Deadly Politics (13 page)

“Don't bother. We've got plenty. Are we still on for tomorrow evening?”

“Yep. I checked with Peter, and he said it would be fine for me to leave early. I told him we needed to clear out Karen's apartment because the landlord has another tenant wanting it. So, why don't we meet over there at five, okay? By the way, I found an official message from the D.C. Metropolitan Police Department on my cell phone. Karen's car is ready to be picked up from the impound lot.”

“Deb and I can go over to get it tomorrow morning. Shall we take it over to the dealership like you said?”

“Yes, but first check the trunk,” I said as I approached the Senator's mansion. “Apparently Karen cleaned out her office that Saturday and there are several boxes in the trunk. I'll call the insurance guy and get this process started. We'll repair it and donate it to charity, whatever. I never want to see that car again.”

Nine

Ryan approached with a
tray of wicked appetizers. “Get away from me with those things, Ryan. They're lethal.” I shooed him with my free hand, before sipping my Sauvignon Blanc.

“Oh, but they're small, Molly,” he tempted anyway.

I kept shooing. “Begone, before I snack again.” This was the last time I would take Albert up on his suggestion to sample the caterer's fare for dinner. They had the most deadly array of calories and cholesterol spread out in the kitchen that I'd seen in quite a while. Deep Southern specialities, miniaturized. Cajun treats were dotted here and there to spice things up. I'd inhaled several of them before I caught myself.

Sipping my wine, I strolled down the hallway, away from the clusters of congressman and aides, staffers and hangers-on. I'd already done my conversational duty for the evening and then some. Peter had emailed that he and the senator would be delayed, so I reported for duty early, ready to meet the eager politicos. Sure enough, six of them showed up early, standing on the mansion doorstep. Luisa shepherded them my way, and I took over. First, I paraded them past tables laden with scrumptious delights, then I took them to the bar. Get them happy and well fed. That was my strategy.

More congressmen and spouses had trickled in, and I renewed old acquaintances while making new ones. The senator, bless him, was only a few minutes tardy and made everyone forget with his booming laugh and tirade on D.C. traffic. By the time Peter made an appearance, I'd chatted my way through seven states, discussed off-shore drilling with two Louisiana freshmen over étouffée appetizers, debated the pros and cons of state gambling casinos with an old friend from Tennessee, commiserated with a Florida representative about the current real estate insanity, and celebrated Georgetown's showing in the NCAA Sweet Sixteen last month with a fellow alumnus. I'd had to tap dance around that one. Chaos had taken over in early March, and basketball never even got on my radar screen.

I walked down the back hall to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. The caterers were starting to wrap things up. Coffee urns had sprouted on the counters like larkspur in my garden. Trays of cakes and other assorted high-calorie dessert treats sat ready to distribute.

Noticing it was nearly ten o'clock, I wondered if I might be able to slip out. Then I could get up really early and take a good run along the canal towpath. No need to wait for Danny to show me his special route. I'd run there years ago. It couldn't have changed that much over the years.

Once I started my running schedule again, I'd really feel settled. I hadn't had a spare moment to ponder personal stuff all day or evening. Running always provided a quiet time for me to be alone with my thoughts. I could think and work out problems.

My conversation with Celeste earlier that day still bothered me, particularly her comments about Jed searching for Karen's daytimer. Once I could retrieve the daytimer from Karen's boxes, I could take a look myself. See if anything jumped out at me.

Suddenly a memory surfaced. Karen's BlackBerry. I hadn't looked at it since I'd accessed her friends and co-workers' phone numbers for the funeral. There would be voice mails and call records. Maybe I should take a look and see what was there.

I checked my watch. Time to go home. Draining my glass, I retrieved my purse from Luisa's special cabinet, and headed for the door. Albert could hail a cab for me. During the day, I would walk the few blocks to my home, but at night … well, we all knew what happened in the nighttime. Different people prowled the streets. Dangerous people.

I wondered how long it would take to feel comfortable on the streets at night again.

_____

The early morning sunlight angled through the trees bordering the canal, casting shadows amidst the light. Dappled sunshine sprinkled across the towpath and those of us out running or walking. Early morning sunlight was peaceful somehow.

I'd only had a few hours sleep. Late-night coffee and combing through Karen's BlackBerry sent sleep scurrying. I checked the incoming and outgoing call logs with my online congressional directory and found most of the calls either came from or went to other Capitol Hill colleagues and staffers. There were several out-of-area phone numbers I figured I'd check later.

But it was the voice mail messages that yielded the puzzles. There were several business calls from other staffers, a call from me, another from a friend who wanted to have lunch, a researcher from some European corporation, and two very different messages from Jed Molinoff.

Jed's first call was dated several days before Karen's death and sounded as if he was calling from the office, his voice chief-of-staff authoritative and confident.

