“I’m shaken, not broken. But I am worried about making it to the First Lady’s meeting.”
Gordon gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he rose. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. We can postpone the presentation, reschedule it for when you’re feeling better.”
“No, don’t. Please, don’t. I’m fine.”
Gordon nodded, but creased his brows. “Okay. I need to get to the First Lady’s office anyhow to set up for the meeting. I’ll explain why you’ll be running late. It won’t be a problem, Casey. The Grounds Committee will understand. I’ll make sure they do.”
“Thank you, Gordon. That’ll make me feel better.”
As Gordon left, Thatch hurried back into the room. He reminded me of the movie version of General Patton prepared to charge headlong into battle.
“Let me summarize what we’ve got here.” He flipped back a few pages in his notebook as he sat down. “You remember seeing a man in a suit wearing a baseball cap. But you don’t think he was with the protestors. Is that correct?”
“He didn’t seem to be heading toward them. And he wasn’t dressed in old clothes like they were. I got the impression that he was hurrying to his office or something.”
Thatch nodded. “And you said he was carrying a silver briefcase. He may or may not have been the man who attacked you.”
“What about the security cameras we’ve got out there?” Turner glanced up from the folder in his lap to ask.
Thatch shook his head. “That’s what I was checking just now. I’d hoped they’d be able to give us a good picture of our man. But the best we have is a partial image of a shadowy figure who seemed very aware of the cameras and was doing his best to avoid them.”
“Then not a mugging gone wrong,” Turner said.
“No,” Thatch agreed.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I asked.
Thatch frowned at his notebook longer than I thought necessary before answering. “The murder might be part of a bigger plot against the President.”
“What plot?” I hadn’t heard anything about that.
“We don’t have a clear picture of that. I assure you that if we did, the responsible parties would have been rounded up long before now.”
“If this is something against the President, why kill that woman I found?”
Thatch shook his head. “He might have been after something she was carrying.”
“Then why did he attack me?” I certainly wasn’t carrying anything valuable or important with me.
“That’s what we need to find out,” Thatch said.
Turner had told me earlier that, as a White House employee, I was a link in the chain of security that protected the President. He’d wondered if the attack had caused a security breach.
“But it could have been just a mugging gone wrong, right?” I asked, grasping for an easy explanation. “I mean, maybe he wanted money?”
“A mugger wouldn’t have worried about the security cameras like this guy did. And he wouldn’t have left you with your backpack,” Thatch said.
“Or stuffed our victim’s purse in the trash can with her,” Turner added.
My head buzzed and the room got fuzzy as I pictured the woman’s lifeless face and how her flowered tote bag had been callously tucked against her chest. I gripped the edge of the table as it swayed a bit. “Have you identified her? Was she a White House employee?” I asked, determined not to embarrass myself and faint in front of Turner, who seemed to be watching me too closely.
“We don’t think so.” Thatch tapped his pen against his notebook. “But she might have had White House clearance. We’ll know more as soon as we get a positive ID.”
What if the murderer couldn’t find what he’d wanted to steal from that poor woman? What if he’d attacked me with the hopes he’d get his hands on what he couldn’t get from her? I reached for my backpack and started to riffle through it, looking to see if anything was missing, though I still couldn’t imagine why anyone would think I