“Maybe time to go home,” Bob said.
“Could be,” Lucas said.
—
THEY WEREtalking that over when Porter Smalls called on Lucas’s burner phone. “This is just a heads-up,” Smalls told Lucas. “I’m coming through Washington today. I’ve got an event I’ve got to go to tonight, big-money people.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“Oh, yeah. When the party’s over, I’m going out to the airport, getting on a NetJet to Los Angeles. By the time somebody figures that out, I won’t be in L.A. anymore. And I’ve still got those cops with me as security. I’m gonna have to come back to work after the recess, so hurry up and nail Taryn.”
“We’re trying,” Lucas said. “Things have gotten complicated.”
“How complicated? Anything that’s gonna hurt?”
“Not you, no. Is there any way you could be at Kitten’s apartment tonight? I could give you a rundown on everything.”
“Yes, but early. Let’s say six.”
“See you then,” Lucas said.
When he hung up, he said to Bob and Rae, “We’ve got a bunch of errands to run. But let’s pull together our thoughts, what else we might do, and talk about going home.”
“Bummer,” Rae said. “I would prefer a more definite conclusion.”
—
THEY RAN ERRANDSall day. They found out that Claxson’s will left all of his money to the National Infantry Museum at Fort Benning, apparently not having any other heirs deserving enough to leave money to; and that he carried disability insurance but no life policy. He had a small album of nude photos of himself with a dozen different women, with space for more. There were photos taken with groups of men in a variety of military gear; there were photos taken from hotel balconies. And there were two American passports, both in his name.
“Nothing wrong with having two passports,” one of the FBI agents said. “Back in the day, I had to travel to some Arabcountries that wouldn’t let you in if you had a visa stamp from Israel, and since I often had to go to Israel, I had two passports. Lot of people did.”
The FBI had an interview scheduled with McCoy, and they drove over to the Hoover Building to sit in. During the morning, a sullen-looking cloud layer moved in, and a soft drizzle began to fall. All they learned from McCoy, that was new, was that he was well traveled and often took loads of guns to small, out-of-the-way countries. His lawyer Bunch wouldn’t let him talk about anything Lucas was really interested in.
Claxson made bail at one o’clock in the afternoon. The FBI wouldn’t let Claxson back in his house until the searches were finished, so he checked into the Ritz-Carlton at Pentagon City. The FBI wouldn’t let him have his car, either, until they’d finished processing it, so his lawyer drove him to a Hertz agency, where he picked up an SUV.
Andrew Moy, running the surveillance crew, told Lucas at four o’clock that Claxson had spent the day in his room “probably with a burner that he got from his attorney” except for two trips to the hotel’s restaurant. On one of those trips, Claxson had a Cobb salad with shrimp, which told Lucas that the feds were in Claxson’s shirt pocket. Moy assured Lucas that Claxson hadn’t seen them. “But, I gotta say, he might assume we’re here even if he can’t see us.”
—
AT SIX O’CLOCK,Lucas walked through the drizzling rain to meet with Smalls at Kitten Carter’s apartment. After shaking hands, and offering Lucas a beer, Smalls said to him, “Tell me every goddamn thing.”
Lucas did. They talked for an hour, and, as they finished, Smalls was pulling a tuxedo out of a garment bag. “Hate these fucking conventions. But it’s either conventions or spending my own money to get reelected.”
“Well, Jesus, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Lucas said.
When he left Smalls, Lucas walked back to the hotel, picked up Bob and Rae, and called Moy, who said that Claxson was still at the Ritz.
“Now what?” Bob asked.
“Gonna watch the ball game,” Lucas said.
“Mind if I hang out?” Bob asked. “I mean, unless you’re going to be laying around naked or something.”
“Absolutely,” Lucas said. “Rae?”
“I’m gonna go read,” she said. “Call me if anything happens. I’m so fuckin’ bored that if I knew where the local muggers hang out, I’d go over there for a stroll.”
Rae read, Lucas and Bob settled in for a Nationals game, and, at nine o’clock, Moy called. “Claxson’s moving. He’s moving fast.”
