SIDNEY SHELDON

THE SKY IS FALLING

Copyright

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2000

Copyright © The Sidney Sheldon Family Limited Partnership 2000

Sidney Sheldon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007101887

Ebook Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780007386840

Version: 2017-01-09

For Alexandra The Angel On My Shoulder

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-six

Author’s Note

Books by Sidney Sheldon

About the Author

About the Publisher

The sky is falling! The sky is falling!

–Chicken Little

Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.

–F. Scott Fitzgerald

Prologue

CONFIDENTIAL MINUTES TO ALL OPERATION PERSONNEL: DESTROY IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING.

LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

DATE: CLASSIFIED

There were twelve men in the heavily guarded underground chamber, representing twelve far-flung countries. They were seated in comfortable chairs set in six rows, several feet apart. They listened intently as the speaker addressed them.

‘I am happy to inform you that the threat with which we have all been so deeply concerned is about to be eliminated. I need not go into details because the whole world will hear about it within the next twenty-four hours. Rest assured that nothing will stop us. The gates will remain open. We will now begin the auction. Do I have a first bid? Yes. One billion dollars. Do I have two? Two billion. Do I have three?’

Chapter One

She was hurrying along Pennsylvania Avenue, a block from the White House, shivering in the cold December wind, when she heard the terrifying, ear-splitting scream of air-raid sirens and then the sound of a bomber plane overhead, ready to unload its cargo of death. She stopped, frozen, engulfed in a red mist of terror.

Suddenly she was back in Sarajevo, and she could hear the shrill whistle of the bombs dropping. She closed her eyes tightly, but it was impossible to shut out the vision of what was happening all around her. The sky was ablaze, and she was deafened by the sounds of automatic-weapons fire, roaring planes, and the wump of deadly mortar shells. Nearby buildings erupted into showers of cement, bricks, and dust. Terrified people were running in every direction, trying to outrace death.

From far, far away, a man’s voice was saying, ‘Are you all right?’

Slowly, warily, she opened her eyes. She was back on Pennsylvania Avenue, in the bleak winter sunlight, listening to the fading sounds of the jet plane and the ambulance siren that had triggered her memories.

’Miss – are you all right?’

She forced herself back to the present. ‘Yes. I’m – I’m fine, thank you.’

He was staring at her. ‘Wait a minute! You’re Dana Evans. I’m a big fan of yours. I watch you on WTN every night, and I saw all your broadcasts from Yugoslavia.’ His voice was filled with enthusiasm. ‘It must have been really exciting for you, covering that war, huh?’

‘Yes.’ Dana Evans’s throat was dry. Exciting to see people blown to shreds, to see the bodies of babies thrown down wells, bits of human jetsam flowing down a river of red.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. ‘Excuse me.’ She turned and hurried away.

Dana Evans had returned from Yugoslavia just three months earlier. The memories were still too fresh. It seemed unreal to walk down streets in broad daylight without fear, to hear birds singing and people laughing. There had been no laughter in Sarajevo, only the sounds of exploding mortars and the anguished screams that followed.

John Donne was right, Dana thought. No man is an island. What happens to one, happens to us all, for we are all made of clay and stardust. We share the same moments of time. The universal second hand starts its unforgiving sweep toward the next minute:

In Santiago, a ten-year-old girl is being raped by her grandfather …

In New York City, two young lovers are kissing by candlelight…

In Flanders, a seventeen-year-old girl is giving birth to a crack baby …

In Chicago, a fireman risks his life to save a cat from a burning building …

In São Paulo, hundreds of fans are trampled to death at a soccer match as the stands collapse …

In Pisa, a mother cries with joy as she watches her baby take its first steps …

All this and infinitely more in the space of sixty seconds, Dana thought. And then time ticks on until it finally sends us into the same unknown eternity.

Dana Evans, at twenty-seven, was lovely looking, with a slim figure, midnight-black hair, large, intelligent gray eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a warm, contagious laugh. Dana had grown up as an army brat, the daughter of a colonel who traveled from base to base as an armament instructor, and that kind of life had given Dana a taste for adventure. She was vulnerable and at the same time fearless, and the combination was irresistible. During the year that Dana had covered the war in Yugoslavia, people all over the world were spellbound by the beautiful, young, impassioned woman broadcasting in the middle of battle, risking her life to report on the deadly events occurring around her. Now, wherever she went, she was aware of signs and whispers of recognition. Dana Evans was embarrassed by her celebrity.

Hurrying down Pennsylvania Avenue, passing the White House, Dana looked at her watch and thought, I’m going to be late for the meeting.

Washington Tribune Enterprises took up an entire block of Sixth Street NW, with four separate buildings: a newspaper printing plant, newspaper staff offices, an executive tower, and a television broadcasting complex. The Washington Tribune Network television studios occupied the sixth floor of building four. The place was always charged with energy, its cubicles humming with people at work on their computers. Wire copy from half a dozen news services constantly spewed out updated news from around the globe. The immensity of the operation never ceased to amaze and excite Dana.

It was there that Dana had met Jeff Connors. An All-Star pitcher until he injured his arm in a skiing accident, Jeff was now an on-air sports reporter for WTN and also wrote a daily column for the Washington Tribune Syndicate. He was in his thirties, tall and lean, with boyish looks and an easy, laid-back charm that attracted people to him. Jeff and Dana had fallen in love, and they had talked about marriage.

In the three months since Dana had returned from Sarajevo, events in Washington had moved swiftly. Leslie Stewart, the former owner of Washington Tribune Enterprises, had sold out and disappeared, and the corporation had been bought by an international media tycoon, Elliot Cromwell.

The morning meeting with Matt Baker and Elliot Cromwell was about to begin. When Dana arrived, she was greeted by Abbe Lasmann, Matt’s sexy redheaded assistant.

‘The fellows are waiting for you,’ Abbe said.

‘Thanks, Abbe.’ Dana walked into the corner office. ‘Matt … Elliot…’

‘You’re late,’ Matt Baker grumbled.

Baker was a short, gray-haired man in his early fifties, with a gruff, impatient manner fueled by a brilliant, restless mind. He wore rumpled suits that looked as if they had been slept in, and Dana suspected that they had been. He ran WTN, the Washington Tribune Enterprises television operation.

Elliot Cromwell was in his sixties, with a friendly, open manner and a ready smile. He was a billionaire, but there were a dozen different accounts of how he had achieved his vast fortune, some of them not flattering. In the media business, where the object was to disseminate information, Elliot Cromwell was an enigma.

He looked at Dana and said, ‘Matt tells me we’re beating the competition again. Your ratings keep going up.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, Elliot.’

‘Dana, I listen to a half-dozen newscasts every night, but yours is different from the others. I’m not exactly sure why, but I like it.’

Dana could have told Elliot Cromwell why. Other newscasters were talking at – not to – audiences of millions, announcing the news. Dana had decided to make it personal. In her mind, she would be talking one night to a lonely widow, the next night to a shut-in, lying helpless in bed, and the next to a solitary salesman somewhere far away from his home and family. Her news reports sounded private and intimate, and viewers loved them and responded to them.

‘I understand you’re going to have an exciting guest to interview tonight,’ Matt Baker said.

Dana nodded. ‘Gary Winthrop.’

Gary Winthrop was America’s Prince Charming. A member of one of the country’s most prominent families, he was young, handsome, charismatic.

‘He doesn’t like personal publicity,’ Cromwell said. ‘How did you get him to agree?’

‘We have a common hobby,’ Dana told him.

Cromwell’s brows furled. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ Dana smiled. ‘I like to look at Monets and van Goghs, and he likes to buy them. Seriously, I’ve interviewed him before, and we’ve become friendly. We’ll run a tape of his news conference, which we’ll cover this afternoon. My interview will be a follow-up.’

‘Wonderful.’ Cromwell beamed.

They spent the next hour talking about the new show the network was planning, Crime Line, an investigative hour that Dana was going to produce and anchor. The objective was twofold: to correct injustices that had been done and to spur interest in solving forgotten crimes.

‘There are a lot of other reality shows on the air,’ Matt warned, ’so we’ve got to be better than they are. I want us to start out with a grabber. Something that will capture the audience’s attention and –’

The intercom buzzed. Matt Baker flicked down a key. ‘I told you, no calls. Why –?’

Abbe’s voice came over the intercom. ‘I’m sorry. It’s for Miss Evans. It’s Kemal’s school calling. It sounds urgent.’

Matt Baker looked at Dana. ‘First line.’

Dana picked up the phone, her heart pounding. ‘Hello … Is Kemal all right?’ She listened a moment. ‘I see … I see … Yes, I’ll be right there.’ She replaced the receiver.

‘What’s wrong?’ Matt asked.

Dana said, ‘They’d like me to come to the school to pick Kemal up.’

Elliot Cromwell frowned. ‘That’s the boy you brought back from Sarajevo.’

‘Yes.’

‘That was quite a story.’

‘Yes,’ Dana said reluctantly.

‘Didn’t you find him living in some vacant lot?’

‘That’s right,’ Dana said.

‘He had some disease or something?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, disliking even to talk about those days. ‘Kemal lost an arm. It was blown off by a bomb.’

‘And you adopted him?’

‘Not officially yet, Elliot. I’m going to. For now, I’m his guardian.’

‘Well, go get him. We’ll discuss Crime Line later.’

When Dana arrived at the Theodore Roosevelt Middle School, she went directly to the assistant principal’s office. The assistant principal, Vera Kostoff, a harassed-looking, prematurely gray-haired woman in her fifties, was at her desk. Kemal was seated across from her. He was twelve years old, small for his age, thin and sallow, with tousled blond hair and a stubborn chin. Where his right arm should have been was an empty sleeve. His slight body seemed dwarfed by the room.

When Dana walked in, the atmosphere in the office was grim.

‘Hello, Mrs Kostoff,’ Dana said brightly. ‘Kemal.’

Kemal was staring at his shoes.

‘I understand there’s a problem?’ Dana continued.

‘Yes, there certainly is, Miss Evans.’ She handed Dana a sheet of paper.

Dana stared at it, puzzled. It read: Vodja, pizda, zbosti, fukati, nezakonski otrok, umreti, tepec. She looked up. ‘I – I don’t understand. These are Serbian words, aren’t they?’

Mrs Kostoff said tightly, ‘Indeed they are. It’s Kemal’s misfortune that I happen to be Serbian. These are words that Kemal has been using in school.’ Her face was flushed. ’Serbian truck drivers don’t talk like that, Miss Evans, and I won’t have such language coming from the mouth of this young boy. Kemal called me a pizda.’

