Murder at the Watergate (33 page)

“Hard to keep those things secret. Men like Unzaga make a lot of enemies.”

“The same could be said for Ramon Kelly, Laura Flores, and Morin Garza.”

Hedras’s eyes darted from Mac to Annabel, and he shifted position. He finished the beer and forced casualness into his voice: “Have you talked to the veep since you got back?”

“Yes. He said you’d called him. Taking a couple of days’ vacation?”

“I really need it.”

“Another beer, Chris?” Annabel asked.

“I’ve had enough.”

“You were saying you needed a vacation.”

“Maybe something longer than that. I never thought getting involved with Joe Aprile would end up like this. He’s got this hard-nosed view of Mexico and wants to change things. He had me set up The Mexico Initiative to get him information. I did it, and what happens? Some trigger-happy bastards start killing anybody connected with it. I’m lucky I didn’t get shot, too. Politics has gotten nasty, Mac, too nasty for my blood. You try to do the right thing and you end up having fingers pointed at you.”

“The killing will stop now,” Mac said.

“I hope so.”

Mac and Annabel were thinking the same thing, that Hedras obviously thought he could bluff his way, tough it out, play the denial game.

The thinking of a sociopath, Annabel thought.

“Is someone pointing a finger at
you
, Chris?” Annabel asked.

“Not yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me. You know how it is. There’s always got to be a fall guy, especially in this town, with these people.” He leaned back into the couch’s cushions and exhaled long and loud. “I think I might pack it in. I’ve had a good run, all the excitement anybody my age could want. I’ve made a lot of contacts. Maybe it’s time to call in the chips, get out of the rat race, smell those roses people are always talking about.”

“Contacts?” Mac asked. “In Mexico?”

“Sure. Back in Boston, too, although Mexico appeals to me. I guess you never got to see much of San Miguel. It’s a great place. I like it. You can live like a king for peanuts. Or, relative peanuts.”

Smith’s mind was racing. What did Hedras expect to happen as a result of his unannounced visit, that he’d be believed, that by simply denying involvement it would go away? He mentally summed up his options. Let it play out until Hedras decided to leave? Or press the issue to draw additional information from him? He took the latter route.

“Chris, Carlos Unzaga didn’t trust you.”

“What?”

“He didn’t trust you. He told me you knew what damaging information each person who’s been murdered carried with them, and where they’d be when they were killed.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I don’t think it is, Chris. And I
know
it was you who took the envelope with the evidence.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing from you, Mac.”

“I know that you were the one providing information to the Mexican-American Trade Alliance. Were you paid big money, Chris, enough to justify seeing those people killed?”

“Wait a minute,” Hedras said, getting to his feet. “I came here because I thought we were friends, working on the same team. I set everything up for you in Mexico—”

“And made sure Unzaga’s enemies knew about it.”

Mac, too, stood and braced for what might happen next. Hedras looked ready to physically lash out. Instead, he walked to the open doors to the terrace and stepped outside. Mac gestured for Annabel to leave. She shook her head. Mac went to the terrace. Annabel moved to the doors but stayed just inside.

Hedras was at the railing, hands grasping it, breathing heavily.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Mac said, coming to Hedras’s side and looking down at the river.

“Yeah. Peaceful.”

“Want to tell me about it, Chris?”

“About what?”

“Your sellout of Joe Aprile and The Mexico Initiative.”

Hedras turned and faced him. He spoke rapidly. “Sellout? You aren’t as savvy as I thought you were. Joe Aprile is wrong where Mexico is concerned. The PRI has kept that country on an even keel for over seventy years. Business is booming. Mexicans are working in record numbers in the plants along the border. If Joe Aprile becomes president and changes that, he’ll set back U.S.-Mexico relations a hundred years.”

“Or set you back? You signed on to his campaign to make sure he
didn’t
become president.”

“Wrong. To make sure he woke up about Mexico. I think Joe Aprile is a great guy, would make a terrific president. But—”

Smith watched as Hedras slowly sat in a chair that was behind him, his hands gripping the metal arms like an old man unsure of where his body was headed. It was as though the young presidential aide was folding into himself, a deflating rubber pool float. Mac was conflicted; anger and pity vied for position.

