Capitol Murder (16 page)

“In the past, the women who have been named in these situations have been smeared and held up to ridicule. This is my fault and I have promised this woman that I would not reveal her identity. I stand by that promise. The relationship lasted one night, and it was over by the next day. I see no reason other than prurient interest for the press to drag her through the mud. Thank you again.”

The senator left the podium, and the talking heads started to dissect him like hyenas tearing at fallen prey. Dana switched off the set.

“The plot thickens,” Gorman said.

“It’s an old and tired plot that’s been done to death, Pat. If you tried to sell the story to a book publisher, no self-respecting editor would buy it.”

“You forget that I have no self-respect, Miss Cutler. If I did, I’d have sold
Exposed
years ago.”

Dana sighed. “What do you want me to do, as if I can’t guess?”

“I want you to get me an interview with Carson’s paramour.”

D
ana went back to the senator’s Portland office and his campaign headquarters, but no one would talk to her. Next she called up the reporter from the
Oregonian
. He said he didn’t know any more than she did. He was also honest enough to admit that he wasn’t going to share any information he dug up if there was any risk that Dana might scoop him.

After a thoroughly depressing day, Dana returned to her hotel and ordered room service. She had just tipped the waiter when her room phone rang. Dana was intrigued. She’d given everyone she talked to her cell phone number, and that was the number Gorman would call.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Dana Cutler?” the caller asked. Dana didn’t recognize the voice, and it sounded as though the caller was disguising it.

“Speaking.”

“Dorothy Crispin.”

“What?”

“The girl the senator screwed. She’s a law student, and she has an apartment at 1276 Southwest Spruce Terrace.”

“How do you . . . ?” Dana started, but the line was dead.

Dana hung up the phone and sat back in her chair. She’d just gotten a real break,
if
Dorothy Crispin was Carson’s lover, but who had given her the information, and why?

Dana checked her watch. It was eight thirty, not too late. She pulled on her trainers, checked her guns to make sure they were loaded, and left her hotel room.

D
orothy Crispin lived in John’s Landing, a section of the city near the Willamette River where town houses and apartments filled in the gaps between older homes. Spruce Terrace wound its way from Corbett Avenue up a hill until it dead-ended in a cluster of garden apartments. The entrance to Crispin’s apartment was at the end of a short alley. Dana rang her bell and waited. She could see lights through a side window, and she rang again when no one answered. This time she heard footsteps, and a timid voice asked her to identify herself.

“Dana Cutler, Miss Crispin. I’d like to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“We both know the answer to that. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out that you’re Senator Carson’s mystery woman. Fortunately for you, I’m not out to humiliate you. I just want to talk, and I promise to present your story in a dignified manner.”

“Please, I don’t want to discuss Senator Carson.”

“You’re not going to have a choice when someone else digs up your name. The next time someone knocks on your door, they’ll have a cameraman and a lighting crew, and they won’t be anywhere near as nice I intend to be. Talking to me will give you a chance to shape the way this story plays.”

Dana gave Crispin time to think. A minute later, locks snapped, and the door opened. Dana found herself facing a brunette with shoulder-length hair, bright blue eyes, and a turned-up nose who managed to look cute even though she wasn’t wearing makeup and was dressed in a University of Oregon sweatshirt, sweat socks, and a pair of plain gray sweatpants. Dana stepped inside. Crispin checked outside for more intruders, then shut the door.

The living room had a picture window with a panoramic view of the river and the lights of downtown Portland. It was furnished with tasteful, inexpensive furniture. Framed reproductions of famous Impressionist paintings hung on the walls. The only clutter was caused by thick textbooks that were stacked on a glass-top coffee table next to an open laptop.

“What year?” Dana asked as she pointed at the books.

“My second. Look, is there any way you can give me a break? I won’t be able to go to class if this comes out. And I can kiss any chance of getting a decent job good-bye.”

“What did you think would happen if the senator divorced his wife for you?” Dana asked, choosing to make her tone kind instead of cruel.

