Death of an Intern (19 page)

S
unday morning began more blissfully than last Sunday. No early morning call to cover a Jane Doe. I couldn't believe so much had happened in one week. The morning's headlines were mostly about someplace else. The Congress was babbling on morning talk shows, the D.C. government was praying in churches. I wondered what our world would be like, if that were the other way around.

Jerry prepared me a breakfast of eggs, Canadian bacon, orange juice, and half of a whole-wheat bagel with a scraping of peanut butter. He had the other half of the bagel, loaded with cream cheese, three eggs scrambled to my one, and caffeinated coffee, but otherwise went along with the program. He was trying.

We enjoyed our new culinary adventure. In the past, most of our meals were thrown together. Jerry wasn't much for the kitchen. What little he knew came out of necessity in the three years between his separation from his first wife and being with me, which wasn't much of an improvement cooking-wise.

This was different. I needed to be careful with my diet, and he seemed to enjoy my planning. So far. We discussed what meals would be better for
Scalawag
or the apartment. Our revelation was not a whole lot.

I felt an inner peace with all of this. I rarely made up a shopping list unless it was for guests, but now we both were into it. There was a sensuality about it. I was ready for us to climb back into the sack. Unfortunately we both had stuff to do. I went below and got comfortable in the salon to wade through the Manchester file. Jerry took to the cockpit for his reading.

Manchester had been a street hustler in his youth. He had barely finished high school, and only because he was a jock. As a fullback on offense and linebacker on defense, he was good enough to make all-city football honorable mention. His interests must have been elsewhere, because he didn't pick up on any college scholarships. In fact, he didn't go to college, period.

He already had a little business going, which turned into a business organization. He was suspected of doing some illegal things, but was never indicted. He learned early how to layer an operation. Somehow his little business made a lot of money. He paid taxes every year, although at what percentage below his actual income, again, no one knew nor had asked. The report of a nefarious past was more speculation than fact.

He married at the age of twenty. His bride was not some chick he'd hung out with in his work. He found a nice girl, Eloise Patapsco, from a respectable middle-class family and courted her. He must have been respectful of her parents. There were some mentions of the nice things he did for them. They loved him.

I flipped ahead. He and Eloise had three boys and two girls and were still married thirty-three years later. Manchester's first major business was a sporting goods store. He added new stores and bought a warehouse. He now had forty outlets in Georgia and South and North Carolina. He lined up with major manufacturers and got bigger discounts. He believed in service and satisfaction.

Jerry came below for refreshments and put out cashew nuts and juice for me.

“Manchester was into party politics going way back, making loads of good connections. He might have been a young hood, but he's a pretty smart guy.”

Jerry gave me a peck on the forehead and went back up with his cache.

Two of Manchester's sons and one daughter ran the chain of stores. The oldest son became a sports medicine orthopedic doctor. The other girl married a doctor friend of that brother's, who came from a well-to-do family. She spent her time at the country club.

Manchester had eleven grandchildren. He was a pillar of society.

One of the sons was in the sporting goods operation. Another, Anthony, had a hobby in photography with a small studio in one of the warehouses. He specialized in photographing beautiful young women and creating superb portfolios for them. He also acted as their agent. Three ended up as centerfolds.

Max had to be disappointed. No pictures came with the report. Anthony's business became very profitable. His father hired the people to manage it. The film company shot R-rated stuff. They also shot X-rated scenes separately for those same films and then distributed the different versions to their respective markets.

Manchester was chairman of the board and CEO of his sporting goods chain when he began Manchester Enterprises, Inc. (MEI), which concentrated on fundraising and consultation. Once MEI got going, he concentrated on it, and dropped the other.

The man from Atlanta had never been investigated by IRS, FBI, or local authorities. At least, as far as this chronicler knew. If he had done any bad stuff, the statute of limitations would have run out a long time ago. Suspicion of murder was not mentioned.

Manchester was loyal to the riff-raff from his youth. A couple worked for him. Two worked in the porno film business. They were listed as being in distribution, auditioning performers, running the physical operation, and security.

I wondered if Sarah McDowell and Alma Norman had worked in those films. Janet was very unlike those two. Yet there seemed no question in my mind that all three women had slept with Rick Grayson. How did or could that fit in with the serial killings?

I started for the cockpit.

“Jerry.” Even to me, my voice sounded scared.

He caught the tone, because he met me as I came up to him.

“What's wrong?”

“My overactive brain. Listen.” I told him all the things troubling me.

“The bad thing is that it makes sense.” He hugged me. “Where to from here?”

“I first thought Lassiter, but now I think Max. If there are holes, he'll blow them open, and I won't embarrass myself in front of my boss.”

“What if he doesn't blow it apart?”

F
rankie had really enjoyed her weekend with Beth. With her position in life, she didn't really cultivate close friends. A lover here or there, but not friends. Beth, though, was one of those rare people who could be a lover, a friend, a tennis partner, or a traveling companion. She was pleased with Beth's situation, glad they were back on good terms.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Manchester is on one.”

Frankie picked up. “George, hope you had a nice weekend,” she said upbeat.

“You sound chipper this morning. Yes, I had a delightful weekend, filled with grandchildren and barbecue.”

“I hope your call doesn't mean a change in your plans.”

