Christmas Male(29)

“How did Amanda end up in the army?” D.C. asked.

“As soon as she graduated, Amanda enlisted. She felt it was her best way to get a college education. She’s very focused, very concerned about living a good Christian life.”

The general turned to Fiona. “That’s why she contacted you about your toy drive.”

“You knew about that?” Fiona asked.

“She asked my opinion.” Eddinger folded her hands again. “I’ll be honest with you. During the past year, Amanda and I have grown rather close. She’s become more than my administrative assistant. My husband and I have had her to our home for dinner frequently. We’ve invited her to Christmas dinner. I just can’t see her involved in something like this.”

“Do you know anything about her friends, who she spends time with after hours?”

“I know she’s been in contact with a cousin of hers, Billy Franks. He’s evidently a technical wunderkind. He’s even sold some of the software he’s created. She’s so proud of him. She brought him here once to give him a tour.”

“What’s your impression of Billy?” D.C. asked.

Eddinger tilted her head to one side. “Shy and smart. I think the best term to describe him is geek. He’s of medium height, slender, wears his hair longish and has glasses. As I understand it, she hadn’t seen him for years because of her father’s split with her mother’s family. I think she had some idea of healing old wounds.”

“Did you know that Amanda’s great-uncle and Billy’s grandfather is Arthur Franks, a master thief who’s currently incarcerated at the federal prison in Cumberland, Maryland?”

D.C.’s question had Eddinger’s eyes widening.

“No. I didn’t know that.” Rising, she walked to the window and stared out at the grounds. “It casts everything in a slightly different light, doesn’t it?”

For a few moments, the silence grew in the room. Then Eddinger turned back to face them. “I still can’t believe Amanda is involved in robbing the National Gallery.”

Fiona couldn’t help but note that the general no longer sounded so convinced of Amanda’s innocence.



AMANDA HEMMINGS’S LANDLADY, Claire Ridgeway, let them into the small foyer of one of the row houses that were plentiful in the area of Washington near the Capitol. She was tall, thin, and wore her white hair in a long braid down her back. D.C. guessed her to be in her early sixties. When Fiona handed her the search warrant, she put on a pair of glasses and perused it carefully.

“Is Ms. Hemmings in trouble? Is that why the patrol car has been parked in front of my house all night?”

“She was the victim of a mugging on the National Mall and we’re investigating,” Fiona said.

“Is she all right?”

Noting the concern in the older woman’s eyes, D.C. said, “She’s in stable condition, and she’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“Good.” But the woman let out a sigh as she led them down a flight of stairs to the basement. “Terrible thing. When young people go into the military, your biggest fear is that they’ll lose their lives in some faraway country. And then they get injured at home.”

“I’m curious.” D.C. hitched his cane over one arm and used the wall for support as they descended. “This is a pretty high-rent district. How did Hemmings manage it on a private’s pay?”

Claire Ridgeway opened the door before turning to face him. “I own this house. I lost a son in the Gulf War, so I regularly rent this apartment out to one of the enlisted men or women stationed at Fort McNair. I make sure the rent is affordable.”

“Do you know Private Hemmings very well?” Fiona asked as Ridgeway led them into the apartment.

“No, not well at all. I interviewed her when I first showed her the place and checked her references. We talked in passing, of course. But we’re both busy. I give private violin lessons in the afternoons and early evenings. And when Amanda was home, she kept to herself.”

“Did she ever have visitors?” D.C. asked.

The woman frowned thoughtfully. “She brought a young man here once. A few weeks ago. He wasn’t military. The clothes were wrong. So was the way he carried himself. I remember thinking that they made an odd sort of couple.”

“Can you describe him?” D.C. asked.

“He was of medium height and thin, with longish dark hair and glasses. He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ridgeway,” Fiona said. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”