Dana said, ‘A pi –?’

‘I realize that Kemal is new to our country, and I’ve tried to make allowances, but his – his behavior is reprehensible. He’s constantly getting into fights, and when I reprimanded him this morning, he – he insulted me. That was too much.’

Dana said tactfully, ‘I’m sure you know how difficult it must be for him, Mrs Kostoff, and –’

‘As I told you before, I’m making allowances, but he’s trying my patience.’

‘I understand.’ Dana looked over at Kemal. He was still staring down, his face sullen.

‘I do hope this will be the last incident,’ Mrs Kostoff said.

‘So do I.’ Dana rose.

‘I have Kemal’s report card for you.’ Mrs Kostoff opened a drawer, took out a card, and handed it to Dana.

‘Thank you,’ Dana said.

On the way home, Kemal was silent.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ Dana asked. ‘Why are you always getting into fights, and why do you use words like that?’

‘I didn’t know she spoke Serbian.’

When they reached Dana’s apartment, she said, ‘I’m going to have to go back to the studio, Kemal. Will you be all right here alone?’

‘Word.’

The first time Kemal had said that to her, Dana had thought he had not understood her, but she quickly learned that it was part of the arcane idiom spoken by the young. ‘Word’ meant ‘yes.’ ‘Phat’ described members of the opposite sex: pretty hot and tempting. Everything was cool or sweet or tight or rad. If there was something they didn’t like, it sucked.

Dana took out the report card that Mrs Kostoff had given her. As she studied it, her lips tightened. History, D. English, D. Science, D. Social Studies, F. Math, A.

Looking at the card, Dana thought, Oh, Lord, what am I going to do? ‘We’ll discuss this another time, she said. ‘I’m late.’

Kemal was an enigma to Dana. When they were together, he behaved beautifully. He was loving and thoughtful and endearing. On weekends, Dana and Jeff turned Washington into a playground for him. They went to the National Zoo, with its spectacular array of wild animals, starring the exotic giant panda. They visited the National Air and Space Museum, where Kemal saw the first Wright brothers plane dangling from the ceiling, and then walked through Skylab and touched moon rocks. They went to the Kennedy Center and the Arena Stage. They introduced Kemal to pizza at Tom Tom, tacos at Mextec, and southern fried chicken at Georgia Brown’s. Kemal loved every moment of it. He adored being with Dana and Jeff.

But … when Dana had to leave to go to work, Kemal turned into another person. He became hostile and confrontational. It was impossible for Dana to hold on to a housekeeper, and sitters told horror stories about evenings with Kemal.

Jeff and Dana tried reasoning with him, but it had no effect. Maybe he needs professional help, Dana thought. She had no idea of the terrible fears that plagued Kemal.

The WTN evening news was on the air. Richard Melton, Dana’s personable co-anchor, and Jeff Connors were seated beside her.

Dana Evans was saying, ‘… and in foreign news, France and England are still locking horns over mad cow disease. Here is René Linaud reporting from Rheims.’

In the control booth, the director, Anastasia Mann, ordered, ‘Go to remote.’

A scene in the French countryside flashed on the television screens.

The studio door opened and a group of men came in and approached the anchor desk.

Everyone looked up. Tom Hawkins, the ambitious young producer of the evening news, said, ‘Dana, you know Gary Winthrop.’

‘Of course.’

In person, Gary Winthrop was even more handsome than in photographs. He was in his forties, with bright blue eyes, a warm smile, and enormous charm.

‘We meet again, Dana. Thanks for inviting me.’

‘I appreciate your coming.’

Dana looked around. Half a dozen secretaries had suddenly found urgent reasons to be in the studio. Gary Winthrop must be used to that, Dana thought, amused.

‘Your segment is coming up in a few minutes. Why don’t you sit here next to me? This is Richard Melton.‘ The two men shook hands. ‘You know Jeff Connors, don’t you?’

‘You bet I do. You should be out there pitching, Jeff, instead of talking about the game.’

‘I wish I could,’ Jeff said ruefully.

The remote from France came to an end and they switched to a commercial. Gary Winthrop sat down and watched as the commercial ended.

From the control booth, Anastasia Mann said, ‘Stand by. We’re going to tape.’ She silently counted off with her index finger. Three … two … one …’

The scene on the monitor flashed to the exterior of the Georgetown Museum of Art. A commentator was holding a microphone in his hand, braving the cold wind.

‘We’re standing in front of the Georgetown Museum of Art, where Mr Gary Winthrop is inside at a ceremony marking his fifty-million-dollar gift to the museum. Let’s go inside now.’

The scene on the screen changed to the spacious interior of the art museum. Various city officials, dignitaries, and television crews were gathered around Gary Winthrop. The museum’s director, Morgan Ormond, was handing him a large plaque.

‘Mr Winthrop, on behalf of the museum, the many visitors who come here, and its trustees, we want to thank you for this most generous contribution.’

Camera lights flashed.

Gary Winthrop said, ‘I hope this will give young American painters a better chance not only to express themselves but to have their talents recognized around the world.’

There was applause from the group.

The announcer on tape was saying, ‘This is Bill Toland at the Georgetown Museum of Art. Back to the studio. Dana?’

The camera’s red light came on.

‘Thank you. Bill. We’re fortunate enough to have Mr Gary Winthrop with us to discuss the purpose of his enormous gift.’

The camera pulled back to a wider angle, revealing Gary Winthrop in the studio.

Dana said, ‘This fifty-million-dollar donation, Mr Winthrop, will it be used to buy paintings for the museum?’

‘No. It’s for a new wing that will be dedicated to young American artists who might not otherwise have a chance to show what they can do. A portion of the fund will be used for scholarships for gifted children in inner cities. Too many youngsters grow up without knowing anything about art. They may hear about the great French impressionists, but I want them to be aware of their own heritage, with American artists like Sargent, Homer, and Remington. This money will be used to encourage young artists to fulfill their talents and for all young people to take an interest in art.’

Dana said, ‘There’s a rumor that you’re planning to run for the Senate, Mr Winthrop. Is there any truth to it?’

Gary Winthrop smiled. ‘I’m testing the waters.’

‘They’re pretty inviting. In the straw polls we’ve seen, you’re way ahead.’

Gary Winthrop nodded. ‘My family has had a long record of government service. If I can be of any use to this country, I will do whatever I am called on to do.’

‘Thank you for being with us, Mr Winthrop.’

‘Thank you.’

During the commercial break, Gary Winthrop said good-bye and left the studio.

Jeff Connors, sitting next to Dana, said, ‘We need more like him in Congress.’

‘Amen.’

‘Maybe we could clone him. By the way – how is Kemal?’

Dana winced. ‘Jeff – please don’t mention Kemal and cloning in the same breath. I can’t handle it.’

‘Did the problem at school this morning work out?’

‘Yes, but that was today. Tomorrow is –’

Anastasia Mann said, ‘We’re back. Three … two … one …’

The red light flashed on. Dana looked at the Tele-PrompTer. ‘It’s time for sports now with Jeff Connors.’

Jeff looked into the camera. ‘Merlin the Magician was missing from the Washington Bullets tonight. Juwan Howard tried his magic and Gheorghe Muresan and Rasheed Wallace helped stir up the brew, but it was bitter, and they had finally to swallow it along with their pride …’

At 2:00 AM, in Gary Winthrop’s town house in the elite north-west section of Washington, two men were removing paintings from the walls of the drawing room. One man wore the mask of the Lone Ranger, the other the mask of Captain Midnite. They worked at a leisurely pace, cutting the pictures out of the frames and putting their loot into large burlap sacks.

The Lone Ranger asked, ‘What time does the patrol come by again?’

Captain Midnite replied, ‘Four AM.’

‘It’s nice of them to keep to a schedule for us, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

Captain Midnite removed a painting from the wall and dropped it onto the oak floor with a loud noise. The two men stopped what they were doing and listened. Silence.

The Lone Ranger said, ‘Try it again. Louder.’

Captain Midnite took down another painting and threw it heavily against the floor. ‘Now let’s see what happens.’

In his bedroom upstairs, Gary Winthrop was awakened by the noise. He sat up in bed. Had he heard a sound, or had he dreamed it? He listened a moment longer. Silence. Unsure, he rose and stepped out into the hallway and pressed the light switch. The hallway remained dark.

‘Hello. Is anyone down there?’ There was no answer. Downstairs, he walked along the corridor until he reached the door of the drawing room. He stopped and stared in disbelief at the two masked men.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

The Lone Ranger turned to him and said, ‘Hi, Gary. Sorry we woke you up. Go back to sleep.’ A Beretta with a silencer appeared in his hand. He pulled the trigger twice and watched Gary Winthrop’s chest explode into a red shower. The Lone Ranger and Captain Midnite watched him fall to the floor. Satisfied, they turned and continued to remove the paintings.

Chapter Two

Dana Evans was awakened by the relentless ringing of the telephone. She struggled to sit up and looked at the bedside clock, bleary-eyed. It was five o’clock in the morning. She picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Dana …’

‘Matt?’

‘See how fast you can get down to the studio.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ll fill you in when you get here.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Fifteen minutes later, hastily dressed, Dana was knocking on the door of the Whartons’ apartment, her next-door neighbors.

Dorothy Wharton opened the door, wearing a robe. She looked at Dana in alarm. ‘Dana, what’s wrong?’

‘I hate to do this to you, Dorothy, but I’ve been called to the studio on an emergency. Would you mind getting Kemal to school?’

‘Why, of course not. I’d be happy to.’

‘Thank you so much. He has to be there at seven-forty-five, and he’ll need breakfast.’

‘Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it. You run along.’

‘Thanks,’ Dana said gratefully.

Abbe Lasmann was already in her office, looking sleepy. ‘He’s waiting for you.’

Dana walked into Matt’s office.

‘I have some awful news,’ he said. ‘Gary Winthrop was murdered earlier this morning.’

Dana sank into a chair, stunned. ‘What? Who –?’

‘Apparently his house was being robbed. When he confronted the burglars, they killed him.’

‘Oh, no! He was so wonderful!’ Dana remembered the friendliness and warmth of the attractive philanthropist, and she felt ill.

Matt shook his head in disbelief. ‘This makes – my God – the fifth tragedy.’

Dana was puzzled. ‘What do you mean, the fifth tragedy?’

Matt looked at her in surprise, then suddenly realized, ‘Of course – you were in Sarajevo. I guess over there, with a war going on, what happened to the Winthrops during the last year wouldn’t have been such headline news. I’m sure you know about Taylor Winthrop, Gary’s father?’