“Look, Karen, I'm sorry if I barked at you this afternoon. It's just that … there's so much going on. Stuff I haven't talked to you about. It's … it's complicated. I'm trying to put something together … something with a new donor group. You know how much Jackson needs money. We need this, Karen, and I'm really working my ass off to put it together, so just cut me some slack for a while, okay? Listen, call coming in. Call me later.”

I wondered what Jed was working on that he hadn't told Karen about? Which new donor group was he working with? Was it a political action committee? Ever since a law had passed years ago to curtail political campaign spending abuses, special-interest PACs had sprouted throughout the political landscape like mushrooms in the dark.

But it was the other call, dated the day of Karen's death, that gave me pause. This time Jed's voice was tentative, his tone pleading, as he begged Karen, “don't do anything you'll regret.” There was an anxious note in Jed's voice that got my attention. It wasn't the cajoling tone of a rejected lover trying to wheedle his way back. I detected a tinge of fear in Jed's voice.

Shade alternated with sunshine up ahead and I spotted several more runners coming from the opposite direction. I heard the sound of running feet behind me, and I waited for the person to pass. Danny pulled up beside me instead.

“Hey, there. You're out early,” he greeted.

“I had trouble sleeping. Too much stuff bouncing around my brain. So I figured I might as well check out this canal trail,” I said, while trying to match my stride to his.

“Something bothering you?”

“Yeah, kind of. One of Karen's office friends called yesterday and asked to meet for coffee.” I paused for a couple of strides, getting my breathing in sync. “She wanted to talk about Karen.”

“Reminisce?”

“That's what I thought. But she started telling me how Karen's boss seems to be losing it, yelling at people. He transferred her downstairs to a drone job after she saw him copying files on Karen's computer.”

“Sounds like a disgruntled employee to me.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Then she said he got mad when he couldn't find Karen's daytimer, then called someone about it.” Trying to talk and keep up with Danny was proving a challenge. “It all sounds strange; I don't know what to think.” Up ahead the trail fell into shadows again as it ran directly beneath Key Bridge, that wide thoroughfare which spanned the Potomac between Virginia and Georgetown.

Suddenly a man stepped out of the concrete shadows directly ahead of us. Danny's arm shot out in front of me as he moved ahead, putting himself between the man and me. The man darted a bleary look our way and scuttled up the grassy embankment away from us.

“As I said the other day, some parts of this trail are safer than others. Drunks sleep it off under the bridge at night. As the nights get warmer, there'll be more of them. You might want to turn around before you get to this point,” Danny said as we ran along the darkened trail. The sound of rush hour traffic rumbled above our heads. Tires on asphalt.

I glanced around, saw empty bottles, trash, and smelt urine. Listening to the sound of traffic as we executed a U-turn, I checked my watch.
Uh-oh.
I'd been running longer than I thought.

“Hey, Danny, I'm going to take a shortcut and race home so I won't be late for work.” I pointed to the stairs that led to the streets above the canal. “Meanwhile, I've got us down for sightseeing on Saturday. Call me later and we'll set a time, okay? See you.” I waved, then made an abrupt turn and took off for the stairs before Danny could say a word.

Ten

“Thanks for coming out
on your lunch hour, Celeste,” I said as I pulled out a chair at the outdoor cafe and coffee shop. Only a stone's throw from the Foggy Bottom Metro station, I figured it would be easier for Celeste to meet me on short notice. Her Capitol Hill office was near the Metro line. No need for taxis on a research staffer's salary.

“No problem, Molly. I'm happy to come. I'll be glad to help you any way I can. What do you need?”

“I'd like you to check out Karen's emails for the last couple of months before she died. Your Records office must have them on file.”

Her face turned solemn. “What are you looking for?”

“I'm looking for anything that would make your antennae go off. I know that sounds strange, but I've been thinking about what you said. Jed was going through Karen's computer checking her files, copying certain emails. I'm wondering if she was working on a special project or something, and now he can't find it. Maybe that's why he was checking her files. I'm curious.”

“Is there something wrong? Have you heard anything about Jed or the congressman?”

I shook my head. “No, no, nothing at all. You can chalk this up to my own curiosity. I want to know if you see anything that sticks out or looks unusual. Especially if it involves money or fundraising. Check out the donors' list, if you can access it. I know this sounds strange, Celeste, but—”

“No, it doesn't. Karen was always working on stuff for Jed. I assumed it was for the congressman. But if you're curious, then that makes me curious, too.” Celeste nodded solemnly, her huge brown eyes gazing at me.

I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'm chasing shadows. But I figured, if Karen was working on a special project, surely there would be trace of it in the files.”

“Don't worry, Molly. I'll take a look and see what jumps out at me. I've got good instincts. If Jed's got some special project going on, I'll find it. I promise I will.”

_____

He wiped his hands on the linen napkin, then took another sip of his Belgian beer before answering the cell phone's insistent buzz.

