with him the after-noon before the murders. Maybe she’s local and he met her here. Any ID on the woman?”
“Not yet,” David said. “My officers are showing her picture from the security cameras around the Inn to see if anyone knows her. No evidence in the room suggests that he had someone staying with him. Forensics did find vaginal fluid on his sheets and are working up a DNA profile on her. Could be the same woman you saw him with. The desk clerk says he was alone when he checked in and paid with a federal credit card. Any idea what case he may have been working on?”
Mac shook his head. “I left the police department five months ago.”
“What about cases that were still open when you left?” David suggested.
“They were all passed on to other investigators.”
“How about cases that hadn’t gone to trial yet?”
“There were a couple, but Maguire wasn’t the prosecutor on record for those cases,” Mac said. “I wasn’t the only homicide detective in Georgetown. He could’ve been working on another detective’s case.”
“I don’t think so,” David said. “I think Maguire was on a business trip and I think it was one of your cases.” He removed the yellow notepad from where it had been hiding under the accordion folder and slid it across the table to land in front of Mac. “This was found in Maguire’s room next to this folder.”
At the top of the notepad on the first line, in block capital letters, was the word THEMIS.
The lines below read:
VM. Emma Wilkes: RE: Dylan Booth
# Cases. How far back?
Two lines below that note was the notation that Mac sensed had captured the police chief’s interest: Call M. Faraday?
“What’s Themis?” David asked.
“I have no idea,” Mac told him. “Emma Wilkes might be the woman we saw Maguire with. She may also be the one who slipped between his sheets.”
David said, “The same thought occurred to me. Jeff says there’s no one registered at the Inn by that name. What about Dylan Booth?”
“Dylan Booth was one of my cases.”
David sat back in his seat and pressed his palms and fingertips against each other. “Tell me about him.”
“A law clerk I accused Maguire of killing,” Mac said. “This was before he slept with my wife.”
“What interest would Maguire have in a law clerk?”
Mac told him, “I had no doubt in my mind but that Maguire was capable of murder and the evidence made him a suspect.”
“Do you mean like the other man being found dead in your private suite?” David asked.
“Touché,” Mac replied. “I was certain Maguire was involved in something dirty having to do with this clerk, but I couldn’t place him at the crime scene. Plus, I came up blank finding out what that dirty deal was. I came up with nothing.”
While David sipped his cold coffee, Mac went on. “Dylan Booth worked for Judge Randolph Daniels, one of the most influential judges in D.C. He was in his last year of law school. One Saturday someone shot him in the parking lot when he was leaving his office. On the surface, it looked like a robbery. His watch and wallet were missing.”
“Why do you think it wasn’t?”
“The security guard at the building said that when Booth left he was carrying a folder box and that it was heavy. That was missing along with Booth’s laptop.”
“What was in the box? Case files?” David drew his attention to the note on Maguire’s notepad about the number of cases.
“We assume so. Neither the laptop or box have ever been located.”
“Why would someone steal case files unless there was something incriminating in them?” David wondered. “Did you ask the judge’s staff if anything was missing from their records?”
“I’d been a detective for a very long time,” Mac reminded him with a grin. “The staff said nothing was missing.”
“Maybe the judge—”
“Would you believe the judge had committed suicide the night before?”
“Really?” The expression on David’s face
“Not yet,” David said. “My officers are showing her picture from the security cameras around the Inn to see if anyone knows her. No evidence in the room suggests that he had someone staying with him. Forensics did find vaginal fluid on his sheets and are working up a DNA profile on her. Could be the same woman you saw him with. The desk clerk says he was alone when he checked in and paid with a federal credit card. Any idea what case he may have been working on?”
Mac shook his head. “I left the police department five months ago.”
“What about cases that were still open when you left?” David suggested.
“They were all passed on to other investigators.”
“How about cases that hadn’t gone to trial yet?”
“There were a couple, but Maguire wasn’t the prosecutor on record for those cases,” Mac said. “I wasn’t the only homicide detective in Georgetown. He could’ve been working on another detective’s case.”
“I don’t think so,” David said. “I think Maguire was on a business trip and I think it was one of your cases.” He removed the yellow notepad from where it had been hiding under the accordion folder and slid it across the table to land in front of Mac. “This was found in Maguire’s room next to this folder.”
At the top of the notepad on the first line, in block capital letters, was the word THEMIS.
The lines below read:
VM. Emma Wilkes: RE: Dylan Booth
# Cases. How far back?
Two lines below that note was the notation that Mac sensed had captured the police chief’s interest: Call M. Faraday?
“What’s Themis?” David asked.
“I have no idea,” Mac told him. “Emma Wilkes might be the woman we saw Maguire with. She may also be the one who slipped between his sheets.”
David said, “The same thought occurred to me. Jeff says there’s no one registered at the Inn by that name. What about Dylan Booth?”
“Dylan Booth was one of my cases.”
David sat back in his seat and pressed his palms and fingertips against each other. “Tell me about him.”
“A law clerk I accused Maguire of killing,” Mac said. “This was before he slept with my wife.”
“What interest would Maguire have in a law clerk?”
Mac told him, “I had no doubt in my mind but that Maguire was capable of murder and the evidence made him a suspect.”
“Do you mean like the other man being found dead in your private suite?” David asked.
“Touché,” Mac replied. “I was certain Maguire was involved in something dirty having to do with this clerk, but I couldn’t place him at the crime scene. Plus, I came up blank finding out what that dirty deal was. I came up with nothing.”
While David sipped his cold coffee, Mac went on. “Dylan Booth worked for Judge Randolph Daniels, one of the most influential judges in D.C. He was in his last year of law school. One Saturday someone shot him in the parking lot when he was leaving his office. On the surface, it looked like a robbery. His watch and wallet were missing.”
“Why do you think it wasn’t?”
“The security guard at the building said that when Booth left he was carrying a folder box and that it was heavy. That was missing along with Booth’s laptop.”
“What was in the box? Case files?” David drew his attention to the note on Maguire’s notepad about the number of cases.
“We assume so. Neither the laptop or box have ever been located.”
“Why would someone steal case files unless there was something incriminating in them?” David wondered. “Did you ask the judge’s staff if anything was missing from their records?”
“I’d been a detective for a very long time,” Mac reminded him with a grin. “The staff said nothing was missing.”
“Maybe the judge—”
“Would you believe the judge had committed suicide the night before?”
“Really?” The expression on David’s face
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