Whiplash

Sherlock asked him, "Have you investigated it in any other way?"

"Do you mean have I climbed in the oak tree beside my window to see if there are any remnants of rope or footprints or broken branches? Yes, the private investigator did that. He found nothing. Neither did Corlie or my sons." He began turning the elegant gold Mont Blanc pen over and over between his fingers, frowning at it. "I did tell another person, my best friend outside of politics, actually. We're both avid golfers. We play golf every Saturday we can get together."

"His name, Senator?"

Hoffman's dark eyes slid over Sherlock's bright hair a moment, then he said, "Gabe Hilliard. He owns half a dozen security firms around the country, one of them here in D.C. I've known him forever. He's an excellent friend, rock-solid. He'll never tell anyone about this. Like me, he has no clue what's going on, but he's concerned."

Sherlock wrote down his name and particulars.

"I told you about Gabe just because you want all names of those I've confided in. You're thinking it makes sense that one possible explanation behind all this is someone gaslighting me. Maybe, but I can't think of anyone with a motive."

Savich asked, "Are both your sons financially secure?"

The senator said, "They assure me their finances are in order for the moment, even though their wives wiped the floor with them. I haven't personally checked their portfolios. I can't imagine their lying to me about money since if either of them had financial problems, they'd come ru

Savich smiled.

Sherlock said, "Unfortunately, Senator, both of your sons are hurting financially. Yet you say neither has come asking for help?"

"No, neither of them. I should have assumed you'd know everything about me and my family before you set foot in my house. So the little blighters have run through the interest on their trust funds, have they? And their quite generous salaries? Thank God for their families that my lawyer convinced me to protect the principal until they're both fifty." He tapped the pen on the beautiful mahogany desktop. "Three years ago, I told them they were adults, and it was time they acted like adults. There would be no more handouts, they were to be responsible for themselves and their families, it was past time for them to be men.

"You're thinking they may have rigged up a ghost to scare me out of my wits? So they could declare me incompetent, get their hands on my money? I'm enough of a cynic to be effective in the world, Agent Sherlock, but I can't believe that of my sons. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they haven't told others about their crazy old man over an expensive glass of white wine. Neither of them could keep a confidence if their marriages depended on it. Let me say they're both divorced, twice, so I rest my case."

The sons, Savich knew, Aiden and Benson, had grown up with too much money and not enough boundaries, and, as Sherlock had noted on her background check before they'd come to the senator's home, they both appeared to be dogs when it came to marital constancy.

"And my sons certainly have a solid motive, I can see that. I guess there's no one else besides Aiden and Benson with any kind of motive." He sat back in his big chair, steepled his fingers.

"Agents, my sons are both prosaic thinkers. They see something they want and they think, 'I want that,' and they head for it like a guided missile. This situation-it is inventive, creative, wouldn't you say? Shows resourcefulness and ingenuity?"

Savich nodded.

"To be brutally honest here, my sons couldn't hatch up a creative idea between them no matter how much money was at stake."

Savich said, "You're saying then that if your sons were broke and had to have money, they'd simply come over here and shoot you in the head?"

The senator laughed. "Quite an image, Agent Savich. But that isn't what they'd do either. They would probably come over and beg. If they're behind this manifestation, believe me, someone else came up with the idea, someone else is driving them, telling them what to do." He shook his head decisively. "Neither of them is fashioned in the right mold to pull this off."

"The right mold?"

Hoffman nodded to Savich. "All they like to think about is sailing, eating clams on the beach with as many scantily clad women as they can attract, and jetting off to Milan to buy their next Armani suit or sports car. They have jobs because the presidents of both companies are longtime friends of mine. As far as I can tell, their lives are pretty much a waste. I say that with great sadness. As their father, I must bear the responsibility, and I do. My wife and I did try, we did. What went wrong? What could we have done differently? I've asked myself that question many times, but I just don't know."

No boundaries, too much money, Savich thought again, and wondered why the obvious answer didn't hit the senator between the eyes.

"Their saving grace is that between them, they've produced three smart kids, all by their first wives, two boys and one girl. All three are hard workers who'll amount to something." The senator sat back and sighed. "However, I have to stand by what I said. This simply isn't like my sons, and their well-developed survival instincts wouldn't allow them to hire anyone to do it."

Savich asked, "Has this manifestation appeared anywhere else, sir? Like outside your office window in the Hart Office Building?"

The senator laid down the pen and raised his eyes to Savich's face. "No. Only here. Only around midnight, only outside my bedroom window. I will be honest here, Agents, I have no more thoughts or suspicions, no more obvious avenues to try."

Hoffman sat back in his big chair. "Like all my legislative colleagues, I have made a great many enemies, as well as a great many friends. I imagine that a couple dozen of my political opponents would gladly see me retired, but to try to drive me crazy? Hmm." He gri

"That's why I called you, Agent Savich. You were recommended to me by Director Mueller because you've studied things, even experienced things, that can't be easily explained, and dealt with people and events that are frankly-bizarre.

"If there's the possibility that this-thing-is, well, otherworldly, I thought you might be the best person to help me."

Savich knew Hoffman sat rock solid in the center of the political spectrum, always trying to draw the extremes toward him. I represent the great intelligent American majority, he'd say.He knew Hoffman was smart, something of a hardnose. He was rarely mealy-mouthed or equivocal when asked a question, like the vast majority of politicians. He wasn't known to spin an answer or evade or immediately blame someone else. Not the kind of person you would expect to start hallucinating or have a mental breakdown.