She was shivering now from reaction. “What?”
“Come inside. You’re cold.”
“I shouldn’t be. It’s a warm night. I was even sweating.” She started trembling. Jack took her arm and led her back into the house. “Give me your alarm code.”
He shut the front door, punched in the code to reactivate the alarm. He turned to her. “I’m glad you got hysterical, glad you screamed your head off. You heard something. It was real.”
She walked to a sideboard, poured a shot of brandy for herself and one for him. “Here.” They both drank.
A moment later the phone rang in the living room.
“Yes? Rachael Abbott here.”
“Rachael? It’s Dillon Savich. Are you guys all right?”
She stared at the phone. “How did you know something happened?”
There was silence on the line, then Savich said calmly, “A feeling, a gut feeling, that’s all. Talk to me.”
She told him what had happened, then handed the phone to Jack. The first words out of his mouth were, “What did your gut tell you, Savich?”
“That you were running around Rachael’s house in your underwear.”
FORTY-SEVEN
At ten o’clock Sunday morning, an FBI evidence team converged on Rachael’s house and set up shop around the big oak tree outside the guest-bedroom window, Agent Clive Howard the team leader.
Savich, Sherlock, and Sean sat at the oak kitchen table, Sean next to his mother drinking cocoa and eating a vanilla scone slathered with peach jam, Rachael and Jack opposite him.
“He’s like you, Dillon, a sucker for scones.” A big dollop of jam fell onto the table and Sherlock scooped it back into his scone. She said to Rachael and Jack, “They were releasing Agent Tomlin when we got to the hospital. They said he was fine, he said he was fine, he was great, he wanted to kick himself, but Tom very much wanted to go back to guard Dr. MacLean.”
Savich said, “Poor Sherlock. Agent Tomlin’s no longer looking at her with such tenderness. Now it’s Nurse Louise who’s got his eye. He couldn’t stop talking about how fast she was.
“I sent him back to relieve the agent guarding Timothy. You can bet from now on Tomlin won’t let any hospital staff he doesn’t know come within ten feet of MacLean’s room.”
Sherlock said, “Unfortunately, he didn’t get too good a look at the guy who shoved the needle in his neck, and couldn’t identify the photos we showed him.”
Jack said, “Tomlin’s one tough mother, I hate to see something like this happen. It was too close. For both him and Timothy, it was too close. I wish you’d called me, Savich.”
“I thought about it, but the fact is, you couldn’t have done anything, Jack, so let it go.”
“Imagine,” Rachael said, “someone going after Dr. MacLean in the hospital. That’s insane.” She stopped cold, gave them a twisted grin. “I guess there’s a lot of insanity going around lately.”
Sherlock nodded. “After hours of interviews at the hospital, we still don’t have a viable witness.” She carefully selected a scone and bit in. She rolled her eyes. “Goodness, this is wonderful. Hey, Sean, can you pass me the jam?”
“The GoodLight Bakery on Elm Street,” Rachael said. “Jack found it, and didn’t hesitate to bring home about fifty thousand calories.”
Savich gave Sean a quick sideways glance, saw that he was focused on trying to trap the evil king Zhor in the Forest of No Escape, and said, “The guy who broke into your house last night—what he did was dangerous for him, and that really worries me.”
Sherlock said, “Dillon’s right. If we can’t predict what he’ll do, we can’t protect you, and that means we need a new plan.”
“Your screaming, Rachael,” Jack said, “for no apparent reason, must have scared the bejesus out of him. That was excellent timing for a nightmare. It scared the bejesus out of me, too.”
Rachael sat forward, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. “Why can’t we get a search warrant for the Abbotts’ financial records? You know we’d find a record showing payments to Perky and her thugs. Probably huge cash withdrawals, near the right dates.”
Savich said, “I’m sorry, Rachael, but we don’t have enough proof to get a warrant to search even the Abbott pool house. With people of their stature, you’ve always got to have every single duck in a row before you go after them.
“So that means we have to go another route, find some way to bring this to a close. Here’s what I propose. I got permission to speak to the vice president before we came over this morning. I told him we know every member of Congress and the president are concerned about the recent allegations that the senator was murdered. He laughed, said I was right. I told him I have a plan to get some closure. He’s decided to help us.
“The vice president has agreed to reschedule the Jefferson Club’s speaker tomorrow night and change the agenda of their dinner meeting. It’s now going to be a remembrance and a tribute to your father, Rachael. Many senators will speak. If you’re willing, you can speak, as well. When I told him it was imperative the Abbotts be present, he didn’t say a word. The vice president agreed to extend a personal invitation to them. And that’s part of what we want.
“The break-in last night—in spite of your having protection right here with you—shows the killer seems to have thrown caution to the wind. He didn’t seem to care about the enormous risk he was taking. Like I said, he’s doing precipitous things, and that makes him even more dangerous. We either get this resolved, or I can see you hidden away in the Witness Protection Program, Rachael. What we’re doing is providing the killer with another physical opportunity, but under controlled circumstances—our control. The killer might suspect it’s a trap, but he also might go for it. What’s happened here makes me think that although our killer might be playing with all his marbles, there’s something out of control driving him.
“If you agree to speak tomorrow night at the Jefferson Club, we’ll alert the media about your father’s commemorative dinner, and the fact that you will be there and you will address the group.
“The media are fascinated already, licking their chops over you more every passing day because Jack’s managing to keep you away from them.