“What took you so long?” Raymond barbed, his scratchy voice revealing annoyance.

“I was in the middle of pan-seared scallops with butter and garlic.” He deliberately took another sip of beer before adding, “You should slow down and relax more. Enjoy the scenery.” He sank back into his chair and looked out over the Potomac flowing lazily along its banks beside the restaurant.

Raymond gave an annoyed snort. “New target. A small one. Observation, only. Text will follow.”

“A rabbit, huh?” He speared another scallop, dripping with pan juices. “Sounds like fun.” He popped the tender white delicacy into his mouth.

_____

I drained my cold coffee. How long had it been sitting on my desk? I glanced at my watch. How could it be nearly five o'clock? I was only halfway through Peter's real estate spreadsheet.

Checking the angle of the sun through my office window confirmed the time. That was the thing about accounting. It could suck me in and hold me for hours. Solving puzzles, uncovering secrets. Then suddenly, the afternoon is gone.

I stood up and stretched. The Russell mansion had already fallen into a Friday-afternoon quiet. The senator, Peter, and Albert had already left for the airport and their weekend return trip to Colorado. Back home to the voters. Only Luisa stayed to keep the house running. And Casey, of course. Security never slept. It did, however, stay in place. When the senator traveled home, he had his local Colorado security team take care of him. Apparently, security guys were very territorial. Not surprising, since they were all former military.

Powering off my computer, I loaded my briefcase and stacked several files in my version of neat piles on the desk. They could wait for Monday morning. No emergencies in sight and no entertaining. I was free as a bird until Monday, not counting household chores and retrieving Karen's boxes from Nan's garage. Sunday, I planned to go through both the daytimer and boxes before dinner with my family. See if I could find any special reports or anything that jumped out at me. Saturday, I had already blocked out for sightseeing with Danny.

Locking my office door, I headed for the exit and home, trying to decide between frozen spinach casserole or a fresh spinach salad. I noticed Luisa at the front door, talking to someone. She turned to me with a big smile.

“Ah, here she is. I was just coming to get you, Molly. You have a visitor.”

Danny stood on the porch, all suited up in sports coat, shirt, and tie. He certainly cleaned up well. “Hey, Danny. I thought we were on for tomorrow?”

“I dropped by in case you'd like to run through the itinerary over dinner,” he said with an engaging grin. Luisa had retreated into the hallway, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“We have an itinerary? Wow, that sounds daunting. Do I have to dress up? Guess I can't wear my Clapton concert shirt, huh?” I joined him on the porch.

“I thought you might enjoy starting our tour tonight at the waterfront. Are you in the mood for fresh seafood?”

When wasn't I in the mood for fresh seafood?
Growing up this close to the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean meant fresh seafood was always available. My stomach growled in anticipation.

“You really know how to tempt a woman, don't you?” I teased, heading for the steps. “You're on. Which restaurants have survived? Any of my old favorites?”

“One or two. Some names have changed, but the restaurants—”

“Double D?” a voice called out behind us.

Danny whipped around as Casey emerged from the house and approached us.

Casey strode up to Danny, hand outstretched. “It's good to see you, sir. We served together in Beirut. I was in your platoon.”

Danny stared at Casey for a few seconds, then I saw a flicker of recognition register on Danny's face. He clasped Casey's hand and shook it, then placed his other hand on top. “Casey. That's right. I didn't recognize you at first. It's been a while.”

“Yes, it has, sir.”

“How long did you stay in?”

“Career.”

“Good man.” Danny glanced back at the mansion. “What do you do for the senator?”

“Security.”

Danny nodded as the two men released their handshake. Glancing to me, Danny said, “I guess I don't have to worry about you, Molly. You're in good hands with Casey on the job.”

“You're right about that. Casey takes excellent care of us,” I said, pausing by the steps, not sure if there was more manly bonding.

Casey backed away, raising his hand in a wave. “Luisa said you two are going to dinner. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks, Casey.” Danny took my elbow, and we sped down the steps.

“You two served together in Beirut?” I ventured, curious. “Was that during those awful bombings?

Danny's face lost all traces of a smile. “Yeah. Casey was one of those who survived. He helped me carry my men out of the collapsed barracks.”

I didn't ask anything else.

_____

The little oyster lay there in its shell, unsuspecting. I speared it mercilessly, waved it past the hot sauce, and gobbled it down. Danny simply slurped his oysters right from the shell. Sipping the clear, crisp Sauvignon Blanc, I reached for a fresh shrimp and savored its delicate flavor. Next, I opted for the Cajun-spiced shrimp.

Danny and I were seated at a corner table overlooking the waterfront. Boats were moored in a surrounding marina. We could look across the water and see Maryland. It was a beautiful view, but we barely noticed. We were too busy eating. Our table was laden with platters of oysters, shrimp
au naturel
and Cajun, and that delectable specialty of the Chesapeake Bay and all coastal areas: fresh crab.

