Death of an Intern (28 page)

J
erry called about 4:30. “A storm is coming in from the southwest some time after rush hour. I think we'd better stay home, rent a movie, and munch on health food.”

“I'd thought about going to the hospital. I mentioned it to Max, but haven't heard back from him. No one else has called. It's a conspiracy, keeping people away from me.”

He laughed. “If I thought we could get away with it, we'd do it all the time.”

“You don't love me.” I acted hurt.

“It's because I do love you. Let me go, so I can get home.”

“Bye,” I said cheerily.

At 5:30 Jerry called from his car and I was waiting in front when he drove up. We went directly to the Reagan Emergency Center and found Kat's mother was with her. Kat, half awake, introduced us, and then she and I shared a very emotional couple of minutes.

I heard Jerry explain the circumstances of the accident to Mrs. Turner.

“The Vice President was here this afternoon,” Mrs. Turner smiled with pride. “And Ms. Grayson was here when I arrived. They sent a car for me. A man was waiting for me when I came up the gangway. If I hadn't called my husband when we landed, I would have been overwhelmed by all the attention.”

“That's the kind of folks they are, Mom.”

“Yes,” her mother agreed.

Kat's mom had brought a few of her daughter's favorite childhood stuffed animals. Jerry gave Mrs. Turner our home and work numbers and insisted she or Kat call if they needed anything, no matter the time of day. The visit was very therapeutic for me.

D
arkness was descending earlier than usual due to the heavy clouds blowing up from the southwest. Fairlington Villages, where Beth Carr lived, was usually a bevy of runners, joggers, walkers, and tennis players in the early evenings. Yet, as Annika jogged through the streets, there were only dead branches and swirling debris for company.

Beth had been shaken by Kat's accident, but had handled the interview with the MPD officer okay. She showed a genuine sentimentality over what had happened.

After they replaced the MPD jacket with a jacket from her car, she and Beth went for a couple of beers. Not the Sports Bar, but a quieter, darker, and more intimate place. Annika used her training and took a gentle approach to steer the conversation.

After the second beer, Beth opened up about Frankie and the Vice President, but nothing about their falling out. Beth's narration fit with the FBI briefing on her. There appeared to be no bad blood between Carr and the Graysons. She had liked it there, respected the Vice President.

They finished their third beers, paid up, and left. That had been last night. Tonight she hoped to get closer to Beth. When the winds made tennis out of the question, Annika wanted, needed some exercise, but Beth wasn't interested. However, she did take Annika's tennis stuff back to her townhouse.

The raindrops were becoming more frequent and Annika picked up her pace. As she reached Beth's door, a loud clap of thunder resonated between the buildings. She rang the bell. Beth pulled back the door for her to enter. The room was abruptly lit by a sharp flash of lightning, and then shaken by a huge crash of thunder.

Beth pushed hard to close the door. “I'll get you a towel.” She rushed to a small closet tucked under the staircase and returned with a towel. “This is all I have on this floor.”

“It'll work.” Annika dried her face and arms, then her legs from up under her short tennis skirt down to her ankles.

“How ‘bout a beer?” Beth asked.

“Sure, but I'd like some water first.”

“Okay.” Beth went back to the kitchen.

Annika looked around the unit. It was the first time she had been in Beth's, but had seen the floor plans of the three-floor layout. These places were built during WWII to supply housing for folks working at the newly built Pentagon less than three miles away. Downstairs, the old unfinished basement was now a rec room, bath, laundry, furnace room, and storage. Upstairs were two bedrooms and baths. They were nice condos.

Beth returned with the water. “I've got cheese and crackers.”

“Great.” Annika gulped down consecutive slugs of water, draining the glass.

“You were thirsty.”

“Yeah, I felt it while running. I should have taken my water bottle. I'll take the beer now, and give you a hand with the rest. Mind if I take this wet thing off?”

She wore her soaked T-shirt over a sports bra.

“No, take it all off if you want. I've got a robe…”

“The shirt will do it, but thanks.” Annika didn't want things to move too fast, although she was pleased they were moving along as well as they were.

W
e made it home just ahead of the storm, choosing not to go to a restaurant. We enjoyed our visit with Kat and her mother. “The Vice President visiting surprised me.”

“Upbringing,” Jerry responded. “Plus they go back to when he was a senator, right?”

“Yeah. I forgot to tell you earlier, Mr. Bannini did not have a stroke, wasn't on drugs or drunk, so the mystery continues. Max said the FBI might interview Manchester again. He's here to be with Mrs. Bannini.”

A sharp flash of lightning brightened the room, followed by a blast of thunder.

“That came from the park. I'm glad we're home.”

“Me too. This is supposed to pass out of here tonight. If you're up for it, maybe we could sail down to St. Mary's. Put in there for the night.”

