Page 16 of Return of the Spider
“When she met Conrad, it was like everything clicked. She’s the only girl in a family of boys, and her brothers are athletes, but not like Conrad. Her brothers are funny, but not like Conrad. Her dad is a guy’s guy, and Conrad had him charmed, I guess you’d call it, within minutes.”
Abby’s grandfather said, “That boy had it all, but he did not lord it over people, you know? No arrogance that I saw.”
“None,” Lisa said. “We were so impressed by that.” She paused, her lip quivering.
Sampson said, “Did any other boys show interest in Abby?”
“Interest? I’m sure they did, but honestly, she only had eyes for Conrad.”
“No exes? No stalkers? Nobody angry at her?”
To our surprise, Mrs. Howard started sobbing. “Other than me?”
“Ma’am?” I said.
Lisa’s father said, “She got angry at Abby yesterday over something.”
“Laundry!” the girl’s mother said. “I got angry and yelled at her over nothing, and it could have been the last thing I ever said to her.”
“But it won’t be,” her dad said, hugging her. “You heard the surgeon before he went in. She got lucky. She’s in for a tough road, but she got lucky.”
After asking them to keep us updated on Abby’s condition, we left. It turned out that Carl Dennis, the injured Senate aide, was also at GW and also in the OR; surgeons were stabilizing his femur, tibia, ulna, and humerus fractures. In addition to the broken bones, he had sustained a head injury despite the fact that he’d been wearing a helmet.
We spoke with his wife, Kathleen, who was in the waiting room. She said her husband often used the Route 50 bicycle path to commute from their Bethesda home to Capitol Hill.
“He loved it,” she said, sniffling. “The ride gave him space.”
“He rode at night?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “He had all the gear to make you safe, and he was on a designated bike path. You don’t expect to get run over there.”
We gave her our cards and told her we’d talk to her husband when he was up to it.
Back in our squad car, I said, “Downtown? Talk to the chief and the dynamic duo?”
“We can brief them at the end of the day,” Sampson said. “Or at least after we cover all our bases. Let’s talk to Conrad’s teachers and coaches at the Charles School.”
“Abby’s too,” I said. “Maybe a teacher saw something the parents didn’t.”
“Or one of their friends or teammates did,” Sampson said.
“Seems like the best way forward.”
“We’re in the rainforest phase of the investigation. Sometimes you just got to grab a machete, pick a direction, and start chopping a path.”
“Based on clues.”
“Based on evidence. Based on the verifiable facts at hand. Those’re your best guides.”
CHAPTER
10
At the beginning ofthe noon break at the Charles School, nine members of the teaching staff filed into a conference room, several vocally irritated at having their lunches interrupted.
Jenny Wolcott, the headmistress, stood near me and Sampson, looking slightly stunned. She waited until the last teacher—a tall, balding, somewhat disheveled man with an untrimmed mustache and round glasses—had closed the door behind him.
Then she smiled grimly.