Crispin looked down at the hardwood floor. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Look, Dorothy, I’m not here to ruin you. You and Carson both made a mistake. That’s the way he’s playing it, and he’s painted you as the victim. He’s a lot older than you. He’s a rich and powerful man. Everyone is going to see you as the wronged party. Tell me that’s an accurate picture of the way this happened, and I’ll make sure that’s the first impression everyone has.”

Crispin looked conflicted. “Who did you say you’re with?”

Dana handed her a business card.

“Oh, shit.
Exposed
is one of those supermarket rags.”

Dana laughed. “You hit the nail right on the head. But we’ve also won a Pulitzer and been nominated for a second for some pretty serious journalism. We used to be a joke, but we’re starting to be taken seriously.”

Crispin ran a hand across her forehead. She looked like a martyr on the way to her crucifixion. Then she sighed.

“Let’s get this over with.” She pointed at the sofa. “Do you want some coffee or tea?”

Dana smiled. “Thanks. Coffee would be great. If you feel like a stiff shot of whiskey I promise your beverage of choice won’t make it into the story.”

Crispin smiled ruefully. “Tempting, but I’m going to do this sober.”

“What do you want to know?” Crispin asked when she returned with two cups of coffee.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened between you and the senator?”

“I feel so stupid. I met him at a campaign event, and we talked for a while. He seemed interested in what I had to say about legislation for funding Portland’s light rail. When he found out I was a law student, he hinted at a possible internship. Before he moved on, he gave me his card and told me to call. And I did. I mean, a job in D.C. It sounded so exciting, and I haven’t traveled a lot.”

“What happened?”

“He said he was going to be in Portland in two weeks. He told me that he had very little free time and suggested that we get together for a late dinner.”

“Weren’t you suspicious?”

“No, he made it sound like a job interview.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“No, no, it was at first. We met at Jake’s. He had a booth in the back. It was a place where we couldn’t be seen while we were eating. Over dinner he was a perfect gentleman, but he did feed me drinks.”

Crispin blushed. “I should have seen what was coming when he started telling me that I was a breath of fresh air and hinted at a job after I graduated. Then he said he was enjoying our conversation so much that we should continue our talk in his hotel room.”

“Carson lives in Portland. There’s no reason for him to stay in a hotel.”

“I didn’t know where he lived. I was also pretty naive. And maybe I wanted something to happen. My grades are decent, but I’m not near the top of my class. A job in the Senate would open a lot of doors.”

“So you went into this with open eyes?”

“Half open.” Crispin shrugged.

“What happened next?”

Crispin blushed. “We . . . we slept together. When we were done, Jack said all the right things, and I went home.”

“What did he say specifically?”

“You know, the sex was great, I was great, he’d had a great time and wanted to see me again.” Crispin shrugged. “It was what I wanted to hear.”

“Did you ask about the job?” Dana said.

“Oh, definitely. He said he or someone from the office would be in touch.”

“And?”

For the first time, Crispin looked angry instead of embarrassed. “No one ever called, so I called Washington, which got me nowhere. Finally I called Lucas Sharp, his chief of staff. I told him I would go public if the senator kept ignoring me.”

“When was this?”

“The Friday before that woman was killed in his town house.”

“What happened then?”

“Jack called me and said he was going to fly out. He got here on Sunday around five
P.M
. We had a heart-to-heart. He told me he loved his wife and regretted what he’d done.”

“Did you buy what he said?”

“He sounded sincere, like he really felt bad about cheating on his wife. He convinced me that he was sorry he’d given in to temptation.”

“Weren’t you angry that he’d used you?”

“I couldn’t get too upset. I tried to use him, too, you know, for the job.”

Something about Crispin bothered Dana but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“What happened with the job?” she asked.

“Uh, well, we knew that wouldn’t work. He told me he was going to publicly confess what he’d done to his wife. It would be uncomfortable for both of us to be in the same office.”

