The Puppet Master Read online

He entered the lobby and told the security guard sitting at the desk what was going on. Or more precisely, what was not. The two of them hurried to Wells’s unit. The front door was closed, but it looked as if it might have suffered some recent assault. Grant frowned and involuntarily massaged his temples. The guard knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked again. Louder this time. Still nothing.

  Grant called out, “Senator?” No response.

  The security guard tried Wells’s door and discovered it wasn’t locked. He opened the door and entered. Grant was right behind him. Grant called out again. Nothing. Seconds later the guard entered the bedroom. Grant was right on his heels, beads of sweat already beginning to appear on his forehead.

  They both gasped at the same instant. And at the same sight: Wells lying face up on the bed, naked, looking very still, although certainly not peaceful. There was also a fake $100 Monopoly bill sitting next to the body.

  Grant unsuccessfully attempted to swallow a cry of despair: “Senator. Oh, my God. No!” He grabbed his cell phone, dialed James Ayres, Wells’s chief of staff, and frantically described what he was looking at. Ayres said he would be there as quickly as traffic would allow. Realizing that Grant had called someone other than the police or 911, the guard, a bit more gathered than Grant, although just barely, used his cell phone to call 911. The 911 operator said that someone had already reported the incident and that both a patrol car and an ambulance were already on the way and would be there in a matter of minutes.

  Grant walked toward the body. The guard intercepted him. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to cover her up. She’s entitled to that.”

  “I don’t think we should touch anything until the police and the ambulance arrive. They’re on the way. We need to let them take charge of things.”

  Grant didn’t agree, but he relented. He sat down on a lone ottoman against the wall, put his head in his hands, and softly said, “No, no, no. No.”

  Neither man said another word until the authorities arrived.

  * * *

  BARNET HUNG UP. LOTELLO knew Barnet was not happy with his answer; that he probably was tearing out to Wells’s townhouse on a Code 3 emergency response, lights and siren blaring, wanting assurance that Lotello would be doing the same. Barnet is a fussbudget. Maybe a Code 3 for the patrol cars, but not for homicide. Not like it’s going to bring Wells back to life.

  Lotello dragged himself out of bed, pulled the covers up over the pillows, threw on some sweats, and bent down to stroke Beau, the youngest member of their family, a German shepherd rescue pup, one of Beth’s many thoughtful acts. He went out front, grabbed the newspaper, and glanced at the headlines while waiting for Beau to find the exact spot where he wanted to piddle. They then went back inside and into the kitchen. Lotello opened the refrigerator and took a few sips from the carton of orange juice as he quickly skimmed the remainder of the newspaper to see if there was anything about Wells. If there was, he didn’t see it. He did notice that the Lakers had pummeled the Wizards the night before. Figured.

  Lotello put some food and water down for Beau, who needed little coaxing. He also put out some dry cereal, milk, and fruit for the kids, and confirmed their lunch pails were in the refrigerator ready to go from last night.

  He had to get out to Wells’s townhouse. But he first needed a couple of minutes on the treadmill in his combination home office and exercise room to get the kinks out and his juices flowing. He then spent five minutes in the shower—one of his favorite thinking spots. He thought it odd that someone reported the Wells body so early in the morning. What do you think, Beth? If Wells had already been missing for any period of time, wouldn’t that have made the morning newspaper? You know how I read the paper every morning. There was no such report. If the murder happened last night or early this morning, who—other than the killer—would have known about the body, and called it in so early this morning? This means the killer probably made the call. Why would he do that, especially at that hour?

  Beth didn’t answer.

  * * *

  LOTELLO PICKED UP THE telephone and called his next-door neighbor, Mrs. Schwartz. He explained to her what was going on. He then called their housekeeper, Elena, and filled her in. The kids were next.

  “Dad,” said Maddie, as he gently woke her, “what are you doing? It’s still way too early.”

  “Morning, Pussycat,” Lotello said, kissing both of her sleepy eyes. “It’s not still way too early. Breakfast’s out and your lunches are in the fridge. I’ve already fed Beau. You and Charlie need to get up, brush your teeth, get dressed, and eat your breakfast. Mrs. Schwartz is on her way over. You need to help her get Beau over to her place. Until Elena arrives. Mrs. Schwartz will get you and Charlie to school. C’mon, let’s get a move on it! Elena’ll pick the two of you up after school. I’ll wake Charlie right now and let him know, too. Then I gotta get going, Princess. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” Maddie parroted back.

  Beth had been right about Beau. It was good for Charlie and Maddie to have some responsibility. And a friend who would watch out for them, as well. Maddie seemed to be adjusting to Beth’s death okay, at least as near as Lotello could tell. He wasn’t so sure about Charlie, who was a lot quieter than he used to be. And a lot moodier. He needed to keep a closer watch on both of them. Especially Charlie.

  * * *

  AS LOTELLO DROVE OFF in the “family-safe” Volvo, he snuck an unsafe peek at his text messages to see exactly where Wells lived—where she used to live. Not supposed to text and drive, but, hey, I’m just reading. And, yes, I may have broken department protocol, delaying my departure according to my count by some seven minutes. So the fuck what? I’ll crush a few speeding rules on the way and recoup half of what I lost trying to be a good dad. Not gonna matter one damn bit. Not to Wells, it won’t.