“Let me sleep on it, see what tomorrow brings, if that's okay.”

“Of course it is.”

A
dams Morgan, in Washington's Northwest quadrant, sat atop one of the many hills in the District of Columbia. Bordered by Columbia Heights, Mt. Pleasant, Kalorama, and Rock Creek Park, it was an old, established center of Hispanic and international life.

Centrally located between Connecticut Avenue and 16th Street to the west and east and Rock Creek Park to the north, it had long been a favorite dining destination for Washington area residents. It was well-known for its many ethnic restaurants, art galleries, and fledgling theatres, where anything went and usually did. The rich mixture of food aromas wafted redolently along Columbia Road and 18th Street, enticing walkers to taste its seductive variety of cuisines.

It was a free-spirited area and attracted the young, as well as the upwardly mobile professional crowd. A by-product to its growth was increased social services. It was the first area in the city where Spanish was recognized as a partner language.

On this very blustery night, though, it brought a black van to the area. It was parked on a side street off Columbia Road that ran through the heart of the Adams Morgan community. A large church on the corner provided various services to the community. The majority of its clientele were pregnant Latino women.

The wind and rain from the south had increased, and a second storm was coming in right on top of it from the west. If they converged over the city, there would be considerable tree damage. The temperature had been in the mid-eighties, and most people were caught without jackets or rain gear when the sky opened. They would remain wherever they ducked into until the storm blew over.

A hooded driver sat and waited. The weather was ideal.

The van was situated so that a main artery, cluttered with traffic, would not have to be used. Nearby 17th Street would provide a quick escape route down into Rock Creek Park.

D
awn Saturday morning revealed the fury of the two storms that clashed for dominance over the nation's capital during the night. Uprooted trees and thousands of downed branches closed many streets and caused tens of thousands of homes to lose power. According to early news broadcasts, over three inches of rain had fallen. However, it was the gale-like winds that brought the havoc.

For walkers and bikers in Rock Creek Park, lovers of nature, this was a time to be outside, to enjoy the swollen creek, which was nearly one long rapid from Military Road to the Potomac River. For the early birds, this was an opportunity to observe, not an inconvenience. They arrived before National Park workers began removing debris to see the full brunt of the storm.

A father and his two teenage sons had chosen to get up before dawn. They drove to Parking Lot One adjacent to Pierce's Mill to observe the wonders of nature. They were not the first, but all who ventured out were observers as well. They shared in the power of nature in a power-laden city, which lay helpless before it.

The boys explored around the Mill and back across Tilden Street to the brick pavilion with its restrooms. The large playground between the pavilion and the creek contained standing water, forcing them to use the hiking/bike trail one-hundred feet back from the rapidly flowing water.

It was a sight for curious minds.

The boys cavorted around, picking up small branches, and transporting them off the path. They looked for wildlife and wondered if the fish would be swept away into the Potomac a few miles downstream. They and their father speculated whether the path was clear in the heavy woods, or if they would have to find another opening downstream.

“Dad,” said one, “we'll go down this path and see.”

The father interrupted his conversation with an older couple in the pavilion.

“Stay in sight and be careful. Stay away from the edge of the river.”

“We will,” one of the boys yelled back, and the two ran down the path.

“The boys are enjoying themselves,” the older man said.

“They're very adventurous,” the father answered, smiling. He saw an especially large branch had fallen on the path. The boys stopped to investigate. He turned back to the couple. “There are certainly a lot of branches down. I didn't—”

“DAD!” The piercing scream came from his oldest. “Dad!”

“Jack?” the father yelled anxiously, as he raced in his sons' direction.

“Come here, quick. Hurry!” Jack yelled.

“I'm coming,” he yelled, almost losing his footing a couple of times.

Jack stood near a huge, fallen branch.

“Where's Robert?”

Jack pointed, and the father quickly moved to where he now saw his son Robert standing, looking down.

The heavy growth of trees created a tight canopy over the path. The heavy aroma of wet leaves was thick. It created a dark, dank, gloomy atmosphere. The boy was just beyond the huge limb that came from one of the three-foot-thick trees.

He reached his shaking son Robert. Jack held back. It was obvious what his son had discovered. The father took out his cell phone and dialed 911.

The brick houses on the quiet residential street were very similar in style, if not in shape. They were pre-World War II residences in Northwest Washington. People had alleys, which led to garages that the residents actually used. This morning, its lovely, tree-lined streets showed the devastation of the night's storm.

Max Walsh and his ex-wife had bought their house soon after his now sixteen-year-old daughter was born. It had been a home to the three of them for thirteen years. Then his wife decided she no longer wanted to be a cop's wife and looked to greener pastures. She had met another man.