“No, no. On the contrary, I'm looking forward to the visit. We're proceeding with the interviews for Sarah's replacement. I wanted to know if everything else was all right.”

“Yes, I think so. I haven't received any complaints.”

“I'm assured you shouldn't. From what I'm told, this may be the case where the best came last.”

“Well, then I'm sure satisfaction is the order of the day,” Frankie said airily.

“Good, good. We like our, eh, friends to be pleased. I'm landing at 5:10. I'll want to stop by my apartment. Is 6:30 still good for you?”

“Just fine.”

“See you then.”

She hoped Alma had worked out. She couldn't see why not. Rick liked big boobs. She had certainly had a good weekend, and it felt like it was carrying over into the workweek. There didn't seem to be any obstacles that could cause Rick any problems.

I
missed my highly maneuverable sports car. However, the company loaner worked. I hoped to get together with Max, but on Mondays, he was usually at MPD's homicide headquarters across the Anacostia River in southeast D.C. I decided to go to the office and call him from there.

When I reached my cubicle, the bulletin board shouted out at me. I put a supply of Mary snacks in my bag and then wrote a note to me to go shopping. I also noted that I had to buy a new recorder.

I called Max's cell phone. He had a full morning. We decided on a brown bag lunch of our own choosing in the park a block from the office at 11:30. Lassiter didn't have an assignment for me at that moment, so I went to work on the Janet Rausch timeline. I inserted my speculations along with the facts. Put in questions where appropriate. Many times in this process, I would discover a new circumstance, sometimes a startling one.

Mary stuck her head in to say good morning.

“Jerry and I tried some things out of the book Saturday night. Not bad.”

“Good, you have a lot of catching up to do. Did you check out the vitamins?”

“I did, in the food lists, like what has iron, the types of vitamins, folic acids, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like you're on the right track.”

The morning flew by. Many people had chosen to eat outdoors on this sunny day. Max and I found a bench on the sunny side of the park. He laughed at the care I was now giving to my diet.

“I never thought I'd see you so absorbed over food.” He opened his deli bag.

“You're saying that I was careless about it before?” I feigned concern.

“No, you only consumed it then, now you fret over it,” Max rejoined.

“Didn't your wife go through the same thing?”

“Let us not bring up sour subjects on a sweet day. Now tell me what new revelations Mr. Manchester's life history has given you.”

“He was a bad guy, turned good guy, but who keeps ties to some old cronies and is even more into doing favors than I thought.”

“Ah, to be brief and yet say so much. To what favors do you refer?” he said shifting on the bench to face me.

“Women. Considering where Sarah and Alma came from and what their true profession may be, or had been, I question their federal employment. Are they being paid on the side for their extracurricular activities?” I took a small bite.

“Maybe, but it doesn't really matter which comes first, the bread or the bed.”

“My, my, such alliteration,” I teased.

He smiled. “I try to elevate myself when I'm with you. I'm a work in progress. All right, so Mr. M may put up some extra cash, so what?”

“Beth Carr is ‘so what.' We had nothing on her background, except boilerplate bio stuff. But now couldn't the reason for her unhappiness last fall have been a lesbian relationship with Sparrow?” I worked in Frankie's FBI code name for practice. I enjoyed the covert part too. “Maybe it was hush money.”

“But they appear to be together now.” He bit into his Reuben.

“That's what weakens my theory. Maybe it's a case of time heals all wounds while profiting from the hurts at the same time. Wouldn't Mr. Brown be interested in that relationship? The mole is on Carr to find out about the money, right? Would you tell him my theory?”

“I'm sure he knows. This is what I like about the two of us reading the same report. I see the black-and-white, and you go off into the shadows. We ought to call this our hologram investigative collaboration.”

I laughed.

He smiled and said, “Well, now that we have covered the salacious sides of life next door to the Oval Office, how much closer are we to finding our killer?”

“I have some thoughts about that I'd like to explore.”

“Good, because who sleeps in what bed in Alexandria, Virginia, is not within my scope of responsibility nor interest. I can get that type of sensationalism from any number of magazine racks right here in this town.”

“And which you would never do. All right, my first concern is why has it been over a week since the last killing? We had two in three days. The publicity won't scare the killer away. He'd love it. Is this a normal pattern?”

“No,” he said, “but then there is no pattern with only two killings. Two close together is maybe less common than two or more being spread out. It's all up to the perp. I know it is hard to think of a person like that having a normal life, but that may be what we have here.”

“Might there be no more? Could he have stopped with Janet because she was the reason for the double homicides to begin with? Killing only Janet would have put the focus right where it was not wanted, on the Vice President.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” he said, leaning forward. “Are you suggesting that this is all about a plan to kill the Rausch woman and to cover it up by killing another person first?”

“That's highly possible.”

“Highly unlikely. I cannot believe you are implicating the Vice President in Ms. Rausch's death.” He scowled. “Are you?”

“No. I'm not inferring that. I don't believe the Vice President knew anything about her murder until after the fact. However, some supporter with the wherewithal and experience might.”

“Mr. Favors?”

I nodded. “The Atlanta Porn King who likes to help out.”

“I believe the porn part is his son's, but I get your drift. Whew. These were gruesome killings. That would take some heavy duty advanced planning. Kill Williams first and then go after Rausch. The man who may supply sexual favors also supplies cleanup favors too?”

“Do we have a better scenario?”