Free The Machiavelli Covenant by Allan Folsom

was no accident."
    "Now we're back to the used cars. Marten, in this town there's a goddamn conspiracy theory in every toe-nail clipping. If that's all you have, forget it."
    "Would it make any difference if I said she told me that on her deathbed? Or that she was convinced the staph infection that killed her in so short a time had been deliberately administered?"
    "What?" Fadden's interest was suddenly piqued.
    "I realize she'd just lost her husband and only child and was dying herself. The whole thing could have been in her mind, the rantings of a terrified, hysterical widow. And maybe they were, but I promised her I'd do what I could to find out and that's what I'm doing."
    "Why? Who were you to her?"
    "Let's just say that at some point in our lives we—" Marten paused, then went on, "—loved each other very much and leave it at that."

    Fadden studied him. "She give you anything real? Specifics? Why she believed it?"
    "As in hard evidence? No. But she was supposed to have been on the same plane with her son and husband. She told me, or tried to tell me, that 'they' were responsible for the crash. When I asked her who 'they' were, she said 'the ca,' but that was all she got out. She couldn't finish it and never did. In thinking it over and tying it to her husband's death, the only thing that made sense was that maybe she was trying to say 'the
ca
-mmittee.'
    "The last committee meeting Mike Parsons attended before he died was the House Subcommittee on Intelligence and Counterterrorism. It took place on Tuesday, March 7, at the Rayburn House Office Building. Its subject was 'Progress in Consolidating Terrorist Watch Lists.' The thing about it is, there are no lists of witnesses who were to appear before the committee. Now I don't know much about how these things work, but scanning the
Congressional Record
for other committees over a two-week period I never found another that didn't have at least one witness to be presented. And that's why I need you, not just to walk me through the high school algebra of how all this works, but because you're a Washington insider who Dan Ford trusted. You know what goes on in these committees even if you don't write about it. Well, I want to know what was going on in Parsons's committee. What it was about. Why there were no witnesses. What might have happened there that could have made Caroline's suspicions real."
    "You're pursuing this emotionally, you know that," Fadden said quietly.
    Marten stared at him. "You weren't there. You didn'thear the fear in her voice or see it in her eyes. In her whole being."
    "Did it ever occur to you that you might be pissing in the wind?"
    "I didn't ask for your opinion, I asked for your help."
    Fadden picked up his coffee cup, held it for a moment, then drained it and stood up. "Let's take a walk."

17

    Marten and Peter Fadden came out of Mr. Henry's under a partly cloudy sky. Crossing Seward Square, they started up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the U.S. Capitol.

    "Caroline Parsons thought her staph infection had been deliberately administered," Fadden said.
    "Yes."
    "She say by who?"
    "We're still off the record," Marten said guardedly.
    "You want my help, answer the damn question."
    "Her doctor."
    "Lorraine Stephenson?" Fadden was clearly surprised.
    "Yes."
    "She's dead."
    Marten half smiled. So at least somebody else did know. "She was murdered."
    "How the hell do you know? That information hasn't been made public."
    "Because the police told me. I'd called Stephenson several times to ask her about Caroline's death. She refused to discuss it. The police went over her phone records and found me. They thought I might have been angry enough to do something about it."

    "Were you?"
    "Yes, but I didn't kill her." Suddenly Marten found an opening. If Fadden knew Lorraine Stephenson had been killed, he might also know something of what the police had found, why they were so convinced it had been murder, and why they were still holding the information back.