Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

“Hamish Penderley called the CAU—remember, he’s the head of the Operational Command Unit at Scotland Yard.”

Natalie looked ready to leap at him, pull the words right out of his mouth.

“Penderley said they’ve matched the paint chips to your Jaguar, Natalie, so we have confirmation they’ve found the car that tried to run you off the road near Canterbury.”

He thought she would start dancing. “That’s great. Who was the driver?”

“They’ve got the owner in custody, a man by the name of Graham Suddsby. He’s a retired chauffeur who spends most of his time in his local pub now; that’s where they found him. He claims someone must have sideswiped the car when it was parked on the street, that he found it that way. A lie, of course. Now it’s a matter of the Brits convincing him he’s better off telling the truth.”

“Now that they’ve got him, Mrs. Black,” Hooley said from the doorway, “it won’t be long before they know everything. The coppers in England, they’re tough and hard, no nonsense, if they want to get something out of you.”

Connie said from behind him, “How do you know that?”

“I was married to one of them a while back,” Hooley said matter-of-factly, “and she damned near killed me.”

Davis stared after Hooley as he walked toward the front of the house to keep watch, whistling. He looked back at Connie, realized she was smiling after him. Really, Connie and Hooley?

“Davis, since you’re going to be talking with my brother, Milt, I should tell you something. He was here to see me this morning.”

The Willard

Washington, D.C.

Friday, noon

Perry stepped onto the empty elevator ahead of Davis and pushed the button. “Come on, stop sulking, Davis, I know it was hard for you to call me and admit you need me for anything, but it was the smart thing to do. And you’re right, Uncle Milton will be more open to talking since I’m with you. By yourself, you’d scare him to death.”

“Uncle Milt scared of me? I doubt it, since he knows me. I met him at the party Tuesday night.”

“Yes, he knows you as my mother’s hot boy toy. It will be a shock for him to meet you as the big FBI agent here to question him.”

An eyebrow went up. “I look hot?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Davis, it’s time to get serious.” She added with a good deal of satisfaction, “Now that they’ve found the car that tried to run Mom off the road in England, it shouldn’t be long before all the malicious rumors die down. I mean, if they find out why, I can see this making the front page.”

Davis said, “So far the only thing they can prove is that someone fled the scene of an automobile accident, and that’s never been disputed. I don’t know the English press, but in the U.S., the wheels leading toward corrections in print turn very slowly, if they ever turn at all. No one’s ever been in a hurry to dismiss a juicy scandal with something as inconvenient as the truth.”

Perry hated it, but he was right. She stepped up, knocked on the suite door.

Inside, Barnaby Eagan stood by the window, rubbing his temples. He had a headache. He didn’t want to answer the knock to Mr. Holmes’s suite. What he wanted was quiet, a shot of single malt, and his bed for an hour, but it wasn’t to be. He looked out to see a big man in a leather jacket who wasn’t smiling, and, of all things, Perry Black, Mr. Holmes’s niece, standing beside him. He still couldn’t get over her writing about professional football, a weird thing for a woman to do, he’d always thought, but the senator’s parents raved about her. As for the senator, he’d mumble under his breath, things like the damned girl was unnatural, but what did you expect, given who her father was? He opened the door. “Ms. Black? What are you doing here? And who is this?”

“Hi, Barnaby,” Perry said. “We’re here to see my uncle.”

“Well, he’s resting now, and I think it would be better if—”

Davis held up his FBI creds.

“Oh.” He glanced at Perry. “Why are you here with the FBI, Perry?”

“I’m helping him.” She gave him a fat smile, then introduced the two men, adding, “Barnaby’s been with Uncle Milt for nearly five years now, isn’t that right, Barnaby?”

“Two months short of five years,” Barnaby said, “but who’s counting?” Davis heard a slight lisp that sounded charming.

“Please ask him to come out, Mr. Eagan,” Davis said. “I need to speak to him.”