  CHAPTER 3

  Friday, February 6, 8:00 a.m.

  HE SAT THERE IN the dark, all alone. Things weren’t like they used to be. He had lost so much, but he was going to get even. They would be sorry.

  So far, so good. It had all gone much easier than he had imagined. The first call was a little dicey, but he was off the phone in a flash, well before the cops could trace it. If he had called 911 instead, the call would have been recorded, if not traced, before he could hang up.

  The timing of the second call, to the reporter, had also gone smoothly. The story would soon make the media outlets and begin drawing attention. He wondered what she would say to explain how she got her information.

  He knew the next murder would also be easy, but they would then start becoming more difficult to pull off. He didn’t care. I am going to shake things up, bring about some real change.

  He liked the dark. It was quiet, peaceful. No one bothered him. Not anymore. It allowed him to think. And to plan.

  CHAPTER 4

  Friday, February 6, 8:47 a.m.

  WHEN LOTELLO ARRIVED, THE townhouse complex in which Wells’s freestanding unit was located looked more like Grand Central Station than the upscale multi-residential community that it was. People seemed to be coming and going everywhere. Lotello knew that wasn’t so.

  He first walked from outside the complex to the center of the crime scene, Wells’s townhouse unit. He then reversed his course and slowly walked back to the rotunda outside the interior lobby. Taking it all in. He then retraced his steps back to the senator’s unit.

  In keeping with standard custom and practice, the first patrol car to a possible crime scene would have first gone inside to verify that no one was lurking or hiding in wait. Only then would they have secured the immediate crime scene perimeter with yellow tape to assure no unauthorized entry. Given the layout of the overall complex, one of the two patrol officers would have remained at the unit to enforce its integrity while the other officer would have established second and third yellow-tape perimeters—one around the grounds just inside the interior lobby and the other around the grounds just out
side the lobby. And started a crime scene log. Because of the secure perimeter of the complex itself, the outer tape perimeter was perhaps overkill, but this was a U.S. senator. Lotello knew that crime scene protocol would be strictly enforced.

  While the several perimeters were still being secured, ambulance personnel would have arrived and been permitted to enter the unit to confirm that the body was dead. They would then have departed. Additional patrol car personnel would have been assigned to prevent the breach of any of the yellow-tape perimeters—inward bound or outward bound.

  One of the first patrol officers to arrive at the scene would also have reported in to dispatch, which would in turn have notified crime lab officials, the homicide department, and the district attorney’s office. And the medical examiner’s office, although ME personnel wouldn’t be given access to Wells’s body for a number of hours, until after the crime scene had been fully vetted.

  * * *

  LOTELLO SILENTLY CAUGHT BARNET’S eye, but his presence didn’t seem to offer Barnet any comfort. “Shit, Frank, what took you so frigging long? Place is a madhouse. Case is gonna be nothin’ but trouble.”

  “Lighten up, J. The perimeters are established. And manned. What do you have so far?”

  “Two people here from Wells’s office. Her limo driver, Robert Grant. Here to drive her to some Senate committee hearing this morning. He and the security guard found the body when Wells was a no-show.”

  “What time was that?”

  Barnet looked at his notes. “Around ten minutes after eight.”

  “But Metro already knew Wells was dead when you called me five minutes before eight. How did Metro know before eight if Grant and the security guard didn’t find the body until after eight?”

  “I have no answer for you. I checked because you asked me to when we spoke. Someone—an anonymous caller—called it in just a few minutes before eight. As I told you, the matter was promptly assigned to you and me within minutes after the anonymous call came in. When I got the news, I immediately called you.”

  Lotello looked at his smartphone call log to be sure his timing was correct. “That was also just before eight, J. Right?”

  “Right. So?”

  “So, our anonymous call was made by someone other than Grant or the security guard who accompanied him to Wells’s townhouse. Was the anonymous call made directly to Metro or to 911?”

  “I was told the call was made directly to Metro. It was not made to 911 and then forwarded to Metro.”

  “What did Grant and the security guard do when they discovered the body shortly after eight?”

  “The security guard called 911. Grant called Wells’s chief of staff, James Ayres. We have all three of them here. The guard’s professional. Not a problem. Grant’s quiet. Also not a problem. Ayres is a major prima donna. Thinks he’s in charge.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “One of the patrol officers is babysitting Grant and the security guard in the lobby. Ayres wanted in the senator’s townhouse. Apparently wanted to see the body. Went ballistic when told he couldn’t enter the crime scene. Been threatening to call everyone he supposedly knows—from the FBI director to the U.S. attorney general, even the president, if you can believe that. Unless he’s not given the respect to which he thinks he’s entitled.”

  “I trust all that got him was an assignment of his very own patrol officer. Outside the outer perimeter.”

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO CHECKED OUT THE body and looked around the townhouse. Nice digs. Nothing surprising about that. Nothing out of the ordinary about the body, except for the chest wounds.