‘He was our ambassador to Russia. He and his wife died in a fire last year.’

‘Right. Two months later, their older son, Paul, was killed in an automobile accident. And six weeks after that, their daughter, Julie, died in a skiing accident.’ Matt paused for a moment. ‘And now, this morning, Gary, the last of the family.’

Dana was stunned into silence.

‘Dana, the Winthrops are a legend. If this country had a royal family, they would hold the crown. They invented charisma. They were world-famous for their philanthropy and government service. Gary was planning to follow in his father’s footsteps and run for the Senate, and he’d have been a shoo-in. Everyone loved him. Now he’s gone. In less than one year, one of the most distinguished families in the world has been totally wiped out.’

‘I – I don’t know what to say.’

‘You’d better think of something,’ Matt said briskly. ‘You’re on the air in twenty minutes.’

The news of Gary Winthrop’s death sent shock waves around the world. Comments from government leaders flashed onto universal television screens.

‘It’s like a Greek tragedy …’

‘Unbelievable …’

‘An ironic twist of fate …’

‘The world has sustained a terrible loss …’

‘The brightest and the best, and they’re all gone …’

Gary Winthrop’s murder seemed to be all that anyone was talking about. A wave of sadness swept over the country. Gary Winthrop’s death had brought back the memory of the other tragic deaths in his family.

‘It’s unreal,’ Dana told Jeff. ‘The whole family must have been so wonderful.’

‘They were. Gary was a real sports fan and a big supporter.’ Jeff shook his head. ‘It’s hard to believe that some two-bit thieves wiped out such a wonderful person.’

Driving to the studio the next morning, Jeff said, ‘By the way, Rachel’s in town.’

By the way? How casual. Much too casual, Dana thought.

Jeff had been married to Rachel Stevens, a top model. Dana had seen her picture in television ads and on magazine covers. It was hard to believe how beautiful she was. But she probably doesn’t have a working brain cell in her head, Dana decided. On the other hand, with that face and body, she doesn’t need any brains.

Dana had discussed Rachel with Jeff. ‘What happened to the marriage?’

‘It was great in the beginning,’ Jeff told her. ’Rachel was so supportive. Even though she hated baseball, she used to come to the games to watch me play. Besides that, we had a lot in common.’

I’ll bet you did.

‘She’s really a wonderful woman, completely unspoiled. She loved to cook. When she was on a shoot, Rachel would cook for the other models.’

Great way to get rid of the competition. They were probably dropping like flies.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘Anyway, we were married for five years.’

‘And then?’

‘Rachel was very successful. She was always booked, and her work took her all over the world. Italy … England … Jamaica … Thailand … Japan … You name it. Meanwhile, I was playing ball around the country. We didn’t get together very often. Little by little the magic faded.’

The next question seemed logical because Jeff loved children. ‘Why no children?’

Jeff smiled wryly. ‘Not good for a model’s figure. Then one day Roderick Marshall, one of Hollywood’s ace directors, sent for her. Rachel went to Hollywood.’ He hesitated. ‘She called me a week later to tell me she wanted a divorce. She felt we had drifted too far apart. I had to agree. I gave her the divorce. Shortly after that I broke my arm.’

‘And you became a sportscaster. What about Rachel? She didn’t make it in movies?’

Jeff shook his head. ‘She wasn’t really interested. But she’s doing just fine.’

‘And you’re still friendly?’ A loaded question.

‘Yes. As a matter of fact, when she called me, I told her about us. She wants to meet you.’

Dana frowned. ‘Jeff, I don’t think–’

‘She’s really very nice, honey. Let’s all have lunch tomorrow. You’ll like her.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Dana agreed. Snowball in hell, Dana thought. But I don’t get to talk to many airheads.

The airhead turned out to be even more beautiful than Dana had feared. Rachel Stevens was tall and slender, with lustrous, long blond hair, flawless tanned skin, and striking facial features. Dana hated her on sight.

‘Dana Evans, this is Rachel Stevens.’

Dana thought, Shouldn’t it have been ‘Rachel Stevens, this is Dana Evans’?

Rachel Stevens was saying, ‘… your broadcasts from Sarajevo whenever I could. They were incredible. We could all feel your heartbreak and share it.’

How do you respond to a sincere compliment? ‘Thank you,’ Dana said lamely.

‘Where would you like to have lunch?’ Jeff asked.

Rachel suggested, ‘There’s a marvelous restaurant called the Straits of Malaya. It’s just two blocks off Dupont Circle.’ She turned to Dana and asked, ‘Do you like Thai food?’

As if she really cares. ‘Yes.’

Jeff smiled. ‘Fine. Let’s try it.’

Rachel said, ‘It’s only a few blocks from here. Shall we walk?’

In this freezing weather? ‘Sure,’ Dana said gamely. She probably walks naked in the snow.

They headed for Dupont Circle. Dana felt uglier by the second. She was bitterly sorry she had accepted the invitation.

The restaurant turned out to be packed, with a dozen people at the bar, waiting for tables. The maître d’came bustling up.

‘A table for three,’ Jeff said.

‘Do you have a reservation?’

‘No, but we –’

‘I’m sorry, but –’ He recognized Jeff. ‘Mr Connors, it’s a pleasure to see you.’ He looked at Dana. ‘Miss Evans, this is an honor.’ He made a small moue. ‘I’m afraid there will be a short delay.’ His glance moved to Rachel, and his face lit up. ‘Miss Stevens! I read that you were doing a layout in China.’

‘I was, Somchai. I’m back.’

‘Wonderful.’ He turned to Dana and Jeff. ‘Of course we have a table for you.’ He led them to a table in the center of the room.

I hate her, Dana thought. I truly hate her.

When they were seated, Jeff said, ‘You look great, Rachel. Whatever you’re doing agrees with you.’

And we can all guess what that is.

‘I’ve been doing a lot of traveling. I think I’m going to start taking it easy for a while.’ She looked into Jeff’s eyes. ‘Do you remember the night that you and I–’

Dana looked up from the menu. ‘What is udang goreng?’

Rachel glanced at Dana. ‘That’s shrimp in coconut milk. It’s very good here.’ She turned back to Jeff. ’The night you and I decided that we wanted to –’

‘What is laksa?’

Rachel said patiently, ‘That’s spicy noodle soup.’ She turned back to Jeff. ’You said you wanted to –’

‘And poh pia?’

Rachel looked at Dana and said sweetly, ‘That’s jicama stir-fried with vegetables.’

‘Really?’ Dana decided not to ask what jicama was.

But as the meal went on, Dana was surprised that in spite of herself, she began to like Rachel Stevens. She had a warm and charming personality. Unlike most world-class beauties, Rachel seemed to be completely unself-conscious about her looks and displayed no ego. She was intelligent and articulate, and when she gave the luncheon order to the waiter in Thai, there was no hint of superiority. How did Jeff ever let this one get away? Dana wondered.

‘How long will you be in Washington?’ Dana asked.

‘I have to leave tomorrow.’

‘Where are you heading for this time?’ Jeff wanted to know.

Rachel hesitated. ‘Hawaii. But I’m feeling really tired, Jeff. I was even thinking of canceling this.’

‘But you won’t,’ Jeff said knowingly.

Rachel sighed. ‘No, I won’t.’

‘When will you be back?’ Dana asked.

Rachel looked at her for a long moment and then said softly, ‘I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Washington, Dana. I hope you and Jeff will be very happy.’ There was an unspoken message in her words.

Outside, after lunch, Dana said, ‘I have some errands to do. You two go on ahead.’

Rachel took Dana’s hand in hers. ‘I’m very glad we met.’

‘So am I,’ Dana said, and to her surprise she really meant it.

Dana watched Jeff and Rachel start down the street. A striking couple, she thought.

Because it was early December, Washington was preparing for the holiday season. The streets of the capital were decorated with Christmas lights and wreaths of holly, and on almost every corner Salvation Army Santa Clauses stood, tolling their bells for coins. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers braving the icy winds.

The time has come, Dana thought. I have to get started with my own shopping. Dana thought about the people for whom she should buy gifts. Her mother; Kemal; Matt, her boss; and, of course, wonderful Jeff. Dana jumped in a cab and headed for Hecht’s, one of Washington’s largest department stores. The place was jammed with people celebrating the Christmas spirit by rudely elbowing other shoppers out of the way.

When Dana finished shopping, she headed back to her apartment to drop off her gifts. The apartment was on Calvert Street, in a quiet residential section. Attractively furnished, it consisted of one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a study, where Kemal slept.

Dana put the gifts in a closet, looked around the small apartment, and thought happily, We’ll have to get a larger place when Jeff and I get married. As she headed for the door to return to the studio, the telephone rang. Murphy’s law. Dana picked up the phone. ‘Hello.’

‘Dana, darling.’

It was her mother. ‘Hello, Mother. I was just leav –’

‘My friends and I listened to your broadcast last night. You were very good.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Although we thought you could have brightened up the news a bit.’

Dana sighed. ‘Brightened up the news?’

‘Yes. All the things you talk about are so depressing. Can’t you find something cheerful to discuss?’

‘I’ll certainly see what I can do, Mother.’

‘That would be nice. By the way, I’m running just a little short of cash this month. I wonder if you could help me out again?’

Dana’s father had disappeared years ago. In time, Dana’s mother had moved to Las Vegas. It seemed that she was always short of cash. The monthly allowance Dana gave her mother never seemed to be enough.

‘Do you gamble, Mother?’

‘Of course not,’ Mrs Evans said indignantly. ‘Las Vegas is a very expensive city. By the way, when are you going to come out here? I would like to meet Kimbal. You should bring him here.’

‘His name is Kemal, Mother. I can’t get away right now.’

There was a slight hesitation at the other end. ‘You can’t? My friends are all saying how fortunate you are to have a job where you only have to work an hour or two a day.’

Dana said, ‘I guess I’m just lucky.’

As anchorwoman, Dana arrived at the television studio at nine o’clock every morning and spent much of the day on international conference calls, getting the latest news from London, Paris, Italy, and other foreign locations. The rest of the day was devoted to meetings, putting all the news together, and deciding what would be broadcast and in what order when she went on the air. She did two evening broadcasts.

‘It’s nice that you have such an easy job, darling.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

‘You’ll come and see me soon, won’t you?’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘I can’t wait to meet that darling little boy.’

It will be good for Kemal to meet her, too, Dana thought. He’ll have a grandmother. And when Jeff and I are married, Kemal will have a real family again.

