Shakeup
- Автор: Вудс Стюарт
- Серия: Stone Barrington #55
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-593-18832-3
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Shakeup». Краткое содержание книги:
As it turns out, the mastermind behind the malfeasance rocking New York City and the nation’s capital wields a heavy hand of influence. And when Stone is unable to recruit those closest to the case to his side, he is left with few leads and a handful of dead-ends. But with the help of important people in high places — and the expertise of alluring new friends — Stone is more than ready to rise to the occasion.
“Very likely.”
“I’ll tell you this, though. He’s scared, and that’s the way I like my suspects.”
36
Stone had his houseguest for a couple of nights, then she folded her tent and readied herself for departure.
“When will I see you in Washington?” she asked.
Stone gulped. “I rarely visit Washington, and when I do my time there is fully occupied.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I thought that might be over.”
Stone kissed her, took her downstairs, and put her into her car.
“If your investigation brings you north again, please let me know.”
“Perhaps,” she said, then drove away.
That afternoon, Stone had a sandwich at his desk. Joan stuck her head around the door. “Put on CNN,” she said.
Stone turned on the TV, which was already tuned to CNN. “According to a source at FBI headquarters, Director Shaker has never been happy serving under President Barker. Other sources say he would be unhappy serving under any woman. After leaving his resignation at the White House, handing it to a Marine guarding the doors, Mr. Shaker returned to the Bureau, packed his briefcase and a few boxes of books and personal items, and left for his country house in Virginia. There was no farewell speech to the men and women he left behind.”
“Who is replacing him?” Stone shouted at the TV.
“His replacement, Maren Gustav, is a sixteen-year veteran of the Bureau who has served in a number of posts there, climbing the promotion ladder steadily, and has been a favorite of President Barker’s since the president served as CIA director.”
“Thank you very much!” Stone yelled, then switched off the TV. “Joan, are you still there?”
She opened the door a crack. “Yes, sir.”
He handed her Maren’s personal card. “Send two dozen yellow roses and a card saying ‘Congratulations’ to her home.”
“Do you want to send Mr. Shaker a farewell bouquet?” Joan asked.
“Are you nuts?”
“I’m on it,” she said, and closed the door.
Dino called. “You see it on TV?”
“I did. Well-deserved.”
“What’s that going to do for the investigation of the Carlyle girl’s murder?”
“I think that, given her interviews on Monday, she’s fully invested in it, and now she’s in a position to bring more agents into it.”
“I hear she has a bear-trap mind.”
“You hear correctly. Dinner?”
“P.J. Clarke’s, at six-thirty?”
“Done. You book.” He hung up.
Stone arrived on time at Clarke’s, and the remnants of the five o’clock crowd were still at the bar. A Knob Creek on the rocks was set before him. And when the bartender moved away, Stone saw two photographs taped to the bourbon shelf of the bar: one was of Maren Gustav, in a low-cut evening gown; the other was of Stone waltzing with the new president.
Dino materialized at Stone’s elbow, with a Scotch before him. “Nice, huh?” He said, nodding at the photos.
“Danny,” Stone said to the bartender, “get rid of the one with me in it, will you?”
“Sorry, Stone,” Danny replied. “Orders from the owner.”
“Take it down, or I’ll run amok.”
“Speak to the owner.”
“Danny, when was the last time the owner was in here?”
“I don’t know, last year sometime.”
“I’m going to stop coming here.”
“You can’t do that, Stone. We’ll go broke!”
“Live with it,” Dino said.
“Distract me from what I’m looking at,” Stone said.
“Did you hear the news?”
“Not since lunchtime.”
“The new FBI director’s first official act was to call the U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia and ask him to form a grand jury to investigate Art’s girlfriend’s murder.”
“She doesn’t waste any time, does she?”
“Well, she hung out with you for a few days,” Dino pointed out.
“And look what happened to her!”
“I guess Holly isn’t the jealous type.”
“I asked you to distract me.”
“Okay. A girl is at home walking around naked. There’s a knock at the door. ‘Who is it?’ she yells. ‘The blind guy,’ he yells back. “Okay, come on in.’ The guy comes in and says, “Hey, nice tits! Where d’you want the blinds?”
Stone laughed in spite of himself.
37
Maren Gustav was finishing her first days as director when she got a phone call from Mark Bernstein, the U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia.
“Good morning, Mark,” she said, breathless to know what had happened.
“Good morning, Maren,” he replied. “It went off pretty much as we expected. He took the Fifth.”
“Then the media will convict him before we can.”
“There’s always immunity,” Mark said.
Maren thought about it. If they gave Clark immunity from prosecution, then he could not take the Fifth, since he would not be incriminating himself. If he still refused to testify he could be held in contempt and jailed until he relented. “I think so,” Maren said.
“The question is, to whom do we make the proffer of immunity: Clark or Deborah Myers?”
“I suppose we do have a choice,” Maren said. “What happens if they both decline the offer and refuse to testify?”
“I suppose they could hold hands in federal prison,” Mark replied. “Or, perhaps, we could arrange some conjugal time for them.”
Maren laughed. “They might find that too appealing.”
“He’s still in the jury room,” Mark said. “What’s your preference?”
“Let’s offer Clark the immunity. We’ll see if he’s the tough Marine he likes to think he is.”
“I’ll go speak to his attorney.” They both hung up.
Mark Bernstein had been a classmate of Clark’s attorney, Jeff Goode, at Harvard Law, and they had never liked each other much. It gave Mark a little thrill to be able to convey this message. He held up five fingers and the questioning attorney announced a short break.
Jeff Goode had been waiting in an anteroom, since defense attorneys were not allowed in the jury room. Mark took a seat next to him at the table. “How goes it, Jeff?”
“That depends on whether you believe my client’s testimony.”
“I do believe him, when he says that answering truthfully might tend to incriminate him.”
“So, where do we stand?”
“We’re offering immunity,” Mark replied.
“Complete and total immunity?”
“Not for every misdeed in his miserable life; just for his actions with regard to his wife’s and Deana Carlyle’s murders, whatever they might have been.”
“So, you’ve chosen to go after Little Debby, have you?”
“That remains an option,” Mark said. “I’d rather convict her on the testimony of your client. You ought to be able to sell him that: he walks, and Little Debby doesn’t. What could be nicer?”
“In Donald’s eyes, it would be better if they both walked.”
“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Mark said.
“Okay, I’ll give it a whirl. Have the bailiff bring him in here, and don’t rush us.”
“Fine, take your time.” Mark opened a door and summoned the bailiff. “Good luck,” he said to Goode, and left the room.
Jeff Goode stood and shook his client’s hand. “How’s it going in there, Donald?”
“Pretty much as you said it would.”
“You know the press is going to tear you apart, don’t you?”