Simple Genius

There followed a few minutes of silence while their host methodically read through the file. Then he finally turned his attention to them.

“There have been four confirmed suicides in the vicinity of our installation over the last twenty-seven months,” Whitfield said.

Sean hadn’t expected this opening line and obviously neither had Hayes.

Whitfield continued: “For some reason we’ve become the whipping boy for the depressed and suicidal. I don’t know why, but it seems there could be many reasons, including wanting notoriety or causing trouble. It goes without saying that I’m growing a little tired of these stunts.”

“Someone dying hardly qualifies as a stunt, does it?” Sean asked while the blood drained from Hayes’s face. “The circumstances of Monk Turing’s death have not been fully uncovered yet. Suicide, murder, we don’t know yet.”

Whitfield tapped the file. “All facts point to suicide.” He looked at Hayes.

“Don’t you agree, Sheriff?”

Hayes stammered, “I guess you could say that.”

“There was no evidence that Monk had been depressed enough to take his own life,” Sean pointed out.

“Aren’t all geniuses depressed?” Whitfield answered.

“How do you know he was a genius?”

“When people move into my neighborhood I like to get to know them.”

“You’ve been to Babbage Town, have you?” Sean pressed.

Whitfield turned back to Hayes. “I trust I’ve made my position clear. Four suicides and now five. My patience is at an end.”

“A man has died,” Hayes said, apparently screwing up his courage in the face of the other man’s patronizing tone.

“Anyone can jump a fence and blow his brains out.”

Sean said, “Just because you say it doesn’t make it true.”

Whitfield kept his eyes on Hayes. “I’m assuming this man is associated with you somehow.”

Sean piped up. “Sorry, I’m Sean King. I guess we missed the introduction phase of the conversation. I am associated with Sheriff Hayes on this matter. And we’re assuming that you’re Ian Whitfield, head of the CIA’s Camp Peary? If not, we’re wasting a lot of time.”

“The FBI has concluded its investigation and suicide was the verdict,”

Whitfield said.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time the Bureau has jumped the gun, would it? And of course we have the murder of Len Rivest, head of security at Babbage Town.”

“That’s no concern of mine,” Whitfield said.

“Well it is if it turns out that Turing’s death is connected somehow.”

“I highly doubt that’s the case.”

“Well, that’s why we play the game, isn’t it?” Sean said. “Because your opinion doesn’t really count.”

In response, Whitfield’s gaze flicked to the door. A moment later Six-Pack had Sean’s arm in a vise grip and was leading him rapidly to the exit. Or maybe off the roof.

Back in the lobby Hayes’s gun was returned to him, Six-Pack gave Sean’s arm an extra-hard squeeze and both men walked out into the darkness. As they reached the cruiser, Hayes said, “Are you nuts talking to him like that?”

“Probably.”

“Come on, you went out of your way to tick him off, why?”

“Because he’s a prick, that’s why.”

Hayes said, “He’s right about the four suicides.”

“That doesn’t mean Monk killed himself. In fact, it might have given whoever murdered Monk the idea to make it look like suicide.”

“That’s a good point.”

“Thanks. I try to have at least one a day.”

“So it’s back to Babbage Town?”

“I want to check something out first.”

Sean climbed in the driver’s seat of the cruiser while Hayes scrambled into the passenger side.

“I’m not sure regulations allow you to drive the car,” Hayes pointed out.

“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” Sean said as he put the car in reverse, backed out of the space and then took up a position away from the building entrance.

“What are we doing here?” Hayes asked.

“It’s called surveillance. I’m assuming you’re acquainted with the concept.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re running surveillance on? The head of Camp Peary!”

“Is there a law against it?”

“Hell, probably.”

Fifteen minutes later a car pulled up to the entrance of the building and a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties got out. She was tall, tanned, leggy and blond with a figure that demanded not just a second but possibly a third look. As she approached the front door, Whitfield and his shadow came out. The woman spoke to Whitfield for a few moments and then he limped away with Six-Pack, climbed in a black sedan and drove off, leaving the woman looking more than a little put out.

“Interesting,” Sean said. “She’s either Whitfield’s wife or mistress.”

“Or girlfriend.”

“Uh-uh, Whitfield was wearing a wedding band.”

While they were talking the woman got in her car and drove off. Sean put the cruiser in gear and drifted after her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hayes demanded.

“Following her.”

“Sean, we could get in trouble for this.”

“I’m already in trouble.” Hayes sat back with an air of resignation. Sean smiled and said, “Still glad you decided to partner with me?”

“No!”