  Barnet followed after Lotello. He started in again. Lotello understood Barnet’s apprehension. This was obviously going to be a high-visibility case. Lots of attention. Lots of pressure. He didn’t want to add to Barnet’s anxiety. “J …” Lotello paused for effect. “Calm down. I’ll take the security guard and Grant. And the high-and-mighty Mr. Ayres. You stay with the lab guys and photographers. Make sure no one else gets in. Let’s not compromise the crime scene any more than necessary.” Crime scene’s already secure. But I need to give J something to keep him busy. Off my back.

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED INTO THE lobby structure. He saw two men sitting together off in one corner of the room, both in uniform. One dressed as a security guard, the other like a limousine driver. He approached them. “Would you two be Mr. Robert Grant and Officer Thornton Smythe?” Grant nodded yes. Smythe said his name was pronounced the same as Smith. He added that most folks called him Smitty.

  Opening his wallet, Lotello handed each of the two men one of his cards. “Detective Frank Lotello, Metropolitan D.C. police, homicide. Sorry to be meeting this way. Mr. Grant, please sit tight. Give me a few minutes to briefly talk to Mr. Smythe.”

  “Sure. I guess. Is this going to take long? I’m not feeling so well.”

  “Just a few minutes. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO LED OFFICER SMYTHE over to the desk at the other end of the lobby. He wanted to separate Smythe and Grant.

  “How long have you been in charge of security at this complex, Smitty?”

  “Oh, I’m not in charge of anything, Detective. Just one of the security staff. Second year on the job.”

  “How many security folks are there?”

  “There’s eleven of us, not counting Joel Kirst, who’s kind of the security boss around here. I don’t know who Joel reports to. We provide on-site security twenty-four/seven. Always two of us on duty. One here for unit owners, tenants, and guests. Another one slightly down the road for the employees and trades. That’s also where trucks come in and out.”

  “So, how are people allowed to come and go?”

  “Identification cards are issued to owners and tenants and project employees. Guests and other workers are admitted by the security guard on duty only if an owner, tenant, or employee calls in their names in advance. They have to show a matching photo ID as well.”

  “Sounds like you guys run a pretty tight ship.”

  “We try.”

  “What about all this fancy equipment?”

  “It’s not really all that much. We have a video surveillance system that covers the entire complex. We also have a fire alarm system. And then of course we have electronic control of the secured admissions at each entrance. Exits are not controlled, although they are picked up by the surveillance cameras.”

  “Did you know Senator Wells?”

  “Just a little. To say hello, chitchat for a moment here and there. She was always polite. That was about it.”

  “So, I’m going to need to go into all this security business in some detail. We should probably do that down at the station. Probably not today. How soon are you off duty?”

  “Probably best if you talk to Joel about that.” Smitty wrote down Kirst’s telephone number and email address on a card and handed it to Lotello. “My time off floats; it would be hard for me to know what to schedule with you. Besides, I don’t know much about the technical side of our equipment. I can use it, but I don’t really understand it very well.”

  “I’ll talk to Joel, Smitty. But please keep my card, hold yourself available, and give me a call if you think of anything in the interim that might help.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, let me ask you one question on the equipment side right now. Did you happen to have any technical difficulties last night?”

  “Funny you should ask. For the last week or so, we’ve had several false positives with our fire alarm system, maybe once every couple of days. But last night we had two false positives in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Back up a second, Smitty. What do you do when a fire alarm goes off?”

  “I have to check to see if there’s a fire that actually set off the system.”

  “How long does that take you?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “And the
fire alarm went off twice last night?”

  “Yep. I was back on my desk less than five minutes after verifying the first one, a false positive, and resetting the system, when we had a second false positive. First time that’s happened twice in a row like that. On my watch, anyway.”

  “And when that happens, you’re away from your desk here?”

  “Yes, like I said, for at least five or ten minutes.”

  “And while you’re away, an intruder could just walk through the security door here?”

  “No, not really, because it still requires a permanent or temporary identification passcode.”

  “If someone somehow bypassed your passcode system, would we have any way to know?”

  “We should still be able to spot the person on our surveillance cameras, including the ones directed at the entrances.”

  “Smitty, I have to go visit with Mr. Grant for a few minutes. He’s been waiting patiently while you and I talked. Could you check your surveillance system for last night to see if it was working properly? And, if it was, whether there were any people wandering around on the grounds last night who were not unit owners or tenants or other guests or workers you recognize?”

  “Sure; it’ll take me a few minutes.”

  “That’s perfect. It’ll give me time to talk with Mr. Grant. When I’m done, I’ll come back over here to see what you’ve found.”

  “Oh, one more thing. Where are the surveillance tapes for each entrance right now? For the last day or so, or however far back they go?” Lotello knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure, and he wanted to see if Smythe was at all sensitive to the question.

  “One of your patrol officers gathered them up from me a little while ago. He also asked if there are any nearby surveillance systems in the neighborhood.”

  “And are there? Any other nearby surveillance systems?”

  “I’m not aware of any.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Hang tight. I’ll be back in a few.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED BACK ACROSS the lobby, where an anxious Grant was waiting. “Sorry, Mr. Grant—that took a little longer than I expected. I’ll be quick. What brought you out here so early this morning?”