Because there were times in the Washington, D.C., area when the electricity got knocked out, Max had a backup generator installed after his first inconvenience. He wasn't Captain of Homicide then, but he was on call in emergencies. Now with cell phones, that need wasn't as great. However, its continued use was for his personal comfort of heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer.

Max's house phone rang a little after 7:00 a.m., followed a moment later by his cell phone, which was plugged in getting its overnight charge. He had been awake, not up, allowing himself the rare luxury of rolling over after his alarm went off.

“Walsh,” he groaned into the house phone, as he checked the display on his cell.

“Captain?” a male voice said in a rushed tone.

“What's up?”

“This is dispatch. A woman was just found in Rock Creek Park. She's like the two from a couple of weeks back.”

“Hold on.” He punched in his cell.

“Walsh.”

“Captain, it's Hayes,” the MPD Homicide detective said.

“I just heard, hold on. Dispatch, I have Hayes on the other line. Where's the body now?”

“Still there.”

“Where?” He was given the location. “Thanks.” He hung up. “Hayes?”

“Yes sir?”

“Where are you?”

“On Tilden, heading down into the park. The body is near the creek in Lot One.”

“Have Park Police been notified?”

“They're already there. So is one MPD squad car.”

“I'll call Park Police and find out about the roads. You keep people a long way away from that body. There may be tire and foot prints.”

“Yes sir.”

Max could see flashing lights ahead, as he made the last curve on Tilden before reaching Lot One. A park ranger's car blocked the entrance to the small lot adjacent to the two large Mill buildings. Downed trees had closed Beach Drive just north of Parking Lot Two, so he had to take the long way around. The portable turret light on the roof of his car ID'd him to the park ranger directing traffic.

An EMS vehicle was in the lot, along with three Park and two MPD squad cars. He pulled into the lot and saw considerable activity in the woods beyond the pavilion, but no vehicles that he could see. He hoped no one had driven down the path.

The perp might have driven down there and they might have something this time. He spotted Hayes, who had also seen him coming. He yelled to the detective to get some of the uniforms to set up a perimeter.

Hayes relayed his captain's message and hustled up the path to meet him. “The EMTs got here with a ranger,” the detective offered. “They checked the body, but only rolled her up a little. When they saw the damage, they put her back where she had been.”

“How did they approach her?” He asked. Two park rangers and two MPD officers joined them before Hayes could answer.

Max gave them orders. “Use your vehicles to block off Linnean Avenue, up the hill at Tilden, and here at the entrance to the parking lot.” Linnean made a ninety-degree turn at the park. “Put another one at the inside corner, right over there. Stay with your vehicles. We'll get some more help.”

Hayes and he walked down the path. Hayes now answered his earlier question.

“The medics approached the body the way the father and one son had, and as we are. The father led the first ranger down to the body. He showed me the way he had gone.”

“They didn't touch anything?”

“Only a couple of limbs. She's past that large branch that most likely broke off last night. The EMT who checked her out saw a tire track in the mud just off the heavily packed path. She's like the other two. It didn't appear any animals had gotten to her. Except for an elderly couple in the pavilion, nobody else was around. The ranger notified his supervisor. I got here right after that.”

“What about the tire tracks?”

“I walked around with Park Ranger Sinclair. It looks like the vehicle turned in there and then backed down into the trees. Not an easy thing with the rain and all. And probably with no lights. I saw two shallow, rutlike impressions just off the pavement. Water's still in them. There are a couple more over there forming an arc. Could be the front wheels as it backed in. Don't know what's under that branch or if the ground was soft enough for impressions there.”

The two looked around and back up the path, trying to envision the route the vehicle took. They saw a ranger talking with a couple of people. Max recognized Wilder from the Star. Well, at least Ms. Wolfe's morning wasn't disturbed, he thought. “Where's Sinclair?”

Hayes pointed. “That's him, with the medics.”

Max went to him. “Ranger Sinclair?”

“Yes sir. Park Ranger Alexander Sinclair, sir.”

“Max Walsh, Captain of Homicide, MPD. There is a possibility we may have tracks and footprints alongside the path under that large tree branch. Forensics will be here shortly. Once they're through, we'll want that branch carefully removed. Lift it off.”

“Understand. I can get the right equipment here.”

“Thank you.” Max looked toward the parking lot. A TV camera person and a guy with an audio pack had now joined the first two. A TV mobile satellite unit was in the lot. He looked at Hayes. “Move the media to the lot at the Mill. No media or civilians come across Tilden without my permission. Tell the ranger directing traffic. Oh, Hayes, we'll need at least a half-dozen uniforms for crowd control.”

“We can get three or four rangers now if you'd like, sir.”

“Do it. Hayes, you still make that call.”