Raymond Flores ducked under the police tape and strode towards the house, impressed by its elegance and jealous that Garcia’s home was well outside of his price range. He had used his car but he could have just as easily walked there, the exclusive estate between Centreville and Chantilly less than a mile from his own home. Noticing Flores, another agent moved to head him off, ready with the initial report.
“Garcia was found in the master bedroom,” said the agent, checking his notes. “Shot twice in the chest; been dead about an hour. Police responded to a ‘shots fired’ call at 21:24: witnesses reported seeing a stationary white van and an armed man running up Pleasant Valley Road towards Chantilly – too dark to get a good description. That’s about four hundred yards from here but the van had disappeared by the time the police turned up. There was also an anonymous call to the hotline at 21:50: male, British accent; he described the Garcia house and claimed Pat McDowell could be found here.”
“Described it? The caller didn’t give an actual address?”
“No address; just a detailed description. It wasn’t hard to work out which house. We’re looking at two separate incidents here, but it’s difficult not to believe they’re somehow connected.”
Flores checked his watch: 22:47. The area around Centreville was being saturated with police and agents, but it was probably already too late, the perpetrators doubtless long gone.
“Where’s Garcia’s wife?” Flores asked.
“The neighbours think she’s in Los Angeles visiting her sister.”
“No sign of McDowell?”
The agent shook his head, “Front door was unlocked, lights on; we’re knocking on doors but so far no-one saw or heard anything unusual. Forensic are checking the house – no sign of a struggle. The perimeter has four cameras covering the grounds, but for some reason only one picked up anything relevant: no van or any other vehicles, just a white male walking up to the front door; timestamp puts his arrival at just after nine. They’re working to enhance the image now.”
“Garcia didn’t have a protection detail?”
“He wasn’t interested,” replied the agent. “Said he was too old and set in his ways to cope with a bodyguard.”
Flores nodded in understanding. At the age of 78 he too might have refused the offer of 24/7 protection, and Garcia would have well known the risks, relying more on his perceived anonymity. He certainly wouldn’t have been the only one of his colleagues to regret such a decision, although the first to have suffered more than just a routine robbery.
The FBI hotline had received a steady trickle of reports as to Pat McDowell’s whereabouts but none quite as specific as this evening. Despite the setback with Paige Hanson, no blame had been attached to Flores, and his specialist unit had been co-opted as part of a joint agency task force. The hunt for McDowell still covered a massive area, including all of Maryland and Virginia, the focus now instantly switching to west of D.C.
“Check the other houses for CCTV,” Flores instructed. “Maybe they picked up something.”
It was a vain hope, but Flores wasn’t prepared to let a chance to catch McDowell – or whoever was responsible – slip by. His first thoughts focused on the anonymous call made by a man with an English accent: Flores was aware Anderson was staying in Leesburg and gut instinct made him order a unit to check it out.
McDowell, Anderson and Garcia: the first two knew each other, but it seemed unlikely that either man moved in Garcia’s exclusive circle. For the last twenty-five years Enrique Garcia had served as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, one of the nine men and women who together made up the Supreme Court. In terms of seniority, Garcia was the longest-serving Associate Justice; although, at his age, he would have been unlikely to make the step up to Chief Justice of the United States.
Whilst on official business, the Supreme Court’s own police provided suitable protection for the nine justices; otherwise the U.S. Marshals Service and local police took over. Garcia’s home was in a low crime area, and he had obviously put his faith in the deterrence of the alarm and CCTV, a police patrol car carrying out a visual check every now and again.
Flores now had a high-profile case on his hands, one likely to gain the full attention of the White House. He badly needed a success to make up for Paige Hanson and he was determined not to fail a second time. If he had to spend a couple of sleepless nights chasing after every elusive lead, then that was a small price to pay.