Free Immaculate Deception by Warren Adler Page A

Benton's reaction to
that conclusion that dealt a heavy blow to the suicide theory.
    "As a politician, a leader in the pro-life
movement," he had told her, "wouldn't it have been politically
glorious for her to flaunt her pregnancy? Show her commitment by example? 'Look
world, I am the recipient of an unwanted pregnancy but I will not evade my
responsibility to that unborn child.'"
    "Congratulations," Fiona said, surrendering to
his view. "You have entered a politician's mind."
    Still, their speculations were inconclusive. As the
Eggplant had assumed from the beginning, all was not kosher here and further
investigation was necessary.
    After her talk with Dr. Benton, she had come back to the
office. Cates had come in some time later griping about folderol, his English
schoolboy word for bullshit, forcing him to beat shoe leather merely to concoct
a murder scenario for the ego gratification of the Eggplant. He had reported on
the planned ceremonies in the rotunda, then had slumped in his chair and
groused.
    She had let him rant for a while, then, in flat tones, she
had told him what Dr. Benton had discovered in the woman's dead uterus. It had
stiffened him instantly. He did not need to play out the possibilities,
absorbing them by osmosis.
    "So what did he know..." His head moved toward
the Eggplant's closed office door. "That we didn't?"
    "That might be even more of a puzzle than the
other," Fiona had sighed. For an overbearing, egotistical,
status-conscious person like the Eggplant to be ahead of his troops was always
galling, despite its frequency.
    She had motioned with her eyes to Briggs who, as always,
sat eagle-eyed and alert for anyone wishing to speak to the Eggplant. He had
shrugged his consent, meaning that the Eggplant was approachable. Then she had
knocked on the Eggplant's door.
    "Come," he had snapped and she and Cates found
him, feet on the desk, showing off spit-shined tasseled loafers, puffing a thin
panatela and reading People magazine. He was an inveterate celebrity
worshiper. At one end of his office was a television set, playing without
sound, tuned in to the all-news channel.
    Without a shred of guilt, he had draped the magazine across
his thighs and squinted inquiringly at them.
    "I'm here to apprise," she had said, pronouncing
it, "apprahze." Ignoring the mimicry, he had nodded. They sat facing
him on two wooden arm chairs.
    He had listened without comment until Fiona revealed Mrs.
McGuire's pregnancy. Like Dr. Benton she had strung out the revelation.
    He had uncurled his legs from the desk and sat up stiffly.
The People magazine slipped unnoticed to the floor and he smiled a
toothy smile.
    "Be damned," he had said.
    Preempting what he was surely thinking, Fiona had offered
the speculations and theories that she had discussed with Dr. Benton.
    "Actually it could make the case for suicide even
stronger," Fiona told him, again preempting him. Without giving him time
for comment, she had filled him in about her discussion with Harlan Foy,
although she had edited out, for the moment, the possibility that Harlan might
have been Frankie's lover. Too incomprehensible, she had decided, although the
Eggplant, listening intently, his head bowed in concentration, had undoubtedly
picked up the unspoken subtext.
    He had rubbed his chin, stood up and strode toward the window.
The upper rim of a spring sun was slipping behind one of the government
buildings to the west. After a long silence, he had turned suddenly.
    "That woman was murdered," he said. His tone was
emphatic, without doubt.
    "But how can you be so sure?" Fiona had asked.
His surety was exasperating.
    "I feel it in my gut," he had replied, punching
his flat stomach.
    "This is too sensitive a case to build a conclusion on
a hunch," Fiona had said, reacting cautiously, being careful to keep due
deference in her tone.
    "Great case," he had commented using the same
fist he had just punched into his stomach to pound a palm. His eyes had moved
to the silent TV