“Are you telling me, Chris, that everything you did came out of idealism? No money involved?”

Hedras responded without meeting Mac’s eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he said. “But evidently you’re no better than the rest of the bloodsuckers in Washington.” Now he looked up. His words carried with them the same plea for understanding—for believing—as the beseeching expression on his face. “Look,” he said, “I came to you because I trust you. You aren’t part of the political mafia. You know what happened in San Miguel. Unzaga was a hunted man and they caught up with him. That’s all it was. Thank God you weren’t killed, too. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. You’ve got to believe me, Mac. You can tell Straight Arrow what
really
happened.”

“If I do that, Chris—and I will—you’re through. You may not have pulled any triggers, pushed anyone off a roof, but you’re as responsible for the deaths of Laura Flores, Morin Garza, Ramon Kelly, and Carlos Unzaga as those who did. I don’t know how much money you’ve been paid, or who paid it to you, but your pathetic claim that you acted out of some warped sense of idealism is garbage. My dog would see through it.”

Smith waited for a response. It came when Hedras pushed himself to his feet, looked out over the Potomac and the land beyond, turned to Mac and said, “If I had known how you feel, I wouldn’t have bothered coming here. But you do know, Mac, that everything you’re accusing me of is just speculation. If you tell it to others, including Straight Arrow, they’ll laugh at you. You’re a nobody, just a broken-down law professor. I work with the president and the VP. I know one thing. Joe Aprile sure screwed up when he decided to bring you in.”

“Do you know Harry Tankowski?” Mac asked, keeping his voice calm.

“Never heard of him.”

“The police are looking for you, Chris.”

Hedras crossed the living room and stood at the door. Mac and Annabel followed. Hedras took a moment to perform what Mac considered the odd act of checking himself in a mirror and touching his hair with his fingertips. Then, he said, “Are they? I’ll make it easy for them, drop by the MPD. I have nothing to hide so I have nothing to fear.”

“Why don’t you wait here for them? I’ll call. You can have another beer and relax. You look as though you could use it.”

Confusion spread over Hedras’s face. He looked from Mac to Annabel and back again. He started to speak, swallowed, looked at the floor, then up at Mac: “Won’t you help me, Mac?”

“Call the police,” Mac told Annabel.

Hedras straightened, glared at Smith, opened the door and was gone.

Once Annabel had notified the police that Hedras had
been there, Mac placed a call to the vice president, who returned the call ten minutes later. Mac started to tell him of what had transpired but Aprile interrupted. “I’ve just been notified that the police have Chris in custody.”

“Fast work,” Mac said.

“He was taken coming out of a garage under the Watergate.”

“He denied any involvement in the murders, Mr. Vice President. Not very effective in his denials. He’s a sick young man.”

“I wish I’d known that before I lobbied so damn hard to bring him over from the White House. You and Annabel all right?”

“Shaken, but otherwise okay.”

“You know how much I appreciate what you two have gone through on my behalf, Mac.”

“Of course I do. It turned out fine for us, but a tragedy for those people who died in the process.”

“Fortunately, the names of Mr. and Mrs. Mackensie Smith weren’t added to the list. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If arrogance is the worst sin,” Annabel said after Mac hung up, “Chris Hedras has a one-way ticket to hell.”

“Or to Mexico. There’s no proof he did anything, Annie, except tell people at the Mexican-American Trade Alliance things about what others knew, in some cases where they’d be at a given time.”

“That’s conspiracy. And accessory.”

“Not if he didn’t know what use the information would be put to. I know this. If I were still practicing criminal law and had him as a client, he’d walk.”

“But he’s through here in Washington.”

“Sure, but I somehow doubt whether that will bother him much. He’s right. He can go to San Miguel de Allende and live like a king, whether he received big payoffs or not. Maybe he can move into Elfie’s house, add to the gardening staff.”

“There’s got to be
some
justice, Mac.”

“Having him out of Joe Aprile’s life and campaign will have to be enough.”

Annabel suddenly wrapped her arms around him.

“What’s this all about?” he asked.

“I almost lost you in Mexico, Mac. You could have been gunned down like Unzaga.”

“I wasn’t.”

