The Sky Is Falling (5 page)

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
?

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. The police investigated each of those deaths carefully. They were all accidents. Do 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, D.C. 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 Meade, 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.”