Best Laid Plans (5 page)

Adeline didn’t say anything. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her jaw quivered, and her left hand fumbled with the simple pearl necklace around her neck, as if touching it would stop the shaking.

Barry asked, “Were you aware that he was flying into town last night?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“When did you last speak to him?”

“Five thirty last night.” Her voice was a whisper and she cleared her throat. “He was on his way to a business dinner, and I was on my way to the charity event.”

“Do you know who he was dining with?”

She shook her head. “We didn’t talk about business.”

Barry waited until Adeline was looking at him, then said, “An eyewitness saw a blonde woman who appeared to be a prostitute at the motel with your husband. Are you aware if your husband habitually used prostitutes?”

Lucy winced at the indelicacy of Barry’s question.

Adeline shook her head emphatically. “Harper? Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry to be so blunt, Adeline,” Barry said, his voice a bit softer, “but Mr. Worthington’s body was found in a compromising position and I don’t want you to hear about it from the media. We’re working closely with the crime scene investigators and the coroner to determine exactly what happened, but it’s important that we know everything about your husband’s medical conditions. Did he have a heart condition?”

Adeline didn’t say anything. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying. She stared at first Barry, then Lucy, and then stood up. “I—I need a minute. Just two minutes. Please.”

Barry stood, so Lucy followed. “Of course, take all the time you need.”

Adeline walked briskly from the room.

Barry immediately got on his phone. Lucy felt compassion for the woman, who had to learn about her husband’s perversion from two FBI agents. It had certainly thrown her, but Adeline seemed to have a spine of steel underneath the Southern charm.

Lucy looked around the room, trying to get a better feel for Adeline Reyes-Worthington.

Her office was immaculate, her desk devoid of clutter. A dainty straight-back chair sat directly on the plush carpet. There was no mat or impressions in the carpet, suggesting that she didn’t spend much time working at this desk. No phone, no charger for the computer, and only one slender drawer in the desk. The decorative bookshelves contained a vast collection of leather-bound hardcover books and fancy knick-knacks.

Lucy had the distinct impression that Adeline didn’t work in this office, that she used it only to meet with people who came to her home. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but the elected officials who Lucy had known when she lived in D.C. often worked from a home office.

She heard Barry wrap up his conversation. It was clear he was speaking to someone at headquarters, but she couldn’t tell who it was from his end.

Adeline walked back into the room five minutes after she’d left. Her eyes were red and her mascara looked a bit smudged. “I called Jolene. She’s in Dallas—she was supposed to have breakfast with her father, but he didn’t show. She’s been calling his cell phone and the hotel…” Her voice trailed off. “I had to tell her. I don’t want her hearing about it on the news, and she was getting a bit frantic. I hope that’s okay.”

Without waiting for them to answer, Adeline continued, “Jolene and Harper were very close.”

If someone told her over the phone that one of her parents was dead, Lucy would be extremely upset. It seemed very impersonal. It was why law enforcement, whenever possible, did death notifications in person. To make sure the person hearing the news had someone to stay with them. Adeline might have been Harper Worthington’s wife, but Jolene was his only child.

“What did you tell Jolene?” Lucy asked.

Barry gave Lucy a sharp look, but Lucy kept her eyes on Adeline.

“I—I just said that Harper was found dead of a heart attack in San Antonio. I didn’t tell her about the motel, or anything else. Oh, God, I’m going to have to tell her, aren’t I? She worships her father. This is going to break her heart.” She brushed away moisture under her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

“We didn’t say he died of a heart attack,” Lucy said.

“You asked if he had heart problems. I assumed.” Adeline sat back down. So did Barry, but Lucy stood next to the sofa and asked, “And did he have heart problems? We’ll get a copy of his medical records, but if you can give us the information now, it’ll speed up our investigation.”

“I—no, he didn’t, though he’d seen his doctor last month and had been acting a bit melancholy. I thought perhaps a midlife crisis. Harper was always so grounded, so down-to-earth, I can’t imagine…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at her manicured hands. “But that would explain the prostitute, wouldn’t it?”

Barry cleared his throat and said, “We know this is difficult for you, Mrs. Worthington.”

She nodded, glanced at Lucy, then turned back to Barry. “Thank you. I know you’re just doing your job, and I appreciate that.” She rose from her seat, turned her back to them, and stared out into the garden.

Barry narrowed his eyes at Lucy, then walked over to Adeline and said, “Why don’t we sit back down? I only have a few more questions.”

Barry steered Adeline back to the couch. Her questions were valid, though perhaps she should have asked them more diplomatically. Maybe Lucy was projecting, because it bothered her more than it should that Adeline had told Jolene about her father’s death over the phone. Yet Barry himself had been blunt with Adeline. What had Lucy done wrong?

Barry said, “So you don’t know if Mr. Worthington had any major health issues?”

“No. He played golf, rode his horses almost every day when he was in town. He’s not that old, he’d have been fifty-five this September.”

“Do you know why he flew from Dallas to San Antonio last night?”

“No. He would have told me. If not me, then Jolene. They worked together. He was grooming her to take over HWI. For me,” she added wistfully.

“I don’t understand,” Barry said.

“I wanted Harper to spend more time with me in D.C. He didn’t like the travel, or the socializing—he’s an accountant, he preferred numbers to people. But this election has been difficult—my opponent is an air force veteran, well liked, well funded by his party. Harper recognized that us being seen together was good for my career, and he supported me fully. He was the one who urged me to run in the first place when Roy—Roy Travertine—died while in office. Roy and Harper had been very good friends. But Harper was the face of HWI, so he couldn’t take much time off. It’s much harder for a male spouse in this business, than if our roles were reversed.” She pulled a tissue from her small jacket pocket and averted her gaze while she dabbed at her eyes.

