Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(29)

The late Kay Willingham’s ex-husband did not disappoint, arriving in the dining room fifteen seconds after a server set his breakfast tray at the head of the table. Dressed in navy-blue suit pants and a starched white shirt open at the collar, Willingham was of medium height and very fit, with brushed-back silver hair and piercing green-gray eyes that immediately went not to Mahoney but me.

The vice president started my way but then paused to look over his shoulder at the server. “Thank you, Graciela.”

She grinned, half bowed, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Vice President!”

Graciela ducked back into the kitchen, and Willingham’s focus returned to me. He stuck out his hand, studied me, and said in a slight Southern drawl, “Walter Willingham. I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Cross. I’ve actually read a lot about you.”

“Mr. Vice President,” I said, shaking his hand while those green-gray eyes danced over me. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”

“I do too,” he said and clapped his other hand over the back of mine. “I can’t tell you how much I wish that.”

With a nod, Willingham moved on to Mahoney, and I felt like I was coming out of a mild trance. I understood then what Kay had always said about being in her ex-husband’s presence. The VP had the uncanny ability to make each and every person he spoke to feel like he or she was the only other person on the planet.

As Willingham was shaking Ned’s hand, a very attractive woman in a red sheath dress entered the room. In her mid-forties, by my guess, she had dark hair cut elegantly short, flattering makeup, and flawless pale skin. She was carrying several files and a yellow legal pad in her arms.

“This is my chief of staff, Claudette Barnes,” Willingham said. “She’ll also act as my counsel for the purposes of this informal meeting.”

Barnes set down the files, shook our hands, thanked us for coming.

“Well, then,” Willingham said, taking his seat. “Please, gentlemen,” he said to us and the Secret Service men, “make yourself comfortable. And give me a moment to get a little in my stomach. I went long on the treadmill this morning and feel like I’m crashing.”

Graciela appeared with coffee and poured for the six of us while the vice president dug into three eggs sunny-side up, three strips of thick bacon, an English muffin, half an avocado, and a small cup of fruit. After several bites of each and a long drink of orange juice, Willingham asked the server for privacy, then sat back in his chair and looked at Mahoney and me in turn. “So where does the investigation stand? And how can we help you besides calling Quantico?”

Mahoney and I had talked on the way over about how best to handle the vice president. It had seemed reasonable to give him an update on the investigation so far, but Willingham had not been married to the deceased for nearly two years. Did he really have any right to know? Especially given the apparent acrimony of their divorce?

Mahoney said, “Sir, I’m glad to share the fact that the case is ongoing and receiving the attention of a four-agency task force — ”

“Stop,” Willingham said, and held up his hands. “Special Agent Mahoney, with all due respect, you know my background as a prosecutor?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then cut the stall. I want to know what you know about Kay’s death.” His shoulders sagged, his eyes got watery, and he gestured toward his chief of staff. “Despite what counsel tells me, I think I have some right to know, even if Kay was no longer my wife. I mean, I still loved her even if she didn’t love me. I still do. And there has to be some perk to being vice president of this damned country.”

Claudette Barnes shifted in her chair.

“Well,” I said, retreating to our fallback position, “we came prepared to give you the facts as we know them in return for answers to questions that we have.”

“What kind of questions?” Willingham’s chief of staff asked.

The vice president smiled appreciatively and held up his hand to silence Barnes. “Of course, Dr. Cross. Anything. Ask away.”

Barnes wasn’t happy but sat back.

“Agents Price and Breit say you were here at the residence the night of the murders.”

Willingham cocked his head at Mahoney. “That sounds right, but we can check the security logs to give you confirmation. I believe I gave a speech at the Hilton that night and returned here around eleven?”

“Ten fifty-eight, sir,” Price said, pushing papers at me and Mahoney. “Those are the time-stamped entries at the front gate and here at the residence.”

“And then you went to bed, sir?” Mahoney asked.

“No, then I had a piece of blueberry pie and a glass of white wine in the kitchen before going upstairs to read.”

“What are you reading, sir?”

“The Gathering Storm, by Winston Churchill,” he said. “About the rise of nationalism and unchecked belligerence in Europe before World War Two.”

I smiled. “A nice light read, then.”

“Nice and light has never been my long suit, Dr. Cross.”

Mahoney said, “Mr. Vice President, did you feel ill will toward your ex-wife?”

“You don’t have to answer that, sir,” Barnes said.

Willingham ignored his chief of staff. “Once upon a time I did. I suppose I wouldn’t be human if I had not hated being publicly spurned during the run-up to a national election.”