As Dana stepped out into the corridor of her apartment building, Mrs Wharton appeared.

‘I want to thank you for taking care of Kemal the other morning, Dorothy. I really appreciate it.’

‘It was my pleasure.’

Dorothy Wharton and her husband, Howard, had moved into the building a year ago. They were Canadians, a delightful middle-aged couple. Howard Wharton was an engineer who repaired monuments.

As he had explained to Dana at dinner one night, ‘There’s no better city in the world than Washington for my kind of work. Where else could I find opportunities like this?’ And he answered his own question. ‘Nowhere.’

‘Howard and I both love Washington,’ Mrs Wharton confided. ‘We’re never going to leave.’

When Dana got back to her office, the latest edition of the Washington Tribune was on her desk. The front page was filled with stories and photographs of the Winthrop family. Dana looked at the photographs for a long time, her mind racing. Five of them all dead in less than a year. Incredible.

The call was made to a private phone in the executive tower of Washington Tribune Enterprises.

‘I just got the instructions.’

‘Good. They’ve been waiting. What do you want them to do with the paintings?’

‘Burn them.’

‘All of them? They’re worth millions of dollars.’

‘Everything’s gone perfectly. We can’t allow any loose ends. Burn them now.’

Dana’s secretary, Olivia Watkins, was on the intercom. ‘There’s a call for you on line three. He’s called twice already.’

‘Who is it, Olivia?’

‘Mr Henry.’

Thomas Henry was the principal of Theodore Roosevelt Middle School.

Dana rubbed her hand against her forehead to wipe away the headache that was about to start. She picked up the telephone. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Henry.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Evans. I wonder if you could stop by and see me?’

‘Certainly. In an hour or two, I’m –’

‘I would suggest now, if that’s possible.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Chapter Three

School was an unbearable ordeal for Kemal. He was smaller than the other kids in his classes, and to his deep shame, that included the girls. He was nicknamed ‘the runt’ and ‘the shrimp’ and ‘the minnow’. As far as his studies were concerned, Kemal’s only interest was in math and computers, where he invariably got the highest grades of anyone. An offshoot of the class was the chess club, and Kemal dominated it. In the past, he had enjoyed soccer, but when he had gone to try out for the school varsity team, the coach had looked at Kemal’s empty sleeve and said, ‘Sorry, we can’t use you.’ It was not said unkindly, but it was a devastating blow.

Kemal’s nemesis was Ricky Underwood. At lunchtime some of the students ate in the enclosed patio instead of the cafeteria. Ricky Underwood would wait to see where Kemal was having lunch and then join him.

‘Hey, orphan boy. When is your wicked stepmother going to send you back where you came from?’

Kemal ignored him.

‘I’m talking to you, freak. You don’t think she’s going to keep you, do you? Everyone knows why she brought you over here, camel face. Because she was a famous war correspondent, and it made her look good to save a cripple.’

‘Fukat!’ Kemal shouted. He got up and leaped at Ricky.

Ricky’s fist went into Kemal’s stomach, and then crashed into Kemal’s face. Kemal fell on the ground, writhing in pain.

Ricky Underwood said, ‘Anytime you want more, just tell me. And you better do it fast, because from what I hear, you’re history.’

Kemal lived in an agony of doubt. He did not believe the things that Ricky Underwood said and yet … What if they were true? What if Dana does send me back? Ricky is right, Kemal thought. I am a freak. Why would someone as wonderful as Dana want me?

Kemal had believed his life was over when his parents and sister were killed in Sarajevo. He had been sent to the Orphans Institution outside of Paris, and it was a nightmare.

At two o’clock every Friday afternoon, the boys and girls in the orphanage would line up as prospective foster parents arrived to evaluate them and select one to take home. As each Friday approached, the excitement and tension among the children rose to an almost unbearable pitch. They would wash and dress neatly, and as the adults walked along the line, each child would inwardly pray to be chosen.

Invariably, when the prospective parents saw Kemal, they would whisper, ‘Look, he’s got only one arm,’ and they would move on.

Every Friday was the same, but Kemal would still wait hopefully as the adults examined the line of candidates. But they always picked other children. Standing there, ignored, Kemal would be filled with humiliation. It will always be someone else, he thought despairingly. No one wants me.

Kemal wished desperately to be part of a family. He tried everything he could think of to make it happen. One Friday he would smile brightly at the adults to let them know what a nice, friendly boy he was. The next Friday he would pretend to be occupied with something, showing them that he didn’t really care whether he was chosen or not, and that they would be lucky to have him. At other times, he would look at them appealingly, silently begging them to take him home with them. But week after week, it was always someone else who was chosen and taken away to wonderful homes and happy families.

Miraculously, Dana had changed all that. She was the one who had found him living homeless on the streets of Sarajevo. After Kemal was airlifted by the Red Cross to the orphanage, Kemal wrote Dana a letter. To his astonishment, she had telephoned the orphanage and said that she wanted Kemal to come live with her in America. That was the happiest moment of Kemal’s life. It was an impossible dream come true, and it turned out to be a joy even greater than he had ever imagined.

Kemal’s life had changed completely. He was grateful now that no one had chosen him before. He was no longer alone in the world. Someone cared about him. He loved Dana with all his heart and soul, but within him was always the terrible fear that Ricky Underwood had instilled, that someday Dana would change her mind and send him back to the orphanage, to the life of hell he had escaped. He had a recurring dream: He was back in the orphans’ asylum, and it was Friday. A line of adults was inspecting the children, and Dana was there. She looked at Kemal and said, That ugly little boy has only one arm, and she moved on and picked the boy next to him. Kemal would wake up in tears.

Kemal knew that Dana hated for him to get into fights at school, and he did everything he could to avoid them, but he could not bear to have Ricky Underwood or his friends insult Dana. As soon as they realized that, the insults about Dana increased, and so did the fights.

Ricky would greet Kemal with ‘Hey, have you packed your suitcase, shrimp? On the news this morning it said your bitch stepmother is going to send you back to Yugoslavia.’

‘Zbosti!’ Kemal would yell.

And the fight would begin. Kemal would come home with black eyes and bruises, but when Dana asked him what had happened, he could not tell her the truth, for he was terrified that if he put it into words, what Ricky Underwood had said might happen.

Now, as Kemal waited in the principal’s office for Dana to arrive, he thought, When she hears what I’ve done this time, she is going to send me away. He sat there miserable, his heart racing.

When Dana entered the office of Thomas Henry, the principal was pacing the floor, looking grim. Kemal sat in a chair across the room.

‘Good morning, Miss Evans. Please sit down.’

Dana glanced at Kemal and took a seat.

Thomas Henry picked up a large butcher knife from his desk. ‘One of Kemal’s teachers took this from him.’

Dana swiveled to look at Kemal, furious. ‘Why?’ she asked angrily. ‘Why did you bring this to school?’

Kemal looked at Dana and said sullenly, ‘I didn’t have a gun.’

‘Kemal!’

Dana turned to the principal. ‘May I speak to you alone, Mr Henry?’

‘Yes.’ He looked over at Kemal, his jaw tight. ‘Wait in the hallway.’

Kemal got to his feet, took one last look at the knife, and left.

Dana began, ‘Mr Henry, Kemal is twelve years old. He’s lived most of those years going to sleep with the sound of exploding bombs in his ears, the same bombs that killed his mother and father and sister. One of those bombs took off his arm. When I found Kemal in Sarajevo, he was living in a cardboard box in a vacant lot. There were a hundred other homeless boys and girls there, living like animals.’ She was remembering, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘The bombs have stopped, but the boys and girls are still homeless and helpless. The only way they can defend themselves against their enemies is with a knife or a rock or a gun, if they’re lucky enough to get hold of one.’ Dana closed her eyes for an instant and took a deep breath. ‘These children are scarred. Kemal is scarred, but he’s a decent boy. He just needs to learn that he’s safe here. That none of us is his enemy. I promise you he won’t do this again.’

There was a long silence. When Thomas Henry spoke, he said, ‘If I ever need a lawyer, Miss Evans, I’d like you to defend me.’

Dana managed a relieved smile. ‘I promise.’

Thomas Henry sighed. ‘All right. Have a talk with Kemal. If he does anything like this again, I’m afraid I’ll have to –’

‘I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Mr Henry.’

Kemal was waiting in the hallway.

‘Let’s go home,’ Dana said curtly.

‘Did they keep my knife?’

She did not bother to answer.

During the ride home, Kemal said, ‘I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Dana.’

‘Oh, no trouble. They’ve decided not to kick me out of school. Look, Kemal –’

‘Okay. No more knives.’

When they returned to the apartment, Dana said, ‘I have to get back to the studio. The sitter will be here any minute. Tonight you and I are going to have to have a long talk.’

When the evening broadcast was finished, Jeff turned to Dana. ‘You look worried, honey.’

‘I am. It’s Kemal. I don’t know what to do about him, Jeff. I had to go see his principal again today, and two more housekeepers have quit because of him.’

‘He’s a great kid,’ Jeff said. ‘He just needs warm-up time.’

‘Maybe. Jeff?’

‘Yes?’

‘I hope I didn’t make a terrible mistake bringing him here.’

When Dana returned to the apartment, Kemal was waiting.

Dana said, ‘Sit down. We have to talk. You must start obeying the rules, and these fights at school have to stop. I know the other boys are making it difficult for you, but you’ve got to come to some understanding with them. If you keep getting into fights, Mr Henry is going to throw you out of school.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You have to care. I want you to have a wonderful future, and that can’t happen without an education. Mr Henry is giving you a break, but –’

‘Fuck him.’

‘Kemal!’ Without thinking, Dana slapped him across the face. She was instantly sorry. Kemal stared at her, a look of disbelief on his face, got up, ran into the study, and slammed the door shut.

The telephone rang. Dana picked it up. It was Jeff. ‘Dana –’

‘Darling, I – I can’t talk right now. I’m too upset.’

‘What happened?’

‘It’s Kemal. He’s impossible!’

‘Dana …’

‘Yes?’

‘Walk in his shoes.’

‘What?’

‘Think about it. Sorry, I’m on a deadline. Love you, and we’ll talk later.’

Walk in his shoes? That doesn’t make any sense, Dana thought. How can I know what Kemal is feeling? I’m not a twelve-year-old war orphan with one arm who’s gone through what he’s gone through. Dana sat there for a long time, thinking. Walk in his shoes. She rose, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and opened her closet door. Before Kemal had arrived, Jeff had spent several nights a week at the apartment and had left some of his clothes there. In the closet were pants, shirts and ties, a sweater, and a sports jacket.

