Griffith Stadium

“The FBI does not grant interviews to the papers,” said the secretary, a thin, middle-aged woman with pointed glasses and brown hair streaked with gray. “We put out press releases and schedule press conferences when we have something to report. If you think an agent is going to come down here and fill you in, you’re wasting your time.”

Jack flopped back into the wooden chair in the main lobby of the FBI headquarters. He wondered whether he should walk out or pull the trigger. He’d felt some apprehension when he walked into the building. There was always the chance he would be recognized. But it was too late now.

He leaned forward and stared at the woman. “Maybe I got something the agency wants to know.”

She hiked her shoulders in a so-what gesture and continued with her typing.

“Lady, listen to me. I want to talk to someone about the Lou Harris investigation. The guy murdered in the ballpark. I may have something they want to know.”

The woman sighed in resignation and picked up her phone. She jiggled the hook. “Sally, I got a tipster here on a murder case. A newspaper guy.” She looked at Jack. “What was the name?”

“Lou Harris,” he replied.

“Lou Harris,” she repeated and put down the phone. “Cool your heels,” she told Jack. “It may be a while.”

Jack sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. What are the odds? he thought. What are the odds someone could recognize my face? They must have warrants out on thousands of men.

A tall man wearing a black suit eventually appeared and stared at Jack with curiosity. He escorted Jack to a side room containing a plain wooden table and several chairs. “How can I help you?” he asked as they both sat down.

Jack cleared his throat. “My name is Jack Haynes. I’m with the Washington Chronicle. I was wondering if you cared to comment on the Lou Harris investigation.”

The man shook his head. “That name you gave the secretary—Lou Harris—well, there’s no such case in our records. Where’d this murder occur?”

“Here in D.C.,” said Jack, managing to hide his surprise.

“Then I suggest you go to the Washington police and ask them.”

“But I know you’re involved in the case. You had a bunch of agents at his autopsy.”

The man leaned over the table toward Jack. “That’s simply not true.”

Jack reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. “Now I know I got a story,” he said.

The FBI man appeared about to speak but stopped abruptly, looking thoughtful. “Wait here,” he said, and left.

Jack slowly exhaled. There’s no need to worry, he told himself. These bums don’t know who I am. He wondered why the FBI had attended the autopsy. If they were involved in the murder, you would think they’d stay away from the morgue. On the other hand, they might attend just to pressure the coroner to make sure his report is in their favor.

Another man appeared at the door. He wore an off-brown suit and had tufts of gray around the ears. “Mr. Haynes?” he asked.

Jack nodded.

“Hello. I’m Special Agent Wayne Mullen.” He lifted his square jaw. “Let me see your press identification papers.”

Jack reached inside his jacket as if searching for identification. He patted his chest. “I must have left it at the hotel,” he said.

“Hotel? I thought you’re working here in D.C.,” Mullen said.

Realizing he had screwed up, Jack tried to think quickly. “I just did a story at the Saratoga Hotel. I must have left my ID there.”

The man pulled back one of the wooden chairs and awkwardly folded his tall frame onto it. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just wondering why the FBI attends the autopsy of a murdered red and then denies it.”

“We checked our records. We have no investigation going on for this Lou Harris. Someone must have given you a bum steer.”

Jack shook his head. “No, no. I got a reliable witness. Places your agents there.”

Mullen shrugged. “What hospital was this?”

“City Hospital, here in D.C.”

“Look, maybe some agents were there on some other case. Maybe the case they were involved in was over and they stood there in conversation. Or maybe they were in the morgue waiting for their case to start. Who knows? You ever been in a morgue? It’s one case after another.”

Jack decided to pull the trigger again. “You know about a list this Lou Harris had put together?”

Mullen stared at Jack with a stony face. “What kind of list?”

“Apparently this guy Harris had some sort of list. I hear a lot of people want it.”

Mullen leaned slightly forward. “You have this list?” he asked.

Ha! He took the bait, Jack thought. He knows about Lou and the list. “I only got a list of questions,” he said. “And it’s getting longer.”

The FBI man stared at Jack for a long second. “We all got questions. So what?”

“You know about a list?” Jack pressed.

Mullen frowned. “I already told you. We are not investigating the name you gave us and I certainly know nothing about a list.”

“Then why did you ask me if I have it?” asked Jack.

Mullen scowled. “Get the hell out of here.”