, across from Mount Vernon College."
"Can I talk to her?"
"I see no problem from the Bureau's end, but you'll have to go through the doctor in charge of her case. His name is Aaron Bell. I'll call and clear your visit."
"Is she lucid?"
"She's conscious. You gave her a pretty hard rap on the head. Her concussion was just short of a skull fracture."
"I didn't hit her. It was her motorcycle."
"Whatever," said Helm, the humor obvious in his tone. "You won't get much out of her.
One of our best interrogators tried. She's one tough lady. She makes a clam look talkative."
"Does she know her cousin is dead?"
"She knows. She also knows that Heidi's remains are lying in the clinic's morgue."
"That should prove interesting," Pitt said slowly.
"What will prove interesting?" Helm inquired.
"The look on Elsie's face when I tell her I'm the one who recovered Heidi's body from Antarctic waters and air-shipped it to Washington."
Almost immediately after hanging up the phone, Pitt left the NUMA building and drove over to the unmarked clinic used exclusively by the FBI and other national security agencies. He parked the '36 Ford cabriolet in an empty stall next to the building and walked through the main entrance. He was asked for his identification, and phone calls were made before he was allowed admittance. An administrator directed him to the office of Dr. Bell.
Pitt had actually met the doctor several times, not for care or treatment but during social functions to raise money for a cancer foundation that his father, Senator George Pitt, and Bell served on as directors.
Aaron Bell was in his middle sixties, a hyper character, red-faced, badly overweight, and working under a blanket of stress. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and drank twenty cups of coffee. His outlook on life, as he often expressed it, was "Go like hell and go to the grave satisfied."
He emerged from behind his desk like a bear walking on its hind legs. "Dirk!" he boomed. "Good to see you. How's the senator?"
"Planning on running for another term."
"He'll never quit, and neither will I. Sit down. You're here about the woman who was brought in last night."