Evans returned to the garage, thanked Teeny for his cooperation, and promised the worried boyfriend that he would do his best to find Cutler. As soon as he was in his car Evans put out an APB on the Harley.

Roy Kineer looked more like the fifth Marx Brother than a towering legal genius or one of the most powerful men in the United States, which he’d been when he was the chief justice of the Supreme Court. He was partially bald with a fringe of long gray-flecked black hair that always looked uncombed. His Coke bottle glasses and overbite gave him a goofy appearance, and he was always grinning, as if he’d figured out a joke no one else could understand. All in all, Kineer was not someone who was taken seriously unless you knew his biography.

The judge had been born in Cleveland to working-class parents who had been slow to recognize their son’s genius. In fact, they suspected Roy was not too bright, because he was poorly coordinated and didn’t speak until he was three. Once he did speak there was no denying that their child was special. Roy had been first in his class in high school and first in his class at MIT, where he’d majored in physics. After a year at Oxford, Kineer chose law over the sciences and finished a predictable first in his class at Harvard, where he was the editor of the Law Review. After a clerkship at the United States Supreme Court, Kineer surprised everyone by going to work for an organization that handled death penalty cases in the Deep South. Kineer argued three successful appeals before the court in which he’d clerked before joining the faculty at Yale Law School.

Never one to sit on the sidelines, Kineer became actively involved in politics as the legal advisor to Randall Spaulding, the United States senator from Connecticut who went on to become the attorney general of the United States. As soon as he was appointed attorney general, Spaulding asked Kineer to be his solicitor general and argue the position of the United States before the Supreme Court. When the justice for whom Kineer had clerked resigned, the president appointed Kineer, the finest legal mind in the country, to take his place.

The ex-justice’s professional credentials were perfect, and his personal life was without blemish. He was a grandfather of four, father of two and happily married for thirty-five years. No scandal had ever touched him. In other words, he was the perfect person to investigate a president of the United States who was suspected of being a murderer.

“Come in. Have a seat,” Kineer said enthusiastically when Keith Evans walked into the small, windowless conference room at FBI headquarters that Kineer had chosen for their meeting.

“Mr. Chief Justice,” Evans answered nervously as he shook the legend’s hand.

“It’s Roy. We’re going to file the honorifics away for the duration.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kineer laughed. “No ‘sirs’ either. Please sit down.”

Evans had expected a meeting with a lot of people, but he and the judge were alone in the room and there wasn’t a scrap of paper on the conference table. This didn’t surprise Evans, who knew Kineer was supposed to have a photographic memory.

“Do you know why I’m meeting with you before I meet with anyone else, Keith? You don’t mind if I call you Keith instead of Agent Evans, do you?”

“I guess I can do away with the title if you can.”

Kineer grinned. “Good. So, do you know why you’re the first person I selected for this project?”

“No.”

“I’ve been told that you know more about the Ripper investigation than anyone in D.C.”

“That’s probably true.”

Kineer nodded. Then he leaned back and fixed his eyes on the FBI agent.

“Is Christopher Farrington a murderer?”

Evans thought for a moment before answering. “If President Farrington was a plumber or a doctor, no one would raise an eyebrow if we considered him a suspect. He and Walsh argued shortly before she was murdered. If they were sleeping together we have the mother of all motives. Have you seen the polls?”

Kineer nodded.

“An angry teenage mistress and a popular pregnant wife equal a politician’s worst nightmare. Of course, I don’t think Farrington did the deed himself. But I don’t doubt that he could find someone to do it for him.”

Evans paused to compose his thoughts, and Kineer waited patiently.

“What I’ve just told you is what anyone who has read Exposed would know, but I was looking into the president’s involvement with Charlotte Walsh before Exposed broke their story.”

Kineer’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Evans with new respect. The respect increased as Evans told him about the tip that led him to Andy Zipay, the cover-up of the shooting at Dana Cutler’s apartment, and his belief that Eric Loomis-the man he’d arrested for the Ripper killings-had not murdered Charlotte Walsh. Then he told Kineer about the connection between Dale Perry and Dana Cutler.

“Now that’s interesting,” Kineer said when Evans was done. “What do you think we should do next?”

“I’d like to talk to the Secret Service agents who were with President Farrington when Walsh visited the safe house so we can eliminate the president’s direct involvement in the murder. I also want to eliminate Eric Loomis as Walsh’s killer if I can. I’ve put out an APB on the motorcycle I think Cutler is riding. Cutler may be the key here. She told Patrick Gorman that there have been two attempts on her life since she photographed Farrington with Walsh. I want to know what Cutler saw that makes her so dangerous to someone.”

“You said that Agent Sparks has been working with you?”

“Yes.”

“Is she a good investigator?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll have her assigned to my office. Put what you’ve told me in writing then set up interviews with the Secret Service agents. If you need a subpoena, or anything else for that matter, see me.”

“There is one thing. I’ve tried to get Dana Cutler’s file from the D.C. police, but it’s classified, and they’re making me jump through all sorts of hoops.”

“I’ll see if I can expedite the process.”

“Thanks.”

“This will be an exciting project, Keith. If we conclude that the president was involved with Charlotte Walsh’s murder we’re going to be part of history, and people will be reading about our exploits long after we’re gone.”

Chapter Thirty

Brad Miller had not had a chance to carry on his clandestine inquiry into the Little case because Susan Tuchman had kept him buried under case files. He knew she was trying to make him quit, but he was determined that he would not give her the satisfaction. He was equally determined not to give her an excuse to fire him. His insane workload meant he was staying at the office long after everyone else had gone home, including Ginny. If one thing was going to break his resolve it would be that his work was keeping him from her.

The night they’d gone to her place from the Shanghai Clipper they had fallen into each other’s arms before the door to her apartment had closed. Brad had been nervous when they were finally in bed, but Ginny had been so kind and patient that the sex had ended up being great. Or maybe it was being with Ginny that was great.

Brad decided that it was too early to compare sex with Ginny and sex with Bridget Malloy, since he’d only slept with Ginny once. He remembered that the sex had also been great the first time he and Bridget made love. In fact-for a while-sex with Bridget had been a mind-blowing whirlwind of discovery. That was when he was besotted and-he decided later-she was interested enough to give it her all. As Bridget’s interest cooled so did the frequency and the experimental nature of their intercourse. They’d pretty much settled into very fast missionary couplings before Bridget broke up with him the first time.