Dead Watch

suspected that he should cry, that he should feel some deep emotional choke at the loss of his brother. He didn’t. He didn’t feel much at all.
    What he did do was smile ruefully at the television and think,
    Darrell’s dead—and that’s not all bad.

22 

    They got back to Washington late in the day, went to Jake’s house, unloaded the car, turned on the television. Jake went up to the junk room and got a gun-cleaning kit. When he came back down, Madison, pale faced, said, “There’s a story out that Howard killed Linc and that the FBI knows it.”
    “Then they’re probably looking for you,” Jake said. “The media, anyway. Let me check my phones.”
    He’d had a call from Novatny early that morning: “Get back to me if you know where Madison Bowe is. We need to talk to her.”
    “What do you think?” she asked.
    “People may have seen you here,” Jake said. “Neighbors, when we came in. I should call Novatny—but you should call Johnson Black first.”
    “That’ll make it look . . .” She paused, shook her head. “Never mind.”
    “What?”
    “That’ll make it look like I’m trying to hide something—but that’s silly. Everybody in Washington would call their lawyer first.”

    Johnson Black arrived thirty minutes later. The guns had been put away, they’d taken showers, the clothes from the cabin were running through the wash cycle. Black was beaming when he came through the door, kissed Madison on the cheek, shook Jake’s hand, said, “Now it’s getting interesting. Jake, if I could talk to Madison alone for a minute?”
    “He can stay here,” Madison said. “What do you want to know?”
    Black peered at Madison for a moment, then said to her, “I have to warn you that your interests might not be identical. Maybe it’d be better if I talked to you alone.”
    “Forget that,” Madison said. “I want him here.”
    Black shrugged. “All right. The FBI will ask if you know anything about Howard Barber killing Linc.”
    “I guessed. Howard came over, I accused him of it. He more or less confessed, and I threw him out.”
    “You didn’t tell the FBI or anyone else?”
    “It was two days ago, Johnnie. I was going through a nightmare.”
    “All right. When the FBI asks, I’ll advise you to stand silent. If they really want to know, they’ll take you before a grand jury, but they’ll have to give you immunity.”
    “If I won’t talk to them, then they’ll know . . . I mean, they’ll really know.”
    “Having them know, without going to prison, is better than going to prison. Period. End of story.”
    “All right.”
    “Besides, if you and Barber had a private conversation, well, Barber’s dead—so who’s there to contradict you?” Madison glanced at Jake, and Black caught it. “What? Who else was there?”
    “Nobody. But Jake thinks my house might have been bugged.”
    “Uh-oh.” Black looked at the ceiling. “How about this place? Who would have given them a warrant. You think Homeland Security . . . ?”
    “We think it’s Goodman,” Jake said. “No warrants, just the Watchmen. Every time Madison has a conversation in her living room, it seems to wind up in the papers the next day.”
    “Huh. Well, I know the people who can find it, if it’s there,” Black said. He looked at his watch. “Let’s go. First to the FBI, then home. You’ll have to make a statement to the press.”
    He looked at Jake, then back to Madison: “Did you tell Jake? About Barber and Linc?”
    “No. Not then. Not until we heard on the car radio that the FBI was looking into it.”
    “What exactly is your relationship with Mr. Winter?”
    Madison shrugged, then said, “Intimate.”
    Black said, “That may not have been wise. To have become . . . intimate . . . under the circumstances.”
    “I would have said ‘athletic,’ ” Madison told Black, hands on her hips. “And screw the circumstances.”
    Black said, “Okay. Now, let me phrase this next question as carefully and fully as I can. Was Howard Barber suicidal because of his relationship with Linc? If he was, and if you were willing to say that, we might be able to smooth over some embarrassment that everybody’s feeling about his death. We might be able to . . . apply some political salve. Can you say that Howard was suicidal?”
    Madison didn’t hesitate: “I pleaded with him not to do anything rash. He seemed absolutely despondent. He had a history of clinical depression. He told me