I reached for the little mallet beside my glass and hit the crab claw on my plate. It only dented the bright red shell.

Danny snickered. “Gotta hit it harder than that. You've been away too long.” He slid a morsel of crab from its shell and popped it into his mouth.

I sipped my wine again and waved the mallet at him. “Give me time. It's coming back.” I gave the crab claw a solid whack, and it yielded. The tender white, oh-so-sweet shellfish delicacy was my favorite. Lobster was fine, but give me crab any day.

“See!” I crowed, waving the white morsel. I dipped it in the melted butter. Real butter, of course. I savored the succulent, sweet taste all the way down my throat. To-die-for delicious. “Oh, God, this is so good.” I reached for an oyster. Start another round of decadence. “Even though my cholesterol is rising as we speak.”

“Don't worry. You'll run it off.” He whacked the main shell of the crab and it collapsed. Pink and white flesh opening like a flower.

“I hope so. I'm putting all my eggs in that exercise basket.” I speared another helpless oyster. Down the hatch it went, with its delicious slithery wiggle. I dug another morsel of crab from the stingy shell. Tasting it alone, I savored the sweetness while Danny finished his shrimp.

Relaxing in my chair, I surveyed the meandering branch of the Washington Channel that flowed past the waterfront, then on toward the Tidal Basin before joining the Potomac. Washington was almost entirely surrounded by water. Rivers, canals, creeks, channels. I sipped the crisp wine and watched the current move the boats past us.

“This is exactly what I needed tonight. Feasting on fresh seafood beside the water. These last few weeks have been hard. And strange.”

Danny popped a Cajun shrimp into his mouth, then tasted his wine. “Why strange?”

A boat motored by lazily. “Well, for starters, when I went to Karen's apartment to pick up clothes for the funeral, I saw Karen's boss, Jed Molinoff, coming out the front door.”

Danny looked up, surprised. “What was he doing there? Did they live together?”

“No, but they were having an affair, so he must have had a key.”

“That makes sense. What'd he say when he saw you?”

“He didn't. I spotted him first and hid behind a post until he left. But I did see him put something in his jacket pocket as he was leaving.”

“Any idea what it was?”

I nodded. “Photos, probably. The photos in Karen's desk drawer were all jumbled together. Karen never would have left her desk like that.”

“Can you tell which photos he took?”

“I can only guess he took photos that showed the two of them alone together. Trying to eliminate all traces of the affair. But that stuff never stays secret for long. Too many eyes are watching on the Hill. That staffer who called me knew they were having an affair. In fact, she walked in on their blow-up argument that Saturday afternoon.”

I watched the current flowing past, pelicans and ducks floating by. “Molinoff's married with children back in Nebraska. I'd told Karen that Saturday morning she needed to break it off, and she went to the office right away and told Jed it was over. Jed didn't take it well. They were still arguing that night at the reception. Casey had to step in and tell Jed to cool off.” I drained the last of my wine.

Danny didn't say anything at first, then he poured the last of the bottle into both our wine glasses. “Now that story makes more sense. Jed definitely had something to hide and felt guilty. Guilt makes people do strange things. He didn't want to leave anything that could get back to his family in Nebraska.”

“Still, it was pretty brazen. Prowling through Karen's apartment. Rifling her desk. Listening to her phone messages.”

This time, Danny folded his arms and leaned on the table. “How do you know he did?”

“I checked the messages when I was there, and the last one was left earlier that very morning. Yet the light wasn't flashing, which meant somebody listened to them. The landlord wouldn't. Only Jed Molinoff would do that. And that bothers me.” I stared at the current. “When I saw Jed's tracks at Karen's place, I chalked it up to his guilty conscience. But now that I've talked to Karen's friend, I think I'll make some inquiries of my own about Jed.”

Danny peered at me. “What're you planning to do, Molly?”

“Start asking questions. Check out Jed Molinoff with some of my old contacts and see what turns up. Gossip and rumor being what they are in Washington, I'm sure I'll learn something. I already asked Celeste to check the records for Karen's emails these last couple of months. See if something turns up. Jed's worried about something. Maybe there's some financial irregularity involving fundraising. Something that might reflect on Jackson. Maybe Karen found out and wrote Jed an email about it.”

“That sounds like pure speculation, Molly.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But my instinct is starting to buzz on Jed Molinoff. Something's up with him and it's not just hiding an affair. He's worried about something else. And I want to find out what it is.”

_____

I sipped my coffee while sitting on my secluded back patio examining the pages of Karen's daytimer. Karen made as many notations on the pages as I did. Along the side, over the top and bottom, scribbling on every date square. Focusing on the month of March—the month she died—I scrutinized every square, every notation.

“Jed meeting H.” “H speaks tonight