“As soon as we suspected that Mr. Hawkins was the mystery client we tried to learn where he was when Cutler left the message with the location of Walsh’s car. We learned that he was at the Theodore Roosevelt Hotel. One of the Secret Service agents remembers him getting a call on his cell phone around nine-forty. The agent also remembers Mr. Hawkins complaining about the reception and leaving to try to get a clear signal.

“The hotel confirmed that Mr. Hawkins reserved a suite for Dr. Farrington so the first lady could rest if her pregnancy fatigued her. He also reserved an adjoining suite for security purposes. Several Secret Service agents remember Mr. Hawkins coming out of one of the two suites he reserved shortly after complaining about the poor reception on his cell phone.

“We went to the phone company and asked for a record of all calls to the cell phone company voice mail retrieval system telephone number in the D.C. area on the date and time in question. There were thousands of calls because everyone using the cell phone provider would call that number to get their voice mail, but only a few calls were made from the Theodore Roosevelt Hotel. Once we’d confirmed that calls had been made from the hotel we got the hotel records to see from what rooms the calls had been made. One room was in the suite adjoining Dr. Farrington’s suite.”

Evans stopped talking. Bischoff waited until it became obvious that the agent was finished presenting as much of his case as he was going to reveal.

“That’s it?” the lawyer asked.

“I think I’ve given Mr. Hawkins enough to think about for the time being.”

“You’re going to indict Chuck based on the word of a man facing multiple death sentences and a cell phone call?”

“We have other evidence that I’m not prepared to reveal at this time,” Evans bluffed.

The lawyer stood. “This has been very entertaining, but Mr. Hawkins and I have busy schedules.”

“I understand, but you should understand this. I really want Mr. Hawkins. The only reason I would even think of cutting a deal with him is my belief that the president may be involved. If he is, the only way your client is going to come out of this alive is by cooperating, and I’m not going to wait very long for your call.”

“I’ll let you know Mr. Hawkins’s position as soon as we’ve had a chance to confer,” Bischoff said as he ushered his client out of the office.

“What do you think?” Evans asked Maggie Sparks and Gordon Buss as soon as the door closed.

“I wouldn’t wait by the phone,” the AUSA answered. “You’ve got as much of a chance of cutting a deal with Hawkins as I do with Osama bin Laden.”

“Do you agree, Maggie?” Evans asked.

“I think the next time you talk to Hawkins he’ll be sitting in the witness box in a federal court.”

Evans sighed. “You’re probably right. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.”

Roy Kineer wasn’t in, so Evans couldn’t report on his meeting with Hawkins and Bischoff right away. Instead he went back to his office and read over a report he’d received from Oregon that morning. Clarence Little’s pinkie collection had been printed. Laurie Erickson’s pinkie was not a part of it, but Peggy Farmer’s was. The report concluded that it was highly improbable that Little would have been able to kill Farmer and her boyfriend in Central Oregon and return to Salem in time to kill Laurie Erickson. The report cheered up Evans, who felt that the interview with Hawkins had been a complete bust.

Shortly before noon, Kineer’s secretary told Evans that Justice Kineer was back and wanted to be briefed about the meeting. Evans spent an hour with the judge before his boss left to have lunch with several members of the House Judiciary Committee.

Evans had his secretary pick up a sandwich for him, which he ate at his desk. He was halfway through it when the receptionist buzzed to tell him that Gary Bischoff was on the phone. Evans was surprised.

“What’s up, Gary?”

“Are you busy?” Bischoff asked. Evans thought he sounded upset.

“No, why?”

“We need to talk. Can you come to my office?”

“When?”

“Right now. Hawkins wants to cut a deal.”

Evans was stunned. “Okay,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“And come alone. This is between the three of us.”

“I’ll be there.”

Bischoff hung up without saying good-bye. Evans stared out the window, but he didn’t see a thing. He had to believe that Hawkins was thinking of pleading guilty against the advice of his counsel, but he couldn’t think of what he’d said that would have frightened a man as powerful as Hawkins into negotiating a guilty plea.

Chapter Forty-one

Gary Bischoff ’s law office occupied part of the first floor of an elegant red brick Federalist-style house on a quiet, tree-lined street in Georgetown. The stately home had been built in 1826 by a wealthy merchant, but Keith Evans was too preoccupied to pay any attention to the antiques, oil paintings, and period furniture that Bischoff used to furnish the place.

Bischoff ’s secretary showed the agent into an office in the back that looked out through leaded windows on a beautifully maintained garden where a very attractive woman was sunbathing in a lime bikini. Evans remembered reading that some years ago Bischoff and his first wife had been involved in a bloody divorce. He guessed that the woman in the backyard was Bischoff ’s trophy wife, which would explain Bischoff ’s rigorous exercise routine. She was at least fifteen years younger than the lawyer, who appeared to have aged since the morning meeting.

“I want you to understand that I’ve advised Mr. Hawkins against this course of action,” Bischoff said, straining to maintain a professional demeanor, “but he’s the client and he makes the ultimate decision on how he’ll proceed.”

“Okay, Gary, I understand.”

Evans studied Hawkins, who was sitting in a high-backed armchair, one leg crossed over the other, looking calm to the same degree that his attorney was agitated.

“Can I speak directly to Mr. Hawkins?”

Bischoff waved a hand at Evans, signaling that he wanted nothing to do with what was going to occur.

“Mr. Hawkins, may I record this conversation?” Evans asked as he took a cassette recorder out of his jacket pocket.

Hawkins nodded. Evans stated the date, the time, the place where the interview was being conducted, and the names of all present. Then he gave Hawkins his Miranda warnings.

“Mr. Hawkins, why are we here?” Evans asked as soon as Hawkins acknowledged the warnings.

“I want to plead guilty to the charges.”

“All of them?” Evans asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“I’ll have to see the indictments before I can answer that. But I’m prepared to accept responsibility for the crimes I committed.”

“You understand that conviction for some of these crimes can carry a death sentence?”

“Yes.”

“Gary says that he’s advised you that this meeting is not in your best interest. Is that true?”

“He told me that you don’t have much of a case. It’s his opinion that it would be very difficult for a prosecutor to get a conviction.”

“So why do you want to confess?”

“I’m Catholic. I have a conscience. I’ve done terrible things, and I want to atone for them.”

Evans didn’t buy the religious angle, but he wasn’t going to stop Hawkins if he wanted to confess.

“I don’t want to put words in your mouth,” the agent said, “so why don’t you tell me what crimes you believe you’ve committed?”

“Chuck, don’t do this,” Bischoff begged. “At least let me try to negotiate some concessions from the government.”

“I appreciate your concern, Gary, but I know what I’m doing. If the authorities want to show me mercy, they will. I’m in God’s hands now and I’m prepared to accept whatever He sees fit to give me.”