Hell's Corner by David Baldacci

ARISA F RIEDMAN ,” the woman said as Stone and Chapman took seats opposite her and Tom Gross in an interior office at the FBI’s Washington Field Office, which all agents referred to as the WFO. Stone took a few moments to study her. In good light and with only a few feet separating them he decided she was closer to thirty than forty. She was Chapman’s height or a bit taller, with blonde hair that curled around her neck. It was not her natural color, Stone could tell. Her eyes were blue and striking, her face interesting with elegant bone structure, the chin sharply angled and the two sides of her jaw forming perfect bookends for the expressive mouth. Her clothes were clearly expensive but she wore them in a casual manner; minimal jewelry and makeup completed the attractive package.
    Gross added, “Ms. Friedman voluntarily came in when she learned we were looking for anyone who was in the park last night.”
    Friedman shook her head and looked troubled. “I have to tell you I was shocked at what happened. I’d just gotten to H Street when the gunfire started. And then the explosion.” She shivered uncontrollably.
    “How did you find out the FBI was looking for you?” Stone asked.
    “A friend of mine saw an item on the news and phoned me.”
    Stone looked at Gross, who said, “In situations like this we call in the media and ask for their assistance in getting the word out. Usually very effective.”
    “Well, it certainly was in my case,” said Friedman.
    “In any event you probably would’ve assumed the police would want to talk to you,” said Stone.
    “I guess so, yes, although I don’t have any experience in things like this. My home was broken into years ago, that’s really the only contact I’ve ever had with the police.”
    “Can you tell us what you saw?” asked Gross.
    “Smoke and people running and screaming.” She looked at Stone and her voice shook. “I’ve never been that frightened in my life.”
    “But before all that you were sitting on one of the benches in the park?” said Stone.
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “Little late at night for that, wasn’t it?” asked Stone.
    “My office is located in the line of town houses on the west side of the park.”
    “Jackson Place?” said Stone.
    “Yes. Most of the offices there are linked to the White House, but I was able to snare one of them for my business through more luck than skill. I was working late. Left the office. The night was so nice I sat down and might’ve even dozed off. I don’t usually do that, but I did last night. It was a long day and I was tired. And I know the park is about the best-protected space in the city, so I felt very safe.” She gave a hollow laugh. “That turned out to be quite ironic. It really was bad timing all around,” she added with another little shiver. “Nice relaxing time in the park that turned into a war zone. For a minute there I thought I’d stumbled onto a movie set.”
    “Only the bullets and bomb were real,” said Stone.
    “Yes.”
    “What is your business?” asked Gross.
    She flashed a smile. “In this town, that close to the White House you’re one of the two Ls.”
    “Lawyer or lobbyist,” answered Stone.
    “You win the prize.” She crossed her legs and flicked at the hem of her skirt, revealing briefly a glimpse of her pale bare thighs. From the efficient way she did it, Stone deduced this was a tactic of hers during a meeting, at least a meeting with men. He glanced at Gross and saw that it had gotten his attention too. When he looked at Chapman she was just finishing rolling her eyes at this same act.
    Mars, Venus, thought Stone.
    “So which are you?” he asked Friedman. “Lawyer or lobbyist?”
    “Both, actually.”
    Gross cleared his throat. “And who do you lobby on behalf of?”
    Her gaze shifted to the FBI agent. “Lobbyists are the most regulated beasts on earth, so my client list is a matter of public record. But it has no relevance to last night. If I