At seven o’clock the following morning two plainclothes detectives and a uniformed police officer from the Washington PD drove to Silver Spring and pulled up in front of the Days Inn on Thirteenth Street. Zeke Borgeldt had called the commander of the Silver Spring Third District station to alert him that some of his officers would be entering that department’s domain in order to locate and detain a material witness in a murder that had taken place in Papua New Guinea. Borgeldt was given the go-ahead with the commander’s added comment, “Papua New Guinea? That’s on the other side of the world. Good luck.”
The officers had been briefed by Borgeldt before heading for Silver Spring. Eugene Waksit wasn’t a suspect in the murder investigation, but the authorities there wanted to further question him as part of their ongoing investigation. The officers were to inform Waksit of that interest and “suggest” that he accompany them to headquarters where a Skype setup could be arranged for long-distance questioning. The officers found their assignment to be unusual but didn’t question it. One of the detectives had a favorite restaurant in Silver Spring where he claimed the pancakes were the best in the area. They could stop in there for breakfast if Waksit declined to accompany them back to headquarters.
The uniformed cop waited in the marked patrol car while the detectives entered the hotel, went to the front desk, and presented their identification.
“We’re here to speak with a guest of the hotel,” he said.
The desk clerk, a fresh-faced young man, immediately got off the stool on which he was sitting and said, “Yes, sir. Who is the guest?”
“His name is Eugene Waksit. He checked in yesterday. He’s from Papua New Guinea.”
“Where is that?”
“It doesn’t matter. What room is he in?”
“I’ll look it up for you right now, sir.”
It took only a few seconds for the clerk to have an answer for them. “He checked out last night,” he said apologetically.
“A quick stay, huh?” one of the detectives said. “He only checked in yesterday.”
“I wasn’t here when he left,” the clerk said. “I work days. Maybe he had a family emergency. One of the night clerks left a note that he’d complained about having to pay for only a few hours here, but the policy is—”
“Was he alone?”
“Ah, I believe so. I mean, the record indicates that he checked in alone. But sometimes…” His smile was boyish.
“Do you know where he went after checking out?”
The clerk shook his head. “No, sir.”
“He didn’t make a reservation at another Days Inn in the area?”
He checked his computer screen. “No, sir. If he did we have no record of it.”
They thanked him, and twenty minutes later enjoyed banana pancakes and bacon.
* * *
Cops from the District weren’t the only ones interested in Eugene Waksit that morning.
Jayla and Nate Cousins sat at her breakfast table after a sleepless night.
“You should call the police,” he insisted, something he’d been urging since arriving.
“And tell them what, that an old friend from home who worked for my father wants to get together while he’s here in Washington?”
“It’s harassment, Jayla. He’s stalking you.”
She shook her head to clear it.
“Look,” Cousins pressed, “he stole your father’s research and must be here in D.C. trying to sell it. I’ve told you how interested Walt Milkin is in seeing what your father developed. Others will be interested, too. But more than that, Jayla, chances are he killed your father, murdered him for God’s sake.”
“He wants us to have dinner to discuss working together to find an outlet for dad’s work.”
Cousins slapped his hand on the table, causing their cups to rattle in their saucers. “Wake up, Jayla!” he said. “Waksit is a bad guy who’s already killed once and won’t hesitate to kill again. Go to dinner with him? You’ll be lucky to come away from it alive.”
“I think I should call Mac Smith,” she said. She wanted to defuse Cousins’s frustration but her suggestion only fueled it.
“What can he do?” Cousins asked, struggling to moderate his tone. “He’s a lawyer, not a cop.”
“He works with Robert Brixton.”
“So what? Brixton’s not a cop.”
“He was. He’s also been a friend. He’s the one who found where Eugene is staying. When Mac called he said that he’d told his friend at the police department, a chief of detectives, where they could find Eugene. Maybe they’ll go and question him.”
“That’s great, but in the meantime he’s made contact with you, knows where you live, even had the nerve to enter your apartment without your permission. He’s dangerous, Jayla. You have to accept that.”
She dialed Mac Smith’s number at the Watergate.
“Mac, it’s Jayla King. Hope I’m not calling too early.”
“We’ve been up for an hour. How are you?”
“Not good, Mac. I’m at my apartment with Nate Cousins. Eugene Waksit called me last night.”
“Oh?”
“It came out of the blue. He—he wants to get together with me.”
“Why?”
“To talk about my father’s research. He seems to think that we can work together to find a pharmaceutical company that would be interested in it.”
Mac hesitated before saying, “Jayla, I certainly don’t want to be telling you what to do, but it’s my sense that you’re better off staying away from Mr. Waksit. There’s something that I’ve neglected to mention to you. I had the opportunity to go through Eric Morrison’s appointment book. He’s the lobbyist who was recently killed. It seems that Morrison met with Waksit before his death.”
Mac said, “I think it’s best that you avoid Waksit. There’s no telling how he might fit into the Morrison murder.”
What he said made sense to her. At the same time she knew that she couldn’t simply turn off her thoughts about Waksit and what she was desperate to know about the role he might have played in her father’s death.
“I know you’re right, Mac, and I appreciate the advice.”
“You say that Cousins is with you.”
“Yes. I called him after I heard from Eugene. He came right over.”
“I’m glad that he’s there for you. Just let Annabel and me know if there’s anything we can do.”
“I will. I really appreciate it. How is Mr. Brixton?”
Smith laughed. “Robert is fine. It’ll take more than a hit on his hard head to put him out of commission.”
“What did he have to say?” Cousins asked after she got off the phone.
“He thinks I should stay away from Eugene.”
“What I’ve been saying to you all along.”
“I know, Nate, I know.” She checked the wall clock. “I have to get ready for work. Thank you for being here for me. I never should have called. I guess I panicked.”
“And for good reason. I have to get to the office, too. Promise me you’ll call if you hear from him again.”
She walked him to the door where he embraced and kissed her.
“I love you, Jayla,” he said.
Her words expressing the same sentiment almost came out but didn’t. She locked the door behind him, drew a breath, and headed for the shower.