“You haven’t noticed anything unusual around here?” he asked.
“Do you mean have I seen Robert Puller lurking in my backyard? No, I haven’t. I doubt I’m important enough for that. It was incredible that he broke out of DB. I would think he would already be out of the country.”
“Pretty dicey for him to meet with an Iranian spy.”
“Maybe we should rejoin your partner. She’s probably wondering what happened to us.”
Puller led the way down the hall. Knox was sitting in the same chair by the stone fireplace. She glanced at Puller, her features inscrutable.
“Really nice place,” she said to Reynolds. “I love the openness
and the decoration.”
“Thanks. It’s a nice neighborhood. Lots of interesting people from all walks of life.”
Knox pointed at an array of photos sitting on a console table. “Is that you?”
Reynolds nodded and smiled. “That was taken when I made the Olympic team in the biathlon.”
“Skiing and shooting?” said Puller.
“That’s right.”
“How’d you do?”
The smile turned to a frown. “I didn’t end up competing. Medical condition.”
“That must have been disappointing,” said Knox.
“What’s a life without disappointment? Makes you stronger.”
Knox pointed to another photo. “Your kids?”
Reynolds nodded. “My son’s a lawyer and my daughter runs a clothing store.”
“You must have had them young?” noted Puller.
“Adam and I met in college and married in our sophomore year.”
“I don’t see a picture of him here,” said Knox.
“He was killed in a hit-and-run nearly twenty years ago,” Reynolds said bluntly. “It’s too painful for me to even see his face.”
“Did they ever catch the person who did it?” asked Puller.
Reynolds shook her head. “I was out of the country at the time on assignment. Adam was an FBI agent, and a damn good one. He was working a case in D.C. having to do with a drug cartel. I think those devils were behind it, but the Bureau thought it was simply an accident.”
“Did you have proof otherwise?” asked Knox.
Reynolds said, “It was a long time ago, so what does it matter? Nothing will bring him back.”
“I’m sorry,” said Knox. She then pointed to one more photograph. It was a much older one, in black and white. “Is that you?”
Puller looked at it. It was of an older man in a magician’s outfit, complete with top hat and tails. He was holding a wand in one hand and a long cloth in the other. Next to him was a tall, slender teenage girl.
Reynolds nodded. “My father was a professional magician. I was his assistant. He was really good. Taught me a lot. Great guy. I miss him. Cancer took him ten years ago.” She added brusquely, “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
Puller glanced at Knox and said, “She answered my questions while we were putting away groceries. So I think that’s it.” He turned back to Reynolds. “Obviously, if you notice anything suspicious, please give us a call.” He handed her one of his cards.
She looked at the card and then glanced up at Puller. “Just so you know, I can take care of myself. If I had competed in the Olympics I was a lock for a bronze and with a bit of luck the gold was not out of reach. I have lots of guns and I know how to use them. In fact, I would go down to the FBI’s shooting range with Adam and take on all comers. I never lost. And at my age, I’ve never needed glasses of any kind. The doctors say it’s remarkable. I say it’s just good fortune. So if someone breaks into my home, I doubt they’ll be walking out of here. I always stand my ground. And I don’t miss.”
Puller gave her a long stare and then nodded. “I’m sure. Have a good day.” He and Knox left and climbed into their car. But Puller didn’t start it up. He sat there staring up at the house.
“You find anything while I had her in the kitchen?”
“A forty-five Smith and Wesson hidden in the bookcase. The windows are alarmed too. She has motion detectors all over the place. And there’s a large floor safe in her bedroom, which is the first door on the right off the main hall. It’s locked, but I’m guessing she keeps her long guns and other pistols in there. And maybe all her cool shooting trophies.”
“You covered a lot of ground in a short time.”
“I do my best.”
“Anything else?”
“No smoking gun, no pun intended.”
“Maybe we’re looking at it,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“She came from KC,” he said. “Went to Bolling in Anacostia.”
“Right.”
“Sticker shock. Cost of living in Kansas is a lot lower than here. How much you figure that house cost?”
Knox studied the place and then looked at the homes around it.
“Million-plus.”
“That’s what I was thinking. And a late-model top-of-the-line Lexus sedan probably set her back about seventy thousand or more.”
“And she has two kids and a husband who was killed when they were still young. So that meant she was the sole breadwinner.”
“You saw her file. What was she making, say, twenty years ago?”
“About thirty thousand a year,” replied Knox.
“And college and law school aren’t cheap. Even if they took out loans. She probably had to foot part of the bill somehow.”
“But if she was paid off because of your brother, that was only a little over two years ago.”
“Right, but I wonder how much of her debt is still out there? Maybe none?”
“And now she lives in a million-dollar home and drives a luxury car.”
“What’s her salary now?”
“I figure a little over a hundred thousand a year plus benefits.”
“Just doesn’t add up.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“But I assume the government checks up on these things.”
“Maybe not. Look at the CIA and Aldrich Ames. Big house, luxury cars, none of which he could afford on his salary.” She paused. “Maybe she inherited.”
“You saw how she practically threatened us at the end there? She has guns and she knows how to use them? You walk in but you won’t walk out? I think she knew that you were searching the place while we were in the kitchen. And she was smooth, way too smooth for a visit like ours. It was like she was expecting us.”
“I swear I didn’t tell anyone, Puller.”
“I know. So if she’s been warned, then so has the other witness.”
“You still want to go see him?”
“Hell yes. He might not be as prepared as Reynolds was.”
Puller’s phone dinged not once but twice. He checked the emails.
“Anything useful?” asked Knox.
“Maybe the Holy Grail.”
“What is it?”
“The court-martial transcript. Schindler seems to really have a lot of juice. And that’s not all.”
“What else?”
“The ME at Leavenworth. He got back the toxicology results on our dead guy.”
“And?”
“And he’s Ukrainian. Or at least he was there recently.”
“I didn’t think they’d done isotope mapping over there.”
“He said we lucked out.”
“How?”
“The guy was from Chernobyl. Apparently because of the nuclear disaster they had there all those years ago, the toxicology signature is absolutely unique due to the water and air contamination.”
“Lucky for us. Not so lucky for the poor bastards who have to live there. So, Ukrainian? Aided by an officer from Croatia named Ivo Mesic?”
“Not such a stretch. Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union. And Croatia was part of Yugoslavia, which was a communist regime.”
“So the big red monster is rearing its ugly head again?”
“Did you expect them to go quietly into the night? Especially with