Part 22 (1/2)
The guy was a Billy Cartersize embarra.s.sment. And a late-night comedian's dream come true.
”Do you think it's somehow connected to him?” asked Sarah. ”I can't imagine...”
Driesen shrugged. ”It wouldn't make much sense. Then again, going around killing people with the same name doesn't exactly scream 'logical,' now, does it?”
”But of all names to choose...”
”I know. Hawthorne, as you saw, is already at DEFCON 1. He placed a detail on the brother-in-law starting last night.”
”Was O'Hara told why he was getting protection?” Sarah asked. She thought she already knew the answer.
”No. That's the other tricky thing about this,” said Driesen. ”O'Hara's big mouth aside, this can't go public. We can't have a nationwide panic involving every poor son of a b.i.t.c.h out there named John O'Hara, at least not yet.”
”Is that why Hawthorne was here and not Samuelson?” asked Sarah.
Driesen smiled as if to say, ”Good for you.” He appreciated that his young agent had grown quite adept at recognizing political implications. Cliff Samuelson, Hawthorne's boss, was director of the Secret Service.
”I didn't ask, but it's safe to a.s.sume. They need as much separation from the president as they can get,” said Driesen.
”G.o.d, I can see the headline already: PRESIDENT PROTECTS BROTHER-IN-LAW O'HARA BUT NONE OF THE OTHERS.”
”Needless to say, that headline can never be written.”
”But at some point-”
”Yes, at some point we'll have to go public with the killings, blast it from every rooftop. But between the first and third dead O'Hara, there are over forty John O'Haras on the map that the killer didn't kill. The point being we can't pretend to think we can protect them all.”
”So in the meantime?”
”That only makes your job harder,” he said.
Sarah c.o.c.ked her head. ”My job?”
”You didn't think you were in here to hear about my fly fis.h.i.+ng plans for the weekend, did you? You leave tomorrow morning.”
Sarah didn't need to ask where he was sending her. The first rule of catching serial killers? Always start with the warmest dead body.
”I hear Park City's nice this time of year,” she deadpanned.
He smiled. ”Listen, I realize you're just back from Florida and that your suitcase is sitting in your office. So take the night off, will you? And by that I don't mean go home and do laundry.”
”Okay, no laundry,” she said with a chuckle.
”I'm serious,” he retorted. ”Go do something fun, kick up your heels. Lord knows you probably need it.”