Agent X - Boyd Noah (серии книг читать бесплатно .TXT) 📗

Vail watched the monitor as Bursaw started interviewing Wilkins. There was no table or desk between them, and the black agent was in the prisoner’s body space, their knees almost touching. Bursaw handed Wilkins the photographs of the three dead prostitutes. “Ever see these girls?”

Wilkins looked at the photos, trying to appear disinterested. “No.”

“They’re prostitutes. Ever go out with a prostitute?”

“Never paid for it in my life.”

Bursaw noted his overall slovenliness. “A real ladies’ man, huh, Jonathan?”

“I do all right.”

Bursaw held up the photos fanned out. “You’re sure you don’t know any of these women.” Wilkins kept his eyes down, refusing to look at the photos again. “Jonathan, look at me.” Without looking at the photos, Wilkins’s eyes found Bursaw’s. “This is very important. You’ve never seen any of these women before?”

“No.”

“Then I’m assuming it would not be possible for your semen to be found inside them.”

Vail could see the statement hit home. Wilkins’s posture pulled back defensively. It was unusual for a psychopathic killer to have such poor lying skills, but his reaction left little doubt that he had killed the three women.

“Unless somebody planted it there.”

Bursaw smiled crookedly. “Are you in the habit of giving your sperm to people who would want to frame you?”

“You said they’re prostitutes. Maybe I, you know, had a date with them or something.”

“So you have paid for it.”

“Sometimes. You know a man’s got to be a man. Don’t like to admit it, though.”

“I understand, Jonathan.” Bursaw leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Since we’re both telling the truth here, I’m going to tell you something you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.”

“What?”

Bursaw leaned in another inch. “I don’t care about these three whores. I only care about this woman.” He showed Wilkins a photo of Sundra Boston.

This time Wilkins studied the photo before answering. “Man, her I don’t know.”

Bursaw looked up at the hidden camera and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, letting Vail know that it was apparent that Wilkins had nothing to do with Sundra Boston’s disappearance. “Take off your shirt, man.”

“I don’t have to,” Wilkins said.

“Did you want another jujitsu lesson?” Reluctantly, Wilkins pulled his shirt over his head while he glared at Bursaw. There was a three-inch scar on his chest that looked like it could have been caused by the screwdriver attack Denise Washington had described. “See, Jonathan, that scar was caused by a screwdriver, and we have the witness who did it to you. She’ll testify about you trying to tie her up in the van, like the other three were. And we’ll find their DNA in your van and on those ropes, which I’m sure you didn’t bother to change each time. I’m sorry, man, it’s over.” Bursaw let it all sink in for a few seconds and then said, “But like I told you, I don’t care about those three, just this one.” Again he held up Sundra’s photo. “Tell you what I’ll do. We have her killer’s DNA, so if you’ll give me a sample of yours to prove that you weren’t involved in her death, you and I will be done.”

“I’ll give you DNA, hair, blood whatever you want,” Wilkins said, pointing at Sundra’s photo. “But you can’t use it for the others.”

“Agreed.” Bursaw opened his briefcase and took out a cheek-swab kit, extracting a long Q-tip. “Open up.”

Wilkins opened his mouth, and Bursaw got the swab to within an inch of Wilkins’s cheek before breaking it in half and throwing it on the table. “You’ve convinced me, Jonathan. You had nothing to do with Sundra’s disappearance.”

“Then I can go?”

“Not just yet.” Bursaw stood him up and handcuffed him. “I think the Metro police are going to want to talk to you.”

It was a little after 4 A.M. when Vail and Bursaw dropped Wilkins at the Washington Metropolitan Police homicide unit. Forty-five minutes later, Luke Bursaw pulled up in front of the off-site. “Any idea what you’re going to do now?” Vail asked.

“Sleep and not think about it for a while. Do you have any idea how much longer you’re going to be around?”

“I think this other thing is getting close to being resolved.” Vail handed him a key. “In case something comes up, take this. The alarm code is 9111.”

“Does that mean it’s going well or it’s going badly?”

“We’re making progress. Unfortunately, it’s in the form of one disaster after another.”

“Just remember, when it comes to the government, disasters aren’t necessarily bad. If nothing else, it means somebody is doing something.”

Vail got out and started toward the door when Bursaw hit the siren with another brief yelp.

Vail had started to undress when the phone rang. It was almost six in the morning. Chances that this call was good news were not high.

It was Kate. “Dellasanti’s dead.”

“How?”

“There was a bomb in the package. As we were closing in on him, it exploded.”

“Did he set it off?”

“We don’t know. It didn’t go off until he saw us coming. So either he committed suicide to keep from going to prison or Calculus put it in the package. Which doesn’t make any sense.”

“Or maybe the Russians did it to make sure the thread between the pieces of evidence would be broken once and for all. Then we couldn’t go any further.”

Kate said, “I hadn’t thought of that. It’s definitely a possibility, the way they’ve been killing their sources.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m still at the park. Langston’s got three forensics teams here processing the scene, and we’re just about done. He’s ordered all the autopsy and lab work be done by noon so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep. There’s a meeting in his office, at noon, to analyze everything. He wants you there.”

“Okay.”

“Really? I thought you’d take the opportunity to ride off into the sunset, yelling ‘I told you so’ over your shoulder.”

“Dellasanti would be just as dead if I had been there. Did any of the evidence survive?”

“I don’t think any of the money did. We’re not sure about the documents. Something was blown into Dellasanti’s body cavity. We decided to let the medical examiner extract it.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I’m seeing a few more bodies than I’d like, but I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you at noon.”

16

The three unit and section chiefs were already seated in the director’s conference room when Vail walked in. Kate was getting coffee from a side table. Vail went over and poured himself a cup.

“You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” she said.

“I was out celebrating not killing Dellasanti.”

“With any luck there are a couple spies left so you can get your batting average back up.”

Langston hurried into the room followed by John Kalix, who was carrying a stack of files. “We’re in the director’s conference room because he wanted to attend this meeting, but at the last moment he was called before a congressional oversight committee.”

Vail leaned close to Kate. “Hopefully that isn’t about us.”

“The good thing is, you’ll probably be fired and back in Chicago by the time Congress gets the final body count.”

“You really are a silver-lining kind of girl, aren’t you?”

Langston sat down at the head of the table. “As if our latest spy getting killed wasn’t bad enough, the lab was unable to find anything to give us a clue as to the identity of the next one.”

The section chief, Tony Battly, said, “Maybe there are no more. Calculus said the last one would be an intelligence agent. I suppose someone in the State Department could be considered in intelligence.”

Somebody said, “Apparently you haven’t spent much time around the State Department.”

“Or maybe he instructed his relative at the Chicago bank to get us the name after the payments for the first three are deposited,” Mark Brogdon said. “Bill, you’ve had me pay the first two—should I wire another quarter of a million for this one and see what happens?”