Murder at the FBI Read Free Page A

chef-barber, “That’s fine, thanks, Joe.” When Joe was gone, Shelton askedof Lizenby, “Who’s this?” nodding at the young agent.
    “He’s, uh—”
    “Special Agent Jankowski, sir.”
    “Agent Jankowski was in the lab when the body arrived,” Lizenby said.
    “And?” Shelton said to Jankowski.
    “Well, sir, I was just there for a few minutes. I was on my way to my office and stopped in because I was curious. They’re having a seminar on forensic medicine and—”
    “Please, get to the point,” Shelton said.
    “Yes, sir. Two gentlemen from building security, accompanied by a special agent, brought the deceased in and placed him on the only empty table. He appeared to have been shot numerous times in the chest.”
    “And?”
    “And… that’s all I know, sir. I intended to leave but—”
    “Who were the security men and the agent who accompanied the body?”
    “Names? I don’t—” He looked to Lizenby.
    “We’re getting those, sir,” Lizenby said.
    Shelton swiveled in his chair and brushed away loose hair from the back of his neck. “It happened on the firing range? On our own goddamn firing range? Who did it?”
    “We don’t know that yet, sir,” Lizenby said.
    “It
was
an accident,” Shelton said, standing and walking to a large window.
    “We presume that, sir, but at this stage it’s impossible to know what did exactly happen.”
    “Witnesses?” Shelton asked, his back to them.
    Lizenby took a few steps toward the director and said, “Sir, I think we need a little more time to come up with the answers. It just happened. I suggest I get back downstairs and—”
    Shelton slowly turned. He fixed Lizenby with steel-cold gray eyes and said, “I want this entire matter resolved before the day is out. I want nothing said to anyone about this except for those who must know. There is to be a total blackout about this. Does anyone outside this building know what’s happened?”
    Lizenby hesitated before saying, “Sir, there were two hundred tourists at the range as part of the tour.”
    “Two hundred—where are they?”
    “I believe they were allowed to leave the building.”
    Shelton slammed his fist against the wall. “I hope that’s not true, Mr. Lizenby. If it is, I hold you personally responsible.”
    “Sir, I wasn’t even—”
    “Get me answers. Good ones, and fast.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Shelton said to the young agent, “Mr. Jan—what was your name?”
    “Jankowski, sir.”
    “What office are you in?”
    “A temporary assignment to administration, sir.”
    “Go to your office and stay there. Talk to no one. Understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Ross Lizenby went directly to the firing range. He took the back stairs instead of the elevator, thinking with each step that he wished he hadn’tbeen where he was, and when, at the time Pritchard’s body was discovered. He’d just walked into his office at SPOVAC when his phone had rung. It had been Wayne Gormley, one of three assistant directors named by Shelton shortly after his appointment as director. Gormley’s division was investigation. SPOVAC came under it. The other two directors managed the administration and law enforcement areas of the bureau. Gormley’s message to Lizenby had been short and to the point. There had been a shooting death on the firing range. The deceased appeared to be a special agent. “Check it out and report to the director and me immediately.”
    Lizenby was tired. He’d been in the building until two that morning working on a SPOVAC report that was due on Gormley’s desk that afternoon. He’d planned to spend the night with Chris Saksis, but when he called her at two she vetoed the idea. Breakfast would have to suffice. He was tired, edgy, and irritable. And he didn’t like R. Bruce Shelton, hadn’t from the day he arrived as director. He hadn’t particularly liked George Pritchard, either, but that didn’t matter anymore.
    He opened the door to a closet-size office just off the firing