“But you came close to catching one, as the police say. Getting involved in politics isn’t for us, Mac. You’re a professor. I run an art gallery. Let’s make a pledge right here and now to keep it that way.”

Elfie Dorrance sat on the terrace of her home overlooking Parque Benito Juárez. The day had dawned unusually hot. She’d discarded her robe and wore red Chinese silk pajamas and white slippers. It was ten o’clock. Her housekeeper had served a cinnamon bun, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and strong black coffee.

A portion of the past month had been spent learning the basics of a computer system she’d had installed in her study. She found computers to be boorishly plebeian, but had decided it would be to her advantage to receive timely news over the Internet when in Mexico. She’d downloaded the major stories from
The Washington Post
’s website that morning and was engrossed in reading them when the housekeeper forced a cough from a distance so as not to disturb her mistress. Elfie turned.

“Senora, Senor Hedras is here.”

Elfie glanced at her watch. He wasn’t due until one. “Show him up,” she said.

Hedras stepped through the French doors. He wore
white slacks, white loafers, and a short-sleeved yellow sport shirt. Elfie said nothing.

“Hello,” Hedras said.

“Hello, Christopher. You’re early.”

“I caught an earlier flight out of León.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me to join you? I haven’t had breakfast. I’m hungry.”

Elfie smiled. “Skipping breakfast isn’t healthy. Surely your mother taught you that.”

Hedras came to where she sat and stood over her. “Why are you treating me like a pariah? I expected it of the phonies back in DC, but not from you.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort, Chris. But you do understand that it’s awkward to have you here.”

“Why?” He pulled up a chair.

“Why?” It was a throaty laugh. “You are hardly someone a person of stature would be comfortable being with.”

“Is that so? I’m now sitting with ‘a person of stature’?”

“Have I offended you? Sorry. But your antics haven’t landed you on anyone’s A-list. You created quite a stir once they arrested you in Washington. I’ve been reading about it on the Internet.”

“The Internet? You?”

“I’ve become computer-literate. But that doesn’t matter. I would say you are an extremely fortunate young man.”

“The past two months were hell.”

“I imagine so. Chris, when you called and said you were coming to San Miguel—to live, you say?—I naturally had some soul-searching to do. You are aware that I enjoy a certain privileged position here, and elsewhere.”

“Money talks.”

“How typical of your age—and mentality. Say something nasty but not terribly original. You might have tried ‘Your mother wears army boots.’ ”

“You know, Elfie, I didn’t come here to be insulted. I’ve suffered enough insults. They accused me of damn near everything back in Washington, but they couldn’t prove a thing. They had their fun, one leak after the other to the press, convicting me in the media when they couldn’t do it legally.”

“Which is not to say you weren’t guilty. What did you do, cut a deal with someone?”

“Didn’t have to. They were glad to get rid of me. Embarrassing to the political process, I was told. A stain on Straight Arrow’s unblemished record. Truth was, there was nothing to charge me with. Conspiracy? Complicity? That bastard Smith worked behind the scenes to help make a case against me but he fell on his face. They got me out of town like in the Old West. On a rail, nonstop to Mexico. Straight to you, Elfie.”

“Chris, I’m not in the business of bursting anyone’s bubble, but I think it’s time for a little candor. There’s no place here for you. The little adventure you and I undertook to help the vice president modify his views on Mexico was one thing—setting up photos with some of the country’s less savory people, encouraging those moments with Viviana Diaz and capturing their adoring looks at each other; she claims she never did sleep with Joe Aprile, not that that matters, but I suspect she did; I mean, if he didn’t succumb to
her
, we’ll end up with a eunuch in the White House—all of that was nothing more
than pragmatic political hardball. But to be party to those murders, Chris. Now that was—”

He grabbed her upper arm and squeezed hard.

“Get your hands off me!”

He withdrew, sat back, and looked up into the pristine blue sky as though searching for words.

Now it was she who touched him, gently, her hand on his forearm. “I understand, Chris, I really do. The Initiative was coming up with so much that could help derail things here. Passing along what you knew about its activities was perfectly natural and normal. As you said in your many statements, you had no idea what use your information would be put to. How could you? I mean, even Laura Flores. She was on to you, wasn’t she? At least that’s what I hear.”