Murder at the FBI by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online

and you have a picture of a thoroughly despicable man.”
    “I’m—I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. There were compensations.” She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand. Saksis noticed the heavy, expensive-looking rings on her fingers. Obviously, money was not a problem.
    Saksis hesitated, then asked, “Was there family money, Mrs. Pritchard?”
    “Family money? No. You’re asking because you’ve gotten the feeling that we lived slightly higher than what an FBI agent brings home.”
    “Yes, as a matter of fact, that
is
why I asked.”
    “I used to wonder about it, too, but I stopped asking. George told me years ago that he had ‘business dealings’ on the side. When I asked what they were, he told me to mind my own business. I did.”
    “What about personal effects?”
    “Here? I told you he spent very little time here. What there was, one of your earlier teams took with them.”
    “They did?” Saksis was surprised. If Ranger was to be the only unit investigating the death, it didn’t make sense to have others confiscating potentialevidence. She asked the names of the other agents.
    Helen Pritchard shrugged and lit another cigarette. “They all look the same to me. Morris. Norris. One of them had a name like that.”
    “Okay. Could I see the bedroom?”
    “Site of the connubial bed? Sure.” She pointed to a door that led to a hall. Saksis thought she’d accompany her, but Mrs. Pritchard didn’t move. Saksis passed a closed door off the hall that she assumed led to the daughter’s room. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was large, a vast expanse of pink and white. A king-size bed was covered by a spread the color of pink begonias. A frilly white canopy covered it. A dressing table was laden with expensive bottles of perfume and cologne. There were two closets. Saksis opened one of them. It was filled with female clothing. Same for the other closet. It was as though a man had never been there.
    Saksis started toward the living room when the door that previously had been closed opened. Standing there was a teenage girl. Her face was puffy with sleep, and long, mousy brown hair hung in disheveled strands over her face. It was a pretty face, pale and round and pensive, a few freckles on each cheek. She wore a man’s T-shirt that barely reached below her behind.
    “You must be Beth,” Saksis said pleasantly. “I’m Christine Saksis. I’m with the FBI.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’m sorry about what happened to your father. I didn’t work closely with him, but I knew him.”
    “Uh huh. Is my mother here?”
    “Yes, she’s in the living room.”
    Beth picked up a robe from the floor, put it on and walked past Saksis.
    “Well, sleeping beauty has arisen,” her mother said.
    “I was tired,” said Beth.
    “Of course you were. You can’t sit up all night watching television and not be tired.”
    “Mother, I—do we have to stay here again today?”
    Helen Pritchard looked at Saksis. “Ask her, my dear. She’s big brother.”
    “Actually, I know nothing about the FBI watching your movements,” Saksis said. “I’m not here to do anything but to meet you and ask some questions.”
    “Where’s Ms. Busch?” Beth asked.
    “In the kitchen,” her mother answered.
    Beth left the living room. Saksis sat and said, “I know how painful all this must be for the two of you, Mrs. Pritchard, and I don’t enjoy intruding on personal lives. But, I have to. No matter what circumstances surround your marriage to George Pritchard, he is an FBI agent who’s been murdered.”
    “Oh, now the truth comes out.”
    “That doesn’t represent the truth, Mrs. Pritchard. I just used a word.”
    Helen Pritchard’s laugh was the first indication of any warmth. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know he was murdered, and so do you. So does everybody else in that ugly building, including the director himself. It’ll all come out as soon as the embarrassment factor has been dealt