Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(59)
“Three months ago, my son asked me to meet his new girlfriend, a psychology major at George Washington. When he walked in with this gorgeous girl I nearly fell off my chair. She was, frankly, completely unlike the very few girls Saxon has managed to date in the past.
“Agent Savich, I’ve dealt with many kinds of people in my years of public service. Most of them have their own agendas, sometimes laudable, sometimes not. It didn’t take me long to wonder about this girl. The second time he brought her over, she showed a great deal of interest in what I do. Of course people consider my job fascinating, and to be honest, many women think it’s sexy because I’m the president’s gatekeeper, but in her case, I thought perhaps she was simply curious. Still, I wondered if it was because of me she was with Saxon.” He shrugged. “It’s in my genes to be distrustful. In fact, I’ll readily admit I’ve learned to be paranoid. I’d be stupid if I weren’t, in this town. So I ran a check, found she was indeed enrolled in George Washington, in her third year, at the age of twenty-five—a little old for a college third year, I thought—as a psych major. I said nothing about my concerns to my son, but I worried. My son was nuts about her, and she appeared very fond of him as well. I was delighted to see him so happy, but still I worried, something didn’t seem to add up.” Hainny stopped. Savich saw he’d closed his eyes and was taking a deep, calming breath.
Savich said, “What happened, Mr. Hainny? What did your son tell you?”
“When I heard the news of Mia’s murder, I drove immediately to my son’s apartment. He’d just heard about it himself on the local news. He was devastated, out of his mind with rage at what had happened to her, and terrible grief. He said over and over he didn’t understand how anyone could hurt Mia. She wouldn’t hurt a soul; she had no enemies.
“Saxon told me he woke up in his own bed that morning, but he had been in her apartment the night before. As for anything else, his memory is blank. He didn’t know what had happened. He wanted to go to the police right away, but I managed to talk him down, explained he should wait until they contacted him. I knew the media would savage him because of who I am, manufacture a scandal to hurt both of us, and if they could, the president.
“I knew the police would quickly connect him to Mia; he was her boyfriend. They’d been sleeping together, and he’d stayed overnight at her apartment many times. He was in a bad position. He told me he couldn’t remember drinking enough to make him pass out. And what would the police think? He’d had a psychotic break? Of course it was my duty to inform the president of what had happened. He was very worried about Saxon. He instructed me to keep him informed but so long as Saxon was not charged, we would have no comment and take no action. I also spoke to Police Commissioner Sturgis, asked him to keep any discussions with my son private if he could.
“Detective Ben Raven, who interviewed Saxon, didn’t believe at first that Saxon couldn’t remember anything, that he’d blanked out, but a blind man could see Saxon’s grief, his depth of feeling for Prevost. We were informed there was no physical evidence that linked him directly to the crime.
“I assume they’re now looking at her former associates but not the ex-boyfriend Saxon told me about. It seems she made him up; why, I don’t know. So far as I know, they haven’t found anyone to build a case against except Saxon. As you can imagine, I’m very worried about my son.”
“Tell me, Mr. Hainny, has anyone approached you?”
Hainny gave a snort. “Of course you’d immediately see everything clearly.” He looked away from Savich, his hands now fisted on his legs. “I wouldn’t be surprised at a demand for money perhaps, but no one has approached me, and it’s been six weeks.” He looked back. “I don’t know what this is all about. All I know is that my son is innocent.”
Hainny stood, looked around the park with unseeing eyes, then gave Savich the barest nod. “Here is his cell number and address. I will tell him to expect you.”
38
CAU
HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
Sherlock studied the passport photo of a pretty young woman with hair, same color as her eyes, as dark as night hanging loose around her sharp-featured, intelligent face. Brenda Love was twenty-eight and Kara Moody’s other best friend, currently on vacation in Spain. Sherlock had called and introduced herself, told her Kara’s baby had been born, then kidnapped out of the hospital, and asked if she could answer questions.
Brenda Love fell silent. Sherlock heard only street noise in the background, alas, no flamenco music. Love said finally, “How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“I can have Kara call your cell and vouch for me. How’s that?”
Brenda Love agreed. Sherlock had to admit it was exactly what she would have done. She didn’t have to wait long before she was back on her cell with Ms. Love, who told her she was at a sidewalk café across from the Prado Museum drinking a latte. Sherlock envied her. She and Dillon had managed to walk all over the Prado two years before, taking in the power of Goya’s paintings with three-year-old Sean in tow. Sherlock said, “I’m going to email you a photo of a young man. Tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.”
In a moment, Love said, “Got it. He’s good-looking, maybe a bit younger than Kara, younger than me. No, I’ve never seen him before. Why? You think he kidnapped Kara’s baby?”