“Who are they really?”
“Not important.”
“Who was this Milton bloke the little fellow mentioned?”
“A friend.”
“But he’s dead. How? Accident?”
“No, large-caliber rifle round.”
Chapman was about to say something when Stone’s cell phone buzzed. It was FBI agent Gross. Stone listened and then clicked off.
“The woman from the park last night has turned up.”
“You mean they caught her?” asked Chapman.
“No, she walked into the FB
I all on her own.”
CHAPTER 20
“I’M MARISA FRIEDMAN,” the woman said as Stone and Chapman took seats opposite her and Tom Gross in an interior office at the FBI’s Washington Field Office, which all agents referred to as the WFO. Stone took a few moments to study her. In good light and with only a few feet separating them he decided she was closer to thirty than forty. She was Chapman’s height or a bit taller, with blonde hair that curled around her neck. It was not her natural color, Stone could tell. Her eyes were blue and striking, her face interesting with elegant bone structure, the chin sharply angled and the two sides of her jaw forming perfect bookends for the expressive mouth. Her clothes were clearly expensive but she wore them in a casual manner; minimal jewelry and makeup completed the attractive package.
Gross added, “Ms. Friedman voluntarily came in when she learned we were looking for anyone who was in the park last night.”
Friedman shook her head and looked troubled. “I have to tell you I was shocked at what happened. I’d just gotten to H Street when the gunfire started. And then the explosion.” She shivered uncontrollably.
“How did you find out the FBI was looking for you?” Stone asked.
“A friend of mine saw an item on the news and phoned me.”
Stone looked at Gross, who said, “In situations like this we call in the media and ask for their assistance in getting the word out. Usually very effective.”
“Well, it certainly was in my case,” said Friedman.
“In any event you probably would’ve assumed the police would want to talk to you,” said Stone.
“I guess so, yes, although I don’t have any experience in things like this. My home was broken into years ago, that’s really the only contact I’ve ever had with the police.”
“Can you tell us what you saw?” asked Gross.
“Smoke and people running and screaming.” She looked at Stone and her voice shook. “I’ve never been that frightened in my life.”
“But before all that you were sitting on one of the benches in the park?” said Stone.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Little late at night for that, wasn’t it?” asked Stone.
“My office is located in the line of town houses on the west side of the park.”
“Jackson Place?” said Stone.
“Yes. Most of the offices there are linked to the White House, but I was able to snare one of them for my business through more luck than skill. I was working late. Left the office. The night was so nice I sat down and might’ve even dozed off. I don’t usually do that, but I did last night. It was a long day and I was tired. And I know the park is about the best-protected space in the city, so I felt very safe.” She gave a hollow laugh. “That turned out to be quite ironic. It really was bad timing all around,” she added with another little shiver. “Nice relaxing time in the park that turned into a war zone. For a minute there I thought I’d stumbled onto a movie set.”
“Only the bullets and bomb were real,” said Stone.
“Yes.”
“What is your business?” asked Gross.
She flashed a smile. “In this town, that close to the White House you’re one of the two Ls.”
“Lawyer or lobbyist,” answered Stone.
“You win the prize.” She crossed her legs and flicked at the hem of her skirt, revealing briefly a glimpse of her pale bare thighs. From the efficient way she did it, Stone deduced this was a tactic of hers during a meeting, at least a meeting with men. He glanced at Gross and saw that it had gotten his attention too. When he looked at Chapman she was just finishing rolling her eyes at this same act.
Mars, Venus, thought Stone.
“So which are you?” he asked Friedman. “Lawyer or lobbyist?”
“Both, actually.”
Gross cleared his throat. “And who do you lobby on behalf of?”
Her gaze shifted to the FBI agent. “Lobbyists are the most regulated beasts on earth, so my client list is a matter of public record. But it has no relevance to last night. If I hadn’t decided to sit on the bench instead of going right home I wouldn’t even be here.”
“We still need to check,” said Gross.
“Check away. It’s all part of the public record. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about them, the usual businesses, trade associations. I have some foreign clients, but their businesses are mainstream.”
“Who were you calling last night?” asked Stone.
She seemed surprised by the question.
“I was in the park last night,” he explained. “And the park is also under video surveillance 24/7. You were seen on the phone.”
“Wow, Big Brother is alive and well,” she said casually, but her long forehead bunched into neat rows of skin. “Can I ask why it’s relevant who I was talking to?”
Gross said, “We can easily enough get that information. But you can save us time by cooperating. However, if you don’t…”
She looked at him with a weary expression. “I know, I know, then you think I’m up to no good. Look, it was just a friend.”
Gross poised his pen over his notepad. “Your friend’s name?”
“Do you really have to check that out? I mean, it seems silly. It was just a friend.”
Gross said, “Ms. Friedman, a bomb exploded across from the White House. No detail is too small in an investigation like this. And the question is not silly. Now, your friend’s name and the subject of your conversation?”
“It’s just a man that I know.”
“Name?” Gross said again, this time with a harder edge to his voice. This obviously would be the last time the FBI agent would ask politely.
She sat forward and her voice dropped. “Look, this friend I was talking to is married.”
“Okay,” said Stone.
“And so?” prompted Chapman with a malicious look.
“And not to me, obviously. And maybe we’re more than just friends.”
She did the leg cross, skirt flick again, but this time her hands jerked and she didn’t seem nearly as confident.
Stone saw Chapman shoot the woman a contemptuous look at this bungled ploy to distract. Even Gross didn’t drop his gaze to her legs this time.
Gross said, “We’re not really concerned with your, um, friend’s marital issues.”
Friedman sat back, relieved. “Okay, thank you.”
“But I still need his name and what you were talking to him about.”
She sighed resignedly. “Fine. Willis Kraft. He lives in Potomac. We were just talking about… personal stuff.”
“And his wife doesn’t understand him?” said Chapman, still gazing at the woman in disgust.
Friedman’s gaze hardened and she and Chapman did a brief staredown