“Agent Crawford,” she said after a moment of silence, “what really happened to my husband?”

“It appears to be natural causes, but because of the circumstances, we’re investigating. Not only because he was married to a federal official, but also because his company has several sensitive federal contracts.”

“You said he was with a prostitute … I can’t even imagine why he’d do such a thing.”

Lucy’s ears perked up. It was how Adeline had phrased the comment.

“But you believe he could have?”

“Before today, no. I’d never have considered it. Are you certain this witness is reliable? Perhaps he or she was mistaken.”

“Did you suspect your husband of having an affair?” Lucy asked, ignoring Barry’s sidelong glance.

“Of course not. Harper wouldn’t do that to me. He knows that my career is important, that this election is critical. My party has hired additional campaign staff, allowed me to spend more time in the district to make sure I’m doing what I need to be doing to show my constituents that I’m accessible. Harper was a kind and generous man.” But she looked away, as if she was thinking about something specific.

Before Lucy could press her, Barry asked, “Had your husband disappeared before? Taken a spontaneous trip?”

“Never. Not as long as we’ve been married.” She hesitated, then added, “He travels to Dallas monthly for business. HWI has an office there, because so many of his clients are based in Dallas. HWI also has a small office in Arlington, Virginia, just outside of D.C.—because of their military contracts. He goes there two or three times a year.”

Mr. Contreras entered the room. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t normally interrupt, but Senator Clarkson is on the phone.”

She quickly stood and looked both embarrassed and a bit panicked. “I forgot all about our scheduled call.”

Barry rose. “We’re done for now. I’ll be in touch when we have more information about your husband’s death. Would you like to release the information to the press or would you like the FBI to do so? We won’t be sharing any details of the investigation.”

She hesitated, then said, “Can I have a few hours? I need to wrap my mind around what’s happening.”

Barry nodded. “I would suggest you do so today, in case the press gets wind of it. We’d request you reveal no specific information until we have cause of death.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Agent Crawford.” She shook Barry’s hand, then Lucy’s. “Agent—I don’t remember your name. I’m sorry.”

Lucy handed her a card. “Kincaid,” she said.

“Right. Kincaid. Thank you. Mr. Contreras will see you out.” Lucy had the distinct impression that the woman was lying about something.

*   *   *

Barry was silent for the first ten minutes of the drive to Harper Worthington’s office. Lucy knew he was angry with her, but she didn’t make a peep.

“What in the world were you thinking going after a member of Congress like that?”

“I wasn’t going after her,” Lucy said.

“Your questions were hostile and insensitive. She’s in a position to have you removed from this investigation. I don’t think you need another black mark on your record.”

Lucy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you know about me or my record, but I stand by my questions. Without asking, she contacted the deceased’s daughter. Over the phone.
That
was insensitive.”

“We do not judge how other people handle their personal lives. The congresswoman is not a suspect under interrogation.”

“Perhaps.”

“I will have you removed myself if you step over the line again.”

“I didn’t step over a line.”

“She’s a grieving widow.”

“She wasn’t surprised about the prostitute.”

“She was in denial.”

“I don’t think so.” Two years ago, Lucy would never have challenged anyone verbally, particularly someone with seniority. But she’d learned that her unique experience coupled with years of intensive training gave her insights that not all cops had. Confrontations still weren’t easy for her, but she’d become more confident since Quantico.

“Were we even in the same interview?”

“One of the benefits of you asking the questions and me observing is that I can catch subtle psychological clues that aren’t always obvious. She was clearly surprised that he was in San Antonio. But I think she either knew or suspected that he was sleeping around. Maybe she didn’t think prostitute, but that he was having an affair. Her reaction was off.”

“People don’t react in a set way.”

“If she had broken down when you first mentioned the prostitute, then I would have believed her. If she had completely denied it from beginning to end, I would have believed her. But she went from
No, my husband never would have
to
Well, I should have seen the signs
without any leading down that path.”

“You’re reading far too much into this.”

Lucy bit her tongue. It was difficult, but she did. “If she knew that her husband had a proclivity for underage prostitutes, that makes her just as guilty as he is.”

“Stop. We’re not investigating a congresswoman who
may
have known her husband was using hookers to get his thrills. We’re investigating the death of a man under suspicious circumstances. The chances are, he died of natural causes. No blood, no external sign of injury, nothing. If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck—”

Lucy interrupted. “It looks like a duck, but we have no proof that it acts like a duck.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m saying, we need to find out why Harper Worthington spent hundreds of dollars to travel from a big city to his hometown to have sex in a twenty-dollar-an-hour motel with a streetwalker when he planned on attending a breakfast meeting three hours away with his daughter.”

Barry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Point taken. But I’ve been working Violent Crimes long enough to know that sexual deviants don’t care how much money they have to spend to fulfill their fantasies.”

Lucy’s stomach turned over and she glanced away. Barry was right. Perverts would spend anything for their sick fetishes.

She should know.

*   *   *

Sean had picked the house in Olmos Park not only because of the privacy the landscaping afforded, or the attention to detail inside, but because it was located in an established neighborhood filled with trees, quiet streets, and families. The weekends were alive, with kids riding bikes, families walking to the nearby park, and the splashing of water from neighboring pools before the brutal heat of early summer drove everyone inside for the afternoon. With the dangerous and often unpredictable lives he and Lucy led, he’d picked the most normal, traditional neighborhood for their home.