Dana took out some of the clothes and placed them on the bed. She went to a bureau drawer and removed a pair of Jeff’s Jockey shorts and socks. Then Dana got completely undressed. She picked up Jeff’s Jockey shorts with her left hand and started putting them on. She lost her balance and fell. It took her two more attempts before she could get them on. Next, she picked up one of Jeff’s shirts. Using only her left hand, it took three frustrating minutes to slip into it and button it. She had to sit on the bed to don the trousers, and they were difficult to zip up. It took another two minutes to put on Jeff’s sweater.

When Dana was finally dressed, she sat down to catch her breath. This was what Kemal had to go through every morning. And that was only the beginning. He had to bathe and brush his teeth and comb his hair. And that was now. What about the past? Living in the horror of war, watching his mother, father, sister, and friends murdered.

Jeff’s right, she thought. I’m expecting too much too soon. He needs more time to adjust. I could never give up on him. My father abandoned my mother and me and I’ve never really forgiven him for that. There should be a thirteenth commandment: Thou shall not abandon those who love you.

Slowly, as Dana got dressed in her own clothes, she thought about the lyrics of the songs that Kemal listened to over and over again. The CDs of Britney Spears, the Backstreet Boys, Limp Bizkit. ‘Don’t want to lose you,’ ‘I need you tonight,’ ‘As long as you love me,’ ‘I just want to be with you,’ ‘I need love.’

All the lyrics were about loneliness and wanting.

Dana picked up Kemal’s report card. It was true that he was failing in most of his classes, but he had an A in math. It’s the A that’s important, Dana thought. That’s where he excels. That’s where he has a future. We’ll work on the other grades.

When Dana opened the door to the study, Kemal was in bed, with his eyes tightly closed and his pale face stained with tears. Dana looked at him a moment, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, Kemal,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me.’

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Early the following morning Dana took Kemal to a prominent orthopedic surgeon, Dr William Wilcox. After the examination, Dr Wilcox talked to Dana alone.

‘Miss Evans, to fit him with a prosthesis would cost twenty thousand dollars and there’s a problem here. Kemal is only twelve years old. His body will keep growing until he’s seventeen or eighteen. He could outgrow the prosthesis every few months. I’m afraid financially it’s not practical.’

Dana had a sinking feeling. ‘I see. Thank you, Doctor.’

Outside, Dana said to Kemal, ‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find a way.’

Dana dropped Kemal off at school and then headed for the studio. Half a dozen blocks away, her cell phone rang. She picked it up. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Matt. There’s going to be a press conference on the Winthrop murder at police headquarters at noon. I want you to cover it. I’m sending over a camera crew. The police have really got their asses in a sling. The story is getting bigger every minute, and the cops don’t have a clue.’

‘I’ll be there, Matt.’

Police Chief Dan Burnett was in his office on the telephone when his secretary said, ‘The mayor is on line two.’

Burnett snapped, ‘Tell him I’m talking to the governor on line one.’ He went back to the phone.

‘Yes, Governor. I know that … Yes, sir. I think … I’m sure we can … As soon as we … Right. Good-bye, sir.’ He slammed the phone down.

‘The White House press secretary is on line four.’

The whole morning went like that.

At noon, the conference room in the Municipal Center at 300 Indiana Avenue in downtown Washington was crowded with members of the media. Police Chief Burnett entered and walked to the front of the room.

‘Let’s have it quiet, please.’ He waited until there was silence. ‘Before I take your questions, I have a statement to make. The savage murder of Gary Winthrop is a great loss not only to this community, but to the world, and our investigation is going to continue until we apprehend the ones responsible for this terrible crime. I’ll take your questions.’

A reporter stood up. ‘Chief Burnett, do the police have any leads?’

‘At about three AM a witness saw two men loading up a white van in the driveway of Gary Winthrop’s house. Their actions looked suspicious, and he took down the license number. The plates were from a stolen truck.’

‘Do the police know what was taken from the house?’

‘A dozen valuable paintings are missing.’

‘Was anything stolen besides the paintings?’

‘No.’

‘What about cash and jewelry?’

‘The jewelry and cash in the house were untouched. The thieves were just after the paintings.’

‘Chief Burnett, didn’t the house have an alarm system, and if so, was it turned on?’

‘According to the butler, it was always turned on at night. The burglars found a way to circumvent it. We’re not sure yet how.’

‘How did the burglars gain entrance to the house?’

Chief Burnett hesitated. ‘That’s an interesting question. There were no signs of a break-in. We don’t have the answer to that yet.’

‘Could it have been an inside job?’

‘We don’t think so. Gary Winthrop’s staff has been with him for many years.’

‘Was Gary Winthrop alone in the house?’

‘As far as we know, yes. The staff was off.’

Dana called out, ‘Do you have a list of the stolen paintings?’

‘We do. They’re all well known. The list has been circulated to museums, art dealers, and collectors. The minute one of those paintings appears, the case will be solved.’

Dana sat down, puzzled. The killers must have been aware of that, so they wouldn’t dare try to sell the paintings. Then what was the point of stealing them? And committing a murder? And why didn’t they take the money and jewelry? Something doesn’t add up.

The funeral services for Gary Winthrop were held at the National Cathedral, the sixth largest in the world. Wisconsin and Massachusetts Avenues had been closed off to traffic. Secret Service men and Washington police were out in full force. Inside, waiting for the service to begin, were the vice president of the United States, a dozen senators and members of Congress, a Supreme Court Justice, two cabinet officers, and a host of dignitaries from around the world. The police and press helicopters beat a tattoo in the sky. On the street outside were hundreds of onlookers who had come either to pay their respects or to get a glimpse of the celebrities inside. People were paying tribute not just to Gary, but to the entire ill-fated Winthrop dynasty.

Dana covered the funeral with two camera crews. Inside, the cathedral was hushed.

‘God moves in mysterious ways,’ the minister was intoning. ‘The Winthrops spent their lives building hopes. They donated billions of dollars to schools and churches and to the homeless and the hungry. But just as important, they selflessly gave of their time and talent. Gary Winthrop carried on the great family tradition. Why this family, with all its achievements and generosity, has been taken from us so cruelly is beyond our knowledge. In one sense, they are not really gone, for their legacy will live on forever. What they have done for us will always make us proud.

God shouldn’t let people like that die those kinds of horrible deaths, Dana thought sadly.

Dana’s mother called. ‘My friends and I watched you cover the funeral, Dana. For a moment there, when you were talking about the Winthrop family, I thought you were going to cry.’

‘So did I, Mother. So did I.’

Dana had difficulty getting to sleep that night. When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were a wild kaleidoscope of fires and automobile accidents and shootings. In the middle of the night, she awakened suddenly and sat up. Five members of the same family killed in less than a year? What are the odds?

Chapter Four

‘What are you trying to tell me, Dana?’

‘Matt, I’m saying that five violent deaths in one family in less than a year is too much of a coincidence.’

‘Dana, if I didn’t know you better, I’d call a psychiatrist and tell him Chicken Little is in my office saying that the sky is falling. You think we’re dealing with some kind of conspiracy? Who’s behind it? Fidel Castro? The CIA? Oliver Stone? For God’s sake, don’t you know that every time someone prominent is killed, there are a hundred different conspiracy theories? A guy came in here last week and said he could prove that Lyndon Johnson killed Abraham Lincoln. Washington is always drowning in conspiracy theories.’

‘Matt, we’re getting ready to do Crime Line. You want to start with a grabber? Well, if I’m right, this could be it.’

Matt Baker sat there for a moment, studying her. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

‘Thanks, Matt.’

The Washington Tribune’s morgue was in the building’s basement, filled with thousands of tapes from earlier news shows, all neatly cataloged.

Laura Lee Hill, an attractive brunette in her forties, was seated behind her desk cataloging tapes. She looked up as Dana entered.

‘Hi, Dana. I saw your broadcast of the funeral. I thought you did a great job.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Wasn’t that a terrible tragedy?’

‘Terrible,’ Dana agreed.

‘You just never know,’ Laura Lee Hill said somberly. ‘Well – what can I do you for?’

‘I want to look at some tapes of the Winthrop family.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘No. I just want to get a feel of what the family was like.’

‘I can tell you what they were like. They were saints.’

‘That’s what I keep hearing,’ Dana said.

Laura Lee Hill rose. ‘I hope you have plenty of time, honey. We have tons of coverage on them.’

‘Good. I’m in no hurry.’

Laura Lee led Dana to a desk with a television monitor on it. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said. She returned five minutes later with a full armload of tapes. ‘You can start with these,’ she said. ‘There are more coming.’

Dana looked at the huge pile of tapes and thought, Maybe I am Chicken Little. But if I’m right …

Dana put in a tape, and the picture of a stunningly handsome man flashed on the screen. His features were strong and sculpted. He had a mane of dark hair, candid blue eyes, and a strong chin. By his side was a young boy. A commentator said, ‘Taylor Winthrop has added another wilderness camp to the ones he has already established for underprivileged children. His son Paul is here with him, ready to join in the fun. This is the tenth in a series of such camps that Taylor Winthrop is building. He plans at least a dozen more.’

Dana pressed a button and the scene changed. An older-looking Taylor Winthrop, with flecks of gray in his hair, was shaking hands with a group of dignitaries. ‘… has just confirmed his appointment as consultant to NATO. Taylor Winthrop will be leaving for Brussels in the next few weeks to …’

Dana changed the tape. The scene was the front lawn of the White House. Taylor Winthrop was standing next to the president, who was saying, ‘… and I have appointed him to head up the FRA, the Federal Research Agency. The agency is dedicated to helping developing countries all around the world, and I can think of no one better qualified than Taylor Winthrop to lead that organization …’

The monitor flashed onto the next scene, the Leonardo da Vinci airport in Rome, where Taylor Winthrop was debarking from a plane. ‘Several heads of state are here to greet Taylor Winthrop as he arrives to negotiate trade deals between Italy and the United States. The fact that Mr Winthrop was selected by the president to handle these negotiations shows how significant they are …’

The man had done everything, Dana thought.

She changed tapes. Taylor Winthrop was at the presidential palace in Paris, shaking hands with the president of France. ‘A landmark trade agreement with the French has just been completed by Taylor Winthrop …’

Another tape. Taylor Winthrop’s wife, Madeline, was in front of a compound with a group of boys and girls. ‘Madeline Winthrop today dedicated a new care center for abused children, and –’

There was a tape of the Winthrops’ own children playing at their estate farm in Manchester, Vermont.

