Tail Spin

liar. He has slurred my good name, he has obviously told people I supposedly confessed murder to him. It’s more than appalling! It’s slander and malpractice. What else has he made up, and about whom?”
    Sherlock raised her hand. “Congresswoman McManus, let me tell you something you obviously do not know. You may not remember Dr. MacLean hypnotizing you and eliciting such a story from you, but know that no confession made under hypnosis would stand up in court, even if it were recorded. The lawyers could tear it down in a matter of moments, if, that is, the judge even allowed it. So you see, there’s no reason to deny being hypnotized by Dr. MacLean.”
    There was stony silence. Well, that didn’t work, Sherlock thought.
    Savich pulled out his small notebook and settled back in his chair. He asked pleasantly, “So you know nothing about rigging a bomb and putting it on the Cessna you knew Dr. MacLean would be flying in?”
    “I know nothing about that! Nothing about the attempts on Dr. MacLean’s miserable life! How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
    Savich said, more steel in his voice now, “Would you please tell us your whereabouts on May eighteenth at about three o’clock in the afternoon? That was the afternoon Dr. MacLean was nearly run down by a dark sedan here in Washington.”
    She didn’t spew this time. She became quiet and still. Her lips were moving, as if she were whispering a mantra, or ritual words, to get herself back in control. She said, slowly and precisely, spacing her words as if explaining something to an idiot, “I am calling my lawyer. I cannot imagine what you think you’re doing bursting in on a representative in the Congress of the United States of America and conducting yourself in such a manner. I will have both of your jobs for harassing me. If necessary, I will ensure that your supervisors are fired, as well. Do you hear me?”
    Sherlock said calmly, “Congresswoman McManus, can you begin to imagine what would happen to your public career if what Dr. MacLean is saying gets out? Just a whiff of it?”
    “Now you have the gall to threaten me? You want to ruin me by spreading malicious gossip?”
    “No, ma’am, we would not do that. But you know as well as we do that an allegation of that nature, even a mention of it behind someone’s hand, could snowball and ruin you quite effectively.”
    Savich raised a hand before she could speak. “We don’t know what the truth is about these matters, ma’am, but we felt it our duty to inform you of these allegations.”
    The door opened and Nicole Merril stepped in.
    Obviously McManus had pressed a call button.
    “Please see these people out, Nicole.” She rose slowly, stared at them both with cold assassin eyes. “If you wish to speak to me again, you may not. You will speak only with my lawyer. Nicole will give you her name. If any of this absurd conversation leaks to the media, I will come after you personally. Good day.”
    After Savich fired up his Porsche, he turned to Sherlock. She saw he was grinning like a loon.
    “That was more fun than outshooting you at the firing range. I guess that does it for our popularity with her at this point. You think she’s running scared? Or is she planning our destruction?”
    Sherlock said, “Oh, we got her all stirred up, that’s for sure. And yes, she’s scared. I could feel the tension pouring off her.” Sherlock leaned her head back against the Porsche’s soft-as-sin leather seat, closed her eyes.
    Savich said as he turned into traffic, “Let’s have some lunch, then pay a visit to Pierre Barbeau and his charming wife. I think we’re on a roll.” He nodded to the agent parked down the street. “I wish we could tap her phone. But at least we’ll know if she meets up with somebody.”
    Sherlock smiled when the wind tore through her hair as the Porsche swerved gracefully around a big honking SUV.

THIRTY-FIVE
    Sherlock said, “Remember how Sean was whooping and hollering, grabbed our hands and pulled us ‘round and ‘round that maypole at DuPont Circle?” Savich shot her a grin as he passed the circle and smoothly turned right off New Hampshire Avenue NW onto Eiger Street.
    She was still smiling when they drove by the very ritzy modern condo building where the Barbeaus lived. “I guess I was expecting another huge Georgian set back in a beautiful yard. Although now that I think about it, is it possible their being French makes a difference?”
    Savich