"What's the matter?" Detective Nelson asked.
Reese looked up. "That's the number of the White House."
Chapter 17
The next morning at breakfast, Jan asked, "Where were you last night, Oliver?"
Oliver's heart skipped a beat. But she could not possibly have known what happened. No one could. No one. "I was meeting with - "
Jan cut him short. "The meeting was called off. But you didn't get home until three o'clock in the morning. I tried to reach you. Where were you?"
"Well, something came up. Why? Did you need - ? Was something wrong?"
"It doesn't matter now," Jan said wearily. "Oliver, you're not just hurting me, you're hurting yourself. You've come so far. I don't want to see you lose it all because - because you can't - " Her eyes filled with tears.
Oliver stood up and walked over to her. He put his arms around her. "It's all right, Jan. Everything's fine. I love you very much."
And I do, Oliver thought, in my own way. What happened last night wasn't my fault. She was the one who called. I never should have gone to meet her. He had taken every possible precaution not to be seen. I'm in the clear, Oliver decided.
Peter Tager was worried about Oliver. He had learned that it was impossible to control Oliver Russell's libido, and he had finally worked out an arrangement with him. On certain nights, Peter Tager set up fictitious meetings for the president to attend, away from the White House, and arranged for the Secret Service escort to disappear for a few hours.
When Peter Tager had gone to Senator Davis to complain about what was happening, the senator had said calmly, "Well, after all, Oliver is a very hot-blooded man, Peter. Sometimes it's impossible to control passions like that. I deeply admire your morals, Peter. I know how much your family means to you, and how distasteful the president's behavior must seem to you. But let's not be too judgmental. You just keep on seeing that everything is handled as discreetly as possible."
Detective Nick Reese hated going into the forbidding, white-walled autopsy room. It smelled of formaldehyde and death. When he walked in the door, the coroner, Helen Chuan, a petite, attractive woman, was waiting for him.
"Morning," Reese said. "Have you finished with the autopsy?"
"I have a preliminary report for you, Nick. Jane Doe didn't die from her head injury. Her heart stopped before she hit the table. She died of an overdose of methylenedioxymethamphetamine."
He sighed. "Don't do this to me, Helen."
"Sorry. On the streets, it's called Ecstasy." She handed him a coroner's report. "Here's what we have so far."
AUTOPSY PROTOCOL
NAME OF DECEDENT: JANE DOE FILE NO:
C-L96I
ANATOMIC SUMMARY
DILATED AND HYPERTROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY
CARDIOMEGALY (750 GM)
LEFT VENTRICULAR HYPERTROPHY, HEART (2.3 CM)
CONGESTIVE HEPATOMEGALY (2750 GM)
CONGESTIVE SPLENOMEGALY (350 MG)
ACUTE OPIATE INTOXICATION
ACUTE PASSIVE CONGESTION, ALL VISCERA
TOXICOLOGY (SEE SEPARATE REPORT)
BRAIN HEMORRHAGE (SEE SEPARATE REPORT)
CONCLUSION: (CAUSE OF DEATH)
DILATED AND HYPERTROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY
ACUTE OPIATE INTOXICATION
Nick Reese looked up. "So if you translated this into English, she died of a drug overdose of Ecstasy?"
"Yes."
"Was she sexually assaulted?"
Helen Chuan hesitated. "Her hymen had been broken, and there were traces of semen and a little blood along her thighs."
"So she was raped."
"I don't think so."
"What do you mean - you don't think so?" Reese frowned.
"There were no signs of violence."
Detective Reese was looking at her, puzzled. "What are you saying?"
"I think that Jane Doe was a virgin. This was her first sexual experience."
Detective Reese stood there, digesting the information. Someone had been able to persuade a virgin to go up to the Imperial Suite and have sex with him. It would have had to be someone she knew. Or someone famous or powerful.
The telephone rang. Helen Chuan picked it up. "Coroner's office." She listened a moment, then handed the phone to the detective. "It's for you."
Nick Reese took the phone. "Reese." His face brightened. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Holbrook. Thanks for returning my call. It's a class ring from your school with the initials P.Y. on it. Do you have a female student with those initials?...I'd appreciate it. Thank you. I'll wait."
He looked up at the coroner. "You're sure she couldn't have been raped?"
"I found no signs of violence. None."
"Could she have been penetrated after she died?"
"I would say no."
Mrs. Holbrook's voice came back on the phone. "Detective Reese?"
"Yes."
"According to our computer, we do have a female student with the initials P.Y. Her name is Pauline Young."
"Could you describe her for me, Mrs. Holbrook?"
"Why, yes. Pauline is eighteen. She's short and stocky, with dark hair..."
"I see." Wrong girl. "And that's the only one?"
"The only female, yes."
He picked up on it. "You mean you have a male with those initials?
"Yes. Paul Yerby. He's a senior. As a matter of fact, Paul happens to be in Washington, D.C., right now."
Detective Reese's heart began to beat faster. "He's here?"
"Yes. A class of students from Denver High is on a trip to Washington to visit the White House and Congress and - "
"And they're all in the city now?"