Enigma (FBI Thriller 21)

Five minutes later Savich found Hainny seated on a bench in a quiet corner of the park. The area was lined with thick oaks, a small winding creek flowing through them. He was alone, looking straight ahead at the easy-flowing creek. He was dressed in one of his signature Ralph Lauren pin-striped summer suits, this one gray, beautifully cut to hide some of his bulk, with a blue shirt and red power tie. For as long as Savich had known him, Hainny had carried an extra thirty pounds. He was wearing dark sunglasses and Savich doubted anyone else would recognize him as the president’s powerful chief of staff sitting in a tourist mecca.

Hainny looked up as he took off his sunglasses, and Savich saw the haggard face of a man who’d lived with something painful for too long and was being forced to face it again. Savich felt sorry for him for a second until the haggard look left his face, replaced by the controlled, cold look of the cunning politician Savich knew him to be. Savich had witnessed firsthand how dictatorial and ruthless Hainny could be, ready to drop-kick anyone who got in his way. He was the president’s right-hand man. He saw himself as inviolate.

“Mr. Hainny.”

Hainny nodded. “Thank you for coming here, Agent Savich. I think you understand why I would rather not involve any of my staff in this matter or raise any questions.” He didn’t shake Savich’s hand, merely waved for him to sit down.

Hainny looked at the man President Gilbert believed would be the director of the FBI in fifteen years or so. Hainny had to admit he’d been impressed when he’d seen Savich in action the month before. He recognized Savich as a man who would do whatever was necessary if he thought the end was righteous. Hainny didn’t trust men like him. “You informed me you wished to speak to me about my son. I do not understand why, Agent Savich. You said Detective Raven gave you permission to speak to me. However, Mia Prevost’s murder is a local police matter, not FBI. What role are you playing?”

“I want your permission to speak to your son, Saxon.”

“Again, why are you involved?” He waved a big hand, showing off the Harvard class ring on his pinkie finger.

Savich said deliberately, “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, Mr. Hainny. Detective Raven has held off indicting Saxon, but as it stands, he might be forced to. I believe I can help your son. I want you to tell me everything you can about Mia Prevost and your son’s involvement with her.”

Hainny looked frozen for a moment. Fear for his son? Savich added, “If it were my son, I would welcome any help you could give me.”

Hainny studied Savich, seemed to come to a decision and said slowly, “Very well, although I doubt you can help him. Let me be blunt about my son. Even as a boy Saxon had a brilliant and incisive mind. He often surprised me with some of the uncanny connections he saw in the world around him, and he has applied his talent admirably to his studies. He also likes to talk about Comic-Con to anyone who will listen, he’s a die-hard Star Trek fan, he speaks Klingon, and, needless to say, he spends a great deal of his time on computers.

“Three months ago, my son asked me to meet his new girlfriend, a psychology major at George Washington. When he walked in with this gorgeous girl I nearly fell off my chair. She was, frankly, completely unlike the very few girls Saxon has managed to date in the past.

“Agent Savich, I’ve dealt with many kinds of people in my years of public service. Most of them have their own agendas, sometimes laudable, sometimes not. It didn’t take me long to wonder about this girl. The second time he brought her over, she showed a great deal of interest in what I do. Of course people consider my job fascinating, and to be honest, many women think it’s sexy because I’m

the president’s gatekeeper, but in her case, I thought perhaps she was simply curious. Still, I wondered if it was because of me she was with Saxon.” He shrugged. “It’s in my genes to be distrustful. In fact, I’ll readily admit I’ve learned to be paranoid. I’d be stupid if I weren’t, in this town. So I ran a check, found she was indeed enrolled in George Washington, in her third year, at the age of twenty-five—a little old for a college third year, I thought—as a psych major. I said nothing about my concerns to my son, but I worried. My son was nuts about her, and she appeared very fond of him as well. I was delighted to see him so happy, but still I worried, something didn’t seem to add up.” Hainny stopped. Savich saw he’d closed his eyes and was taking a deep, calming breath.

Savich said, “What happened, Mr. Hainny? What did your son tell you?”

“When I heard the news of Mia’s murder, I drove immediately to my son’s apartment. He’d just heard about it himself on the local news. He was devastated, out of his mind with rage at what had happened to her, and terrible grief. He said over and over he didn’t understand how anyone could hurt Mia. She wouldn’t hurt a soul; she had no enemies.

“Saxon told me he woke up in his own bed that morning, but he had been in her apartment the night before. As for anything else, his memory is blank. He didn’t know what had happened. He wanted to go to the police right away, but I managed to talk him down, explained he should wait until they contacted him. I knew the media would savage him because of who I am, manufacture a scandal to hurt both of us, and if they could, the president.

“I knew the police would quickly connect him to Mia; he was her boyfriend. They’d been sleeping together, and he’d stayed overnight at her apartment many times. He was in a bad position. He told me he couldn’t remember drinking enough to make him pass out. And what would the police think? He’d had a psychotic break? Of course it was my duty to inform the president of what had happened. He was very worried about Saxon. He instructed me to keep him informed but so long as Saxon was not charged, we would have no comment and take no action. I also spoke to Police Commissioner Sturgis, asked him to keep any discussions with my son private if he could.

“Detective Ben Raven, who interviewed Saxon, didn’t believe at first that Saxon couldn’t remember anything, that he’d blanked out, but a blind man could see Saxon’s grief, his depth of feeling for Prevost. We were informed there was no physical evidence that linked him directly to the crime.

“I assume they’re now looking at her former associates but not the ex-boyfriend Saxon told me about. It seems she made him up; why, I don’t know. So far as I know, they haven’t found anyone to build a case against except Saxon. As you can imagine, I’m very worried about my son.”

“Tell me, Mr. Hainny, has anyone approached you?”

Hainny gave a snort. “Of course you’d immediately see everything clearly.” He looked away from Savich, his hands now fisted on his legs. “I wouldn’t be surprised at a demand for money perhaps, but no one has approached me, and it’s been six weeks.” He looked back. “I don’t know what this is all about. All I know is that my son is innocent.”

Hainny stood, looked around the park with unseeing eyes, then gave Savich the barest nod. “Here is his cell number and address. I will tell him to expect you.”

38

CAU

HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

Sherlock studied the passport photo of a pretty young woman with hair, same color as her eyes, as dark as night hanging loose around her sharp-featured, intelligent face. Brenda Love was twenty-eight and Kara Moody’s other best friend, currently on vacation in Spain. Sherlock had called and introduced herself, told her Kara’s baby had been born, then kidnapped out of the hospital, and asked if she could answer questions.

Brenda Love fell silent. Sherlock heard only street noise in the background, alas, no flamenco music. Love said finally, “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

“I can have Kara call your cell and vouch for me. How’s that?”