Of course, it wouldn't do for Hayes to be picked up and questioned. No, unfortunately, Mr. Hayes would have to die. All the loose ends had to be tidied. Of course, he would allow Mr. Hayes to take care of Miss Whitlaw first, and find the notebook; then he could take action. He had depended on Hayes to arrange such matters, but now he would have to use other means. Thank God he had Raymond. This time, he would make certain there weren't any loose ends. There was nothing about Frank Vinay's house that would call attention to itself. It was neither more ostentatious nor plainer than most of the other houses in the upper-middle-class neighborhood. He didn't drive a fancy car, preferring a slightly used domestic model. His neighbors assumed he was one of the thousands of faceless bureaucrats who battled D.C. traffic every morning for forty-five thousand dollars a year and a nice pension.
The house, however, did have certain modifications that made it different from the others. There was a very good security system, for one thing, backed up by a black and tan German Shepherd named Kaiser and a .9mm named H&K. Every morning and every night, the phones were checked for taps and the house swept for bugs. A parabolic mike aimed at the house would pick up only an annoying buzz instead of any sensitive conversations, because of the sophisticated electronic system designed to thwart such eavesdropping.
Jess McPherson felt safe in Frank Vinay's house, more because of Kaiser and the .9mm than the electronic stuff. Satellites and computers were great shit, but he was at heart an old-fashioned guy. When he retired, he planned to get him a dog. When he walked into Frank's den, he glanced at Kaiser, lying contentedly on the rug at Frank's feet. Kaiser returned the regard and gave a wag of his tail, as if saying,
"Relax, everything's okay."
"I haven't been able to find a leak in the office yet," Vinay was telling John. "Damn, this has me worried. Have a seat, Jess, and add your brain to ours."
McPherson chose a comfortable armchair, folding into it and stretching out his long legs. "I can add something better than that. I got a call from that New Orleans detective. I returned it and didn't get to talk to him, but I did talk to the younger guy, Shannon, who put in the first request for info on Rick. Seems the detective got a call from Dex Whitlaw's daughter, in Ohio. She knows him because she flew down to ID Dex's body. Anyway, two attempts have been made on her life since she got back to Ohio, and, not being an idiot, she figures this has to tie in with her father's murder and wants to know if the detective has found out anything."
"Hmm. That means Whitlaw was the main target, then, not Rick." Vinay frowned. "What information do we have on Whitlaw since he got out of the Marines?"
"Not much," Jess said. "He bummed around the country, did some short time in Maryland for some penny-ante stuff about ten years ago, nothing since."
"Any indication he contacted Rick during that time, or vice versa? Were they ever in the same part of the country at the same time after Vietnam?"
"We'll have to do some deep digging to find out."
"While you're at it," John said from the corner, "see what acquaintances they had in common." Vinay looked thoughtful. Exploring common acquaintances that far back would require major searches that went far beyond tracing the movements of both men. On the other hand, John's instincts were uncanny. "I'll put someone on it immediately."
"I don't believe," John continued, "that Whitlaw's daughter has any idea what's going on, or she wouldn't be calling the detective to ask him about it. On the other hand, someone else definitely thinks she does know. It might be interesting to put a tail on her, see who turns up."
"And step in if anyone tries to dispose of her?" McPherson asked.
"Yes, of course." John said it casually but without hesitation. He was like his father, McPherson thought. John spent his life in the shadows, constantly putting his life on the line in a world where people were assets and nothing was ever what it really seemed. Everything was fluid, shaded with gray. And yet John,
like Rick, had kept a few absolutes. He was, first and foremost, a patriot. He loved his country. Beyond that, he would back his people to the death. And underlying all that was his belief that for an employee of his country as he was, the ordinary citizen was his real benefactor. His job, boiled down to its essence, was to protect them.
"We'll shift our focus," Vinay said, "to Whitlaw's daughter. With Whitlaw dead, she's now the center of whatever's going on. John, how long are you stateside?"
"I cleared myself a week, max. I may have to leave at any time."
"But you're officially on leave. Jess, as of right now, you're officially on leave, too. This isn't a Company operation, and I don't want to fuzz the legal lines."
"Do I pass anything along to Detective Chastain?"
"Is there any need?" Vinay asked. That was what it always boiled down to: need to know. "If we agree Ms. Whitlaw is the center of it, and she's in Ohio, then any benefit a New Orleans detective would be to us is negligible."
"But she called him," John said. "She evidently trusts him. If she's hiding, he might be our only link to her."
"I've been up front with him so far," McPherson put in.
"Have you run a check on him?"
"A-one citizen," Vinay answered. "Excellent military record, did time in the Marines. He's from an old New Orleans family, the kind with a mile-long pedigree but no money. He got his college degree on the GI Bill, majored in criminology, started work on the NOPD as a patrol officer, worked his way up to detective. He'll make lieutenant easy, if politics don't get in his way. Or he might switch over to the state police."