Dana put the next tape in. Taylor Winthrop at the White House. In the background were his wife, his two handsome sons, Gary and Paul, and his beautiful daughter, Julie. The president was presenting Taylor Winthrop with a Medal of Freedom. ‘… and for his selfless devotion to his country and for all his wonderful accomplishments, I am pleased to present Taylor Winthrop with the highest civilian award we can give – the Medal of Freedom.’

There was a tape of Julie skiing …

Gary funding a foundation to help young artists …

The Oval Office again. The press was out in full force. A gray-haired Taylor Winthrop and his wife were standing next to the president. ‘I have just appointed Taylor Winthrop our new ambassador to Russia. I know you are all familiar with Mr Winthrop’s innumerable services to our country, and I’m delighted that he has agreed to accept this post instead of spending his days playing golf.’ The press laughed.

Taylor Winthrop quipped, ‘You haven’t seen my golf game, Mr President.’

Another laugh …

And then came the series of disasters.

Dana inserted a new tape. The scene outside a burned-out home in Aspen, Colorado. A female newscaster was pointing to the gutted house. ‘The chief of police of Aspen has confirmed that Ambassador Winthrop and his wife, Madeline, both perished in the terrible fire. The fire department was alerted in the early hours of this morning and arrived within fifteen minutes, but it was too late to save them. According to Chief Nagel, the fire was caused by an electrical problem. Ambassador and Mrs Winthrop were known worldwide for their philanthropy and dedication to government service.’

Dana put in another tape. The scene was the Grand Corniche on the French Riviera. A reporter said, ‘Here is the curve where Paul Winthrop’s car skidded off the road and plummeted down the mountainside. According to the coroner’s office, he was killed instantly by the impact. There were no passengers. The police are investigating the cause of the accident. The terrible irony is that only two months ago Paul Winthrop’s mother and father died in a fire at their home in Aspen, Colorado.’

Dana reached for another tape. A mountain skiing trail in Juneau, Alaska. A heavily bundled-up newscaster: ‘… and this is the scene of the tragic skiing accident that occurred last evening. Authorities are not sure why Julie Winthrop, a champion skier, was skiing alone at night on this particular trail, which had been closed, but they are investigating. In September, just six weeks ago, Julie’s brother Paul was killed in a car accident in France, and in July of this year, her parents. Ambassador Taylor Winthrop and his wife, died in a fire. The president has expressed his sympathy.’

The next tape. Gary Winthrop’s home in the northwest section of Washington, DC. Reporters were swarming around the outside of the town house. In front of the house, a newscaster was saying, ‘In a tragic, unbelievable turn of events, Gary Winthrop, the last remaining member of the beloved Winthrop family, has been shot and killed by burglars. Early this morning a security guard noticed that the alarm light was off, entered the home, and found Mr Winthrop’s body. He had been shot twice. Apparently the thieves were after valuable paintings and were interrupted. Gary Winthrop was the fifth and last member of the family to meet a violent death this year.’

Dana turned off the television monitor and sat there for a long time. Who would want to wipe out a wonderful family like that? Who? Why?

Dana arranged an appointment with Senator Perry Leff at the Hart Senate Office Building. Leff was in his early fifties, an earnest and impassioned man.

He rose as Dana was ushered in. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Evans?’

‘I understand that you worked closely with Taylor Winthrop, Senator?’

‘Yes. We were appointed by the president to serve on several committees together.’

‘I know what his public image is, Senator Leff, but what was he like as a person?’

Senator Leff studied Dana for a moment. ‘I’ll be glad to tell you. Taylor Winthrop was one of the finest men I’ve ever met. What was most remarkable about him was the way he related to people. He really cared. He went out of his way to make this a better world. I’ll always miss him, and what’s happened to his family is just too goddamn awful to think about.’

Dana was talking to Nancy Patchin, one of Taylor Winthrop’s secretaries, a woman in her sixties, with a lined face and sad eyes.

‘You worked for Mr Winthrop for a long time?’

‘Fifteen years.’

‘In that period of time, I imagine you got to know Mr Winthrop well.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Dana said, ‘I’m trying to get a picture of what kind of man he was. Was he –?’

Nancy Patchin interrupted. ‘I can tell you exactly what kind of man he was, Miss Evans. When we discovered my son had Lou Gehrig’s disease, Taylor Winthrop took him to his own doctors and paid all the medical bills. When my son died, Mr Winthrop paid the funeral expenses and sent me to Europe to recover.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He was the most wonderful, the most generous gentleman I’ve ever known.’

Dana arranged for an appointment with General Victor Booster, the director of the FRA, the Federal Research Agency, which Taylor Winthrop had headed. Booster had refused to talk to Dana at first, but when he learned whom she wanted to talk to him about, he agreed to see her.

In midmorning, Dana drove to the Federal Research Agency, near Fort Mead, Maryland. The agency’s headquarters were set on eighty-two closely guarded acres. There was no sign of the forest of satellite dishes hidden behind the heavily wooded area.

Dana drove up to an eight-foot-high Cyclone fence topped with barbed wire. She gave her name and showed her driver’s license to an armed guard at the sentry booth and was admitted. A minute later she approached a closed electrified gate with a surveillance camera. She spoke her name again and the gate automatically swung open. She followed the driveway to the enormous white administration building.

A man in civilian clothes met Dana outside. ‘I’ll take you to General Booster’s office, Miss Evans.’

They took a private elevator up five floors and walked down a long corridor to a suite of offices at the end of the hall.

They entered a large reception office with two secretaries’ desks. One of the secretaries said, ‘The general is expecting you, Miss Evans. Go right in, please.’ She pressed a button and a door to the inner office clicked open.

Dana found herself in a spacious office, with ceilings and walls heavily soundproofed. She was greeted by a tall, slim, attractive man in his forties. He held out his hand to Dana and said genially, ‘I’m Major Jack Stone. I’m General Booster’s aide.’ He indicated the man seated behind a desk. ‘This is General Booster.’

Victor Booster was African-American, with a chiseled face and hard obsidian eyes. His shaved head gleamed under the ceiling lights.

‘Sit down,’ he said. His voice was deep and gravelly.

Dana took a seat. ‘Thank you for seeing me, General.’

‘You said this was about Taylor Winthrop?’

‘Yes. I wanted –’

‘Are you doing a story on him, Miss Evans?’

‘Well, I –’

His voice hardened. ‘Can’t you fucking journalists let the dead rest? You’re all a bunch of muckraking coyotes picking at dead bodies.’

Dana sat there in shock.

Jack Stone looked embarrassed.

Dana controlled her temper. ‘General Booster, I assure you I am not interested in muckraking. I know the legend about Taylor Winthrop. I’m trying to get a picture of the man himself. Anything you can tell me would be greatly appreciated.’

General Booster leaned forward. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re after, but I can tell you one thing. The legend was the man. When Taylor Winthrop was head of FRA, I worked under him. He was the best director this organization ever had. Everybody admired him. What’s happened to him and his family is a tragedy I can’t even begin to comprehend.‘ His face was tight. ’Frankly, I don’t like the press, Miss Evans. I think you people have gotten way out of hand. I watched your coverage in Sarajevo. Your hearts-and-flowers broadcasts didn’t help us any.’

Dana was trying hard to control her anger. ‘I wasn’t there to help you, General. I was there to report what was happening to the innocent –’

‘Whatever. For your information, Taylor Winthrop was as great a statesman as this country has ever had.’ His eyes fixed on hers. ‘If you intend to tear down his memory, you’re going to find yourself with a lot of enemies. Let me give you some advice. Don’t go looking for trouble, or you’re going to find it. That’s a promise. I’m warning you to stay the hell away. Good-bye, Miss Evans.’

Dana stared at him a moment, then rose. ‘Thank you very much, General.’ She strode out of the office.

Jack Stone hurried after her. ‘I’ll show you out.’

In the corridor, Dana took a deep breath and said angrily, ‘Is he always like that?’

Jack Stone sighed. ‘I apologize for him. He can be a little abrupt. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’

Dana said tightly, ‘Really? I had the feeling he did.’

‘Anyway, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,’ Jack Stone said. He started to turn away.

Dana touched his sleeve. ‘Wait. I’d like to talk to you. It’s twelve o’clock. Could we have lunch somewhere?’

Jack Stone glanced toward the general’s door. ‘All right. Sholl’s Colonial Cafeteria on K Street in an hour?’

‘Great. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me too soon, Miss Evans.’

Dana was waiting for him when he walked into the half-deserted cafeteria. Jack Stone stood in the doorway for a moment making sure there was no one he knew in the restaurant, then he joined Dana at a table.

‘General Booster would have my ass if he knew I was talking to you. He’s a fine man. He’s in a tough, sensitive job, and he’s very, very good at what he does.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid he doesn’t like the press.’

‘I gathered that,’ Dana said dryly.

‘I have to make something clear to you, Miss Evans. This conversation is completely off the record.’

‘I understand.’

They picked up trays and selected their food. When they sat down again, Jack Stone said, ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of our organization. We’re the good guys. That’s why we got into it in the first place. We’re working to help underdeveloped countries.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Dana said.

‘What can I tell you about Taylor Winthrop?’

Dana said, ‘All I’ve gotten so far are tales of sainthood. The man must have had some flaws.’

‘He did,’ Jack Stone admitted. ‘Let me tell you the good things first. More than any man I’ve ever known, Taylor Winthrop cared about people.’ He paused. ’I mean really cared. He took notice of birthdays and marriages, and everyone who worked for him adored him. He had a keen, incisive mind, and he was a problem solver. And even though he was so involved in everything he was doing, he was at heart a family man. He loved his wife and he loved his children.’ He stopped.

Dana said, ‘What’s the bad part?’

Jack Stone said reluctantly, ‘Taylor Winthrop was a magnet for women. He was charismatic, handsome, rich, and powerful. Women found that hard to resist.’ He went on: ‘So every once in a while, Taylor … slipped. He had a few affairs, but I can assure you that none of them was serious, and he kept them very private. He would never do anything to hurt his family.’

‘Major Stone, can you think of anyone who would have had a reason to kill Taylor Winthrop and his family?’

Jack Stone put down his fork. ‘What?’

‘Someone with that high a profile must have made some enemies down the line.’

‘Miss Evans – are you implying that the Winthrops were murdered?’

‘I’m just asking,’ Dana said.

Jack Stone considered it a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Taylor Winthrop never harmed anyone in his life. If you’ve talked to any of his friends or associates, you would know that.’