“So the senator got here on Sunday?”

“Yes. He came here straight from the airport. He said he didn’t want anyone to know he was in Portland, so he couldn’t risk being seen in a hotel.”

“The senator was gone several days. Was he with you all that time?”

“Yeah, he stayed with me.”

“Did you sleep together?”

“No! I felt like I’d been played before, so I made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. He was okay with it. I think he really did regret cheating on his wife.”

“Did Senator Carson know about the murder at his town house?”

“It was on the news.”

“Then why didn’t he fly back to D.C.?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t ask him.”

“It seems unusual. The murder involved him directly.”

“You’ll have to ask Jack. I can’t tell you what he was thinking.”

“Too bad about the job,” Dana said.

“That’s the least of my worries. Now that this is going public, I’m probably going to be the next Monica Lewinsky.”

“Not necessarily. I’ll do my best to protect you.”

“Will you have to print my name?”

“I’m afraid so, but I’ll humanize you and make you as sympathetic as I can. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? For instance, where did you grow up?”

“You’re not going to talk to my parents, are you?”

“They’ll learn about this anyway.”

“No, I’m not dragging them into this.”

“Look . . .”

Crispin shook her head vigorously. “Absolutely not. And I think I’ve talked enough.”

Dana pressed her case for a few moments, then got up when it was clear that the interview was over.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Dana said. “You have my card. If you want to tell me anything more, or if you just want to talk, call me anytime.”

Crispin showed Dana out. The door closed behind her. Dana stood in the passageway. A chill wind was blowing in from the river and she turned up her coat collar. She knew she should be ecstatic. She’d scooped every news source in the country. But something wasn’t right. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Chapter Twenty-four

D
ana Cutler’s exclusive interview with Dorothy Crispin ran in
Exposed
and created the anticipated uproar. Dana had spent the time before the issue hit the stands trying to interview students and professors at the law school, but the professors wouldn’t discuss a student, and the two students who admitted that they knew Crispin knew her only from class. After the story broke, no one would give her the time of day.

Pat Gorman told Dana that he had other plans for the corporate jet, so Dana was scheduled to fly out of Portland on an early-morning commercial flight three days after the story broke. While she was getting ready for bed, Dana watched the news. The picture on the screen showed TV crews standing around the area in front of Dorothy Crispin’s apartment complex. Then bright lights from a portable TV camera illuminated the breezeway in front of Crispin’s apartment while a bright-eyed reporter excitedly explained that she was standing at the front door of the young woman who had been seduced by United States Senator Jack Carson. Two establishing shots had given anyone who was interested in finding it a pretty good idea of the location of Crispin’s apartment. Dana felt a twinge of guilt about being responsible for the siege, but she didn’t worry enough to keep her from falling asleep.

D
orothy Crispin was beginning to question whether putting up with the reporters was worth the money she was being paid. It was a lot of money, and she knew the scrutiny wouldn’t last long. Another juicy scandal would draw the hyenas away, and she would soon become a footnote in history. But she had been forced to drop her classes, and it would mean graduating a semester later than she’d planned. Of course, the cost of all of her subsequent semesters was covered, which meant no more student loans.

Dorothy peeked through her living room curtains just before she went into her bedroom. She could see a cigarette glowing near a van with a Channel 8 logo. She sighed. Didn’t these idiots ever give up? She’d politely declined all interviews at first. Now she just unplugged her phone and didn’t answer the door.

Dorothy washed up and changed for bed. She took a sleeping pill and was soon in such a deep sleep that she didn’t hear the latch on the patio door ease open. Twenty minutes later, a slap to her cheek roused her. She felt groggier than she normally did when she awoke after taking a pill. That was because of the mild anesthetic that she’d been given.

The first thing Crispin saw when her eyes opened was a man standing in front of the chair to which she was duct-taped. Adrenaline overcame most of the effects of the pill and the anesthetic, and she almost toppled over in her frenzy to escape. The man watched her but didn’t say anything.