‘Let me tell you what I’ve learned so far,’ Dana said. ’Taylor Winthrop was –’

Jack Stone held up a hand. ‘Miss Evans, the less I know, the better. I’m trying to stay outside the loop. I can help you best that way, if you know what I mean.’

Dana looked at him, puzzled. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’

‘Frankly, for your sake, I wish you would drop this whole matter. If you won’t, then be careful.’ And he stood up and was gone.

Dana sat there, thinking about what she had just heard. So Taylor Winthrop had no enemies. Maybe I’m going about this from the wrong angle. What if it wasn’t Taylor Winthrop who made a deadly enemy? What if it was one of his children? Or his wife?

Dana told Jeff about her luncheon with Major Jack Stone.

‘That’s interesting. What now?’

‘I want to talk to some of the people who knew the Winthrop children. Paul Winthrop was engaged to a girl named Harriet Berk. They were together for almost a year.’

‘I remember reading about them,’ Jeff said. He hesitated. ‘Darling, you know I’m behind you one hundred percent …’

‘Of course, Jeff.’

‘But what if you’re wrong about this? Accidents do happen. How much time are you going to spend on this?’

‘Not much more,’ Dana promised. ‘I’m just going to do a little more checking.’

Harriet Berk lived in an elegant duplex apartment in northwest Washington. She was a slim blonde in her early thirties, with a nervously engaging smile.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Dana said.

‘I’m not exactly sure why I am seeing you, Miss Evans. You said it was something about Paul.’

‘Yes.’ Dana chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t mean to pry into your personal life, but you and Paul were engaged to be married, and I’m sure you probably knew him better than anyone else.’

‘I like to think so.’

‘I’d love to know a little more about him, what he was really like.’

Harriet Berk was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. ‘Paul was like no other man I’ve ever known. He had a zest for life. He was kind and thoughtful of others. He could be very funny. He didn’t take himself too seriously. He was great fun to be around. We were planning to be married in October.‘ She stopped. ‘When Paul died in the accident, I – I felt as though my life was over.’ She looked at Dana and said quietly, ‘I still feel that way.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dana said. ‘I hate to press this, but do you know if he had any enemies, someone who would have a reason to kill him?’

Harriet Berk looked at her and tears came to her eyes. ‘Kill Paul?’ Her voice was choked. ‘If you had known him, you wouldn’t have even asked that.’

Dana’s next interview was with Steve Rexford, the butler who had worked for Julie Winthrop. He was a middle-aged, elegant-looking Englishman.

‘How may I help you, Miss Evans?’

‘I wanted to ask you about Julie Winthrop.’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘How long did you work for her?’

‘Four years and nine months.’

‘What was she like to work for?’

He smiled reminiscently. ‘She was extremely pleasant, a lovely lady in every way. I – I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news about her accident.’

‘Did Julie Winthrop have any enemies?’

He frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Was Miss Winthrop involved with anyone she might have … jilted? Or someone who might want to harm her or her family?’

Steve Rexford shook his head slowly. ‘Miss Julie wasn’t that sort of person. She could never hurt anyone. No. She was very generous with her time and with her wealth. Everyone loved her.’

Dana studied him a moment. He meant it. They all meant it. What the hell am I doing? Dana wondered. I feel like Dana Quixote. Only there are no windmills.

Morgan Ormond, the director of the Georgetown Museum of Art, was next on Dana’s list.

‘I understand you wanted to ask me about Gary Winthrop?’

‘Yes. I wondered –’

‘His death was a terrible loss. Our nation has lost its greatest art patron.’

‘Mr Ormond, isn’t there a great deal of competition in the art world?’

‘Competition?’

‘Doesn’t it sometimes happen that several people might be after the same work of art and get into –’

‘Of course. But never with Mr Winthrop. He had a fabulous private collection, yet at the same time he was very generous with museums. Not just with this museum, but with museums all over the world. His ambition was to make great art available to everybody.’

‘Did you know of any enemies he –’

‘Gary Winthrop? Never, never, never.’

Dana’s final meeting was with Rosalind Lopez, who had worked for Madeline Winthrop for fifteen years as her personal maid. She was now working at a catering business she and her husband owned.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Miss Lopez,’ Dana said. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Madeline Winthrop.’

‘That poor lady. She – she was the nicest person I’ve ever known.’

It’s beginning to sound like a broken record, Dana thought.

‘It was just terrible the awful way she died.’

‘Yes,’ Dana agreed. ‘You were with her a long time.’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am.’

‘Do you know of anything she might have done that would have offended anybody or made enemies of them?’

Rosalind Lopez looked at Dana in surprise. ‘Enemies? No, ma’am. Everyone loved her.’

It is a broken record, Dana decided.

On her way back to the office, Dana thought, I guess I was wrong. In spite of the odds, their deaths must have been coincidental.

Dana went in to see Matt Baker. She was greeted by Abbe Lasmann.

‘Hi, Dana.’

‘Is Matt ready for me?’

‘Yes. You can go in.’

Matt Baker looked up as Dana walked into his office. ‘How’s Sherlock Holmes today?’

‘It’s elementary, my dear Watson. I was wrong. There is no story there.’

Chapter Five

The call from Dana’s mother, Eileen, came without warning.

‘Dana, darling. I have the most exciting news for you!’

‘Yes, Mother?’

‘I’m getting married.’

Dana was stunned. ‘What?’

‘Yes. I went up to Westport, Connecticut, to visit a friend, and she introduced me to this lovely, lovely man.’

‘I’m – I’m thrilled for you, Mother. That’s wonderful.’

‘He’s – he’s so–’ She giggled. ‘I can’t describe him, but he’s adorable. You’ll love him.’

Dana said cautiously, ‘How long have you known him?’

‘Long enough, darling. We’re perfect for each other. I’m so lucky.’

‘Does he have a job?’ Dana asked.

‘Stop acting like my father. Of course he has a job. He’s a very successful insurance salesman. His name is Peter Tomkins. He has a beautiful home in Westport, and I’m dying for you and Kimbal to come up here and meet him. Will you come?’

‘Of course we will.’

‘Peter is so anxious to meet you. He’s told everyone about how famous you are. Are you sure you can make it?’

‘Yes.’ Dana was off the air weekends, so there would be no problem. ‘Kemal and I are looking forward to it.’

When Dana picked Kemal up at school, she said, ‘You’re going to meet your grandmother. We’re going to be a real family, darling.’

‘Dope.’

Dana smiled. ‘Dope is right.’

Early Saturday morning Dana and Kemal drove to Connecticut. Dana looked forward to the trip to Westport with great anticipation.

‘This is going to be wonderful for everyone,’ Dana assured Kemal. ‘All grandparents need grandchildren to spoil. That’s the best part of having children. And you’ll be able to stay with them some of the time.’

Kemal said nervously, ‘Will you be there, too?’ Dana squeezed his hand. ‘I’ll be there.’

Peter Tomkins’s home was a charming old cottage on Blind Brook Road, with a small stream running alongside it.

‘Hey, this is cool,’ Kemal said.

Dana ruffled Kemal’s hair. ‘I’m glad you like it. We’ll come here often.’

The front door of the cottage opened, and Eileen Evans stood there. There were still vague traces of beauty left, like clues to what once was, but bitterness had overlaid the past with a harsh brush. It was a Dorian Gray situation. Her beauty had gone into Dana. Standing beside Eileen was a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man wearing a broad smile.

Eileen rushed forward and took Dana in her arms. ‘Dana, darling! And there’s Kimbal!’

‘Mother …’

Peter Tomkins said, ‘So this is the famous Dana Evans, eh? I’ve told all my clients about you.’ He turned to Kemal. ‘And this is the boy.’ He noticed Kemal’s missing arm. ‘Hey, you didn’t tell me he was a cripple.’

Dana’s blood froze. She saw the shock on Kemal’s face.

Peter Tomkins shook his head. ‘If he had had insurance with our company before that happened, he’d be a rich kid.‘ He turned toward the door. ‘Come on in. You must be hungry.’

‘Not anymore,’ Dana said tightly. She turned to Eileen. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. Kemal and I are going back to Washington.’

‘I’m sorry, Dana. I –’

‘So am I. I hope you’re not making a big mistake. Have a nice wedding.’

‘Dana –’

Dana’s mother watched in dismay as Dana and Kemal got into the car and drove away.

Peter Tomkins looked after them in astonishment. ‘Hey, what did I say?’

Eileen Evans sighed. ‘Nothing, Peter. Nothing.’

Kemal was silent on the ride home. Dana glanced at him from time to time.

‘I’m so sorry, darling. Some people are just ignorant.’

‘He’s right,’ Kemal said bitterly. ‘I am a cripple.’

‘You’re not a cripple,‘ Dana said fiercely. ‘You don’t judge people by how many arms or legs they have. You judge them by what they are.’

‘Yeah? And what am I?’

‘You’re a survivor. And I’m proud of you. You know, Mr Charming was right about one thing – I’m hungry. I guess it wouldn’t interest you, but I see a McDonald’s ahead.’

Kemal smiled. ‘Awesome.’

After Kemal went to bed, Dana walked into the living room and sat down to think. She turned on the television set and started surfing the news channels. They were all doing follow-up stories on the Gary Winthrop murder.

‘… hoping that the stolen van might offer some clues to the identity of the murderers …’

‘… two bullets from a Beretta. Police are checking all gun shops to …’

‘… and the brutal murder of Gary Winthrop in the exclusive northwest area proved that no one is …’

There was something at the back of Dana’s mind, teasing her. It took her hours to get to sleep. In the morning, when Dana awakened, she suddenly realized what had been bothering her. Money and jewels were lying in the open. Why hadn’t the killers taken them?

Dana got up and made a pot of coffee while she reviewed what Chief Burnett had said.

Do you have a list of the stolen paintings?

We do. They’re all well known. The list is being circulated to museums, art dealers, and collectors. The minute one of those paintings appears, the case will be solved.

The burglars must have known that the paintings couldn’t be sold easily, Dana thought, which could mean that the theft was arranged by a wealthy collector who intends to keep the paintings for himself. But why would a man like that put himself in the hands of two murderous hoodlums?

On Monday morning when Kemal got up, Dana fixed breakfast and dropped him off at school.

‘Have a good day, darling.’

‘See you, Dana.’

Dana watched Kemal walk into the front door of the school, and then she headed for the police station on Indiana Avenue.

It was snowing again and there was a sadistic wind tearing at everything in its path.

Detective Phoenix Wilson, in charge of the Gary Winthrop murder, was a street-smart misanthrope, with a few scars to show how he had gotten that way. He looked up as Dana walked into his office.

‘No interviews,’ he growled. ‘When there’s any new information on the Winthrop murder, you’ll hear it at the press conference with everybody else.’

‘I didn’t come to ask you about that,’ Dana said.

He eyed her skeptically. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Really. I’m interested in the paintings that were stolen. You have a list of them, I assume?’

‘So?’

‘Could you give me a copy?’

Detective Wilson asked suspiciously, ‘Why? What did you have in mind?’

‘I’d like to see what the killers took. I might do a segment on the air.’

Detective Wilson studied Dana a moment. ‘That’s not a bad idea. The more publicity these paintings get, the less chance the killers will have to sell them.‘ He rose. They took twelve paintings and left a lot more. I guess they were too lazy to carry them all. Good help is hard to find these days. I’ll get you a copy of that report.’

He was back in a few minutes with two photocopies. He handed them to Dana. ‘Here’s a list of the ones taken. Here’s the other list.’

Dana looked at him, puzzled. ‘What other list?’

‘All the paintings Gary Winthrop owned, including the paintings the killers left behind.’

‘Oh. Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Out in the corridor, Dana examined the two lists. What she was seeing was confusing. Dana walked out into the frigid air and headed for Christie’s, the world-famous auction house. It was snowing harder, and the crowds were hurrying to finish their Christmas shopping and get back to their warm homes and offices.

When Dana arrived at Christie’s, the manager recognized her immediately. ‘Well! This is an honor, Miss Evans. What can we do for you?’

Dana explained, ‘I have two lists of paintings here. I would appreciate it if someone could tell me what these paintings are worth.’

‘But of course. It would be our pleasure. Come this way, please …’

Two hours later Dana was in Matt Baker’s office.

‘There’s something very strange going on,’ Dana began.

‘We’re not back to the Chicken Little conspiracy theory again, are we?’

‘You tell me.’ Dana handed Matt the longer of the two lists. ‘This has all the artworks Gary Winthrop owned. I just had these paintings appraised at Christie’s.’

Matt Baker scanned the list. ‘Hey, I see some heavy hitters here. Vincent van Gogh, Hals, Matisse, Monet, Picasso, Manet.’ He looked up. ‘So?’

‘Now look at this list,’ Dana said. She handed Matt the shorter list, which had the stolen art on it.

Matt read them aloud. ‘Camille Pissarro, Marie Laurencin, Paul Klee, Maurice Utrillo, Henry Lebasque. So what’s your point?’

Dana said slowly, ‘A lot of the paintings on the complete list are worth more than ten million apiece.’ She paused. ‘Most of the paintings on the shorter list, which were stolen, are worth two hundred thousand apiece or less.’

Matt Baker blinked. ‘The burglars took the less valuable paintings?’

‘That’s right.’ Dana leaned forward. ‘Matt, if they were professional burglars, they would also have taken the cash and jewelry lying around. We were meant to assume that someone hired them to steal only the more valuable paintings. But according to these lists, they didn’t know a thing about art. So why were they really hired? Gary Winthrop wasn’t armed. Why did they kill him?’

‘Are you saying that the robbery was a cover-up, and the real motive for the break-in was murder?’

That’s the only explanation I can think of.’

Matt swallowed. ‘Let’s examine this. Suppose that Taylor Winthrop did make an enemy and was murdered – why would anyone want to wipe out his entire family?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dana said. ‘That’s what I want to find out.’

Dr Armand Deutsch was one of Washington’s most respected psychiatrists, an imposing-looking man in his seventies, with a broad forehead and appropriately probing blue eyes. He glanced up as Dana entered.

‘Miss Evans?’

‘Yes. I appreciate your seeing me. Doctor. What I need to see you about is really very important.’

‘And what is it that’s so very important?’

‘You’ve read about the deaths in the Winthrop family?’

‘Of course. Terrible tragedies. So many accidents.’

Dana said, ‘What if they weren’t accidents?’

‘What? What are you saying?’

‘That there’s a possibility they were all murdered.’

‘The Winthrops murdered? That seems very farfetched, Miss Evans. Very far-fetched.’

‘But possible.’

‘What makes you think they might have been murdered?’

‘It’s – it’s just a hunch,’ Dana admitted.

‘I see. A hunch.’ Dr Deutsch sat there, studying her. ‘I watched your broadcasts from Sarajevo. You are an excellent reporter.’

‘Thank you.’

Dr Deutsch leaned forward on his elbows, his blue eyes fixed on hers. ‘So, not long ago, you were in the middle of a terrible war. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Reporting about people being raped, killed, babies murdered …’

Dana was listening, wary.

‘You were obviously under great stress.’

Dana said, ‘Yes.’

‘How long have you been back – five, six months?’

‘Three months,’ Dana said.

He nodded, satisfied. ‘Not much time to get adjusted to civilian life again, is it? You must have nightmares about all the terrible murders you witnessed, and now your subconscious mind imagines –’

Dana interrupted him. ‘Doctor, I’m not paranoid. I have no proof, but I have reason to believe the Winthrop deaths were not accidental. I came to see you because I was hoping you could help me.’

‘Help you? In what way?’

‘I need a motive. What motive could anyone have for wiping out an entire family?’

Dr Deutsch looked at Dana and steepled his fingers. ‘There are precedents, of course, for such violent aggression. A vendetta … vengeance. In Italy, the Mafia has been known to kill entire families. Or it could possibly involve drugs. It might be revenge for some terrible tragedy that the family caused. Or it could be a maniac who might not have any rational motive to –’

‘I don’t think that’s the case here,’ Dana said.

‘Then, of course, there’s one of the oldest motives in the world – money.’

Money. Dana had already thought of that.

Walter Calkin, head of the firm of Calkin, Taylor & Anderson, had been the Winthrops’ family lawyer for more than twenty-five years. He was an elderly man, crippled with arthritis, but while his body was frail, his mind was still keen.

He studied Dana a moment. ‘You told my secretary that you wanted to talk to me about the Winthrop estate?’

‘Yes.’

He sighed. ‘It’s incredible to me what happened to that wonderful family. Incredible.’

‘I understand that you handled their legal and financial affairs,’ Dana said.

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Calkin, in the last year, was there anything unusual about those affairs?’

He was looking at Dana curiously. ‘Unusual in what sense?’

Dana said carefully, ‘This is awkward, but – would you be aware of it if any member of the family was … being blackmailed?’

There was a momentary silence. ‘You mean, would I know if they were regularly paying out large sums of money to somebody?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose I would, yes.’

‘And was there anything like that?’ Dana pursued.

‘Nothing. I assume you’re suggesting some sort of foul play? I must tell you I find that utterly ridiculous.’

‘But they are all dead,’ Dana said. ‘The estate must be worth many billions of dollars. I would very much appreciate it if you could tell me who stands to receive that money.’

She watched the lawyer open a bottle of pills, take one out, and swallow it with a sip of water. ‘Miss Evans, we never discuss our clients’ affairs.’ He hesitated. ‘In this instance, however, I see no harm in it, because a press announcement is going to be made tomorrow.’

And then there’s always one of the oldest motives in the world – money.

Walter Calkin looked at Dana. ‘With the death of Gary Winthrop, the last surviving member of the family –’

‘Yes?’ Dana was holding her breath.

‘The entire Winthrop fortune goes to charity.’

Chapter Six

The staff was getting ready for the evening news.

Dana was in studio A at the anchor desk, going through last-minute changes for the broadcast. The news bulletins that had been coming in all day from wire services and police channels had been studied and selected or rejected.

Seated at the anchor table next to Dana were Jeff Connors and Richard Melton. Anastasia Mann started the countdown and ended 3-2-1 with her extended forefinger. The camera’s red light flashed on.

The announcer’s voice boomed out, ‘This is the eleven o’clock news live on WTN with Dana Evans’ – Dana smiled into the camera – ‘and Richard Melton.’ Melton looked into the camera and nodded. ‘Jeff Connors with sports and Marvin Greer with the weather. The eleven o’clock news begins right now.’

Dana looked into the camera. ‘Good evening. I’m Dana Evans.’

Richard Melton smiled. ‘And I’m Richard Melton.’

Dana read from the TelePrompTer. ‘We have a breaking story. A police chase ended earlier this evening after a holdup at a downtown liquor store.’

‘Roll tape one.’

The screen flashed to the interior of a helicopter. At the controls of the WTN helicopter was Norman Bronson, a former marine pilot. Next to him sat Alyce Barker. The camera angle changed. On the ground below were three police cars surrounding a sedan that had crashed into a tree.

Alyce Barker said, ‘The chase began when two men walked into the Haley Liquor Store on Pennsylvania Avenue and tried to hold up the clerk. He resisted and pressed the alarm button to summon police. The robbers fled, but the police pursued them for four miles until the suspects’ car crashed into a tree.’

The chase was covered by the station’s news helicopter. Dana looked at the picture and thought: The best thing Matt ever did was to get Elliot to buy that new helicopter. It makes a big difference to our coverage.

There were three more segments, and the director signaled for a break. ‘We’ll be right back after this,’ Dana said.

A commercial came on.

Richard Melton turned to Dana. ‘Have you looked outside? It’s a bitch out there.’

‘I know.’ Dana laughed. ‘Our poor weatherman is going to get a lot of hate mail.’

The red camera light flashed on. The TelePrompTer was blank for a moment, then began to roll again. Dana started to read, ‘On New Year’s Eve I’d like –’ She stopped, stunned, as she looked at the rest of the words. They read: … us to get married. We’ll have a double reason to celebrate every New Year’s Eve.

Jeff was standing next to the TelePrompTer, grinning.

Dana looked into the camera and said awkwardly, ‘We’ll – we’ll pause for another brief commercial.’ The red light went off.

Dana stood up. ‘Jeff!’

They moved toward each other and embraced. ‘What do you say?’ he asked.

She held him tightly and whispered, ‘I say yes.’

The studio echoed with cheers from the crew.

When the broadcast was over and they were alone, Jeff said, ‘What would you like, honey? Big wedding, small wedding, medium wedding?’

Dana had thought about her wedding from the time she was a little girl. She had visualized herself in a beautiful, lacy white gown with a long, long train. In the movies she had seen, there was the frantic excitement of getting ready for the wedding … the guest list to prepare … the caterer to choose … the bridesmaids … the church … All her friends would be there, and her mother. It was going to be the most wonderful day of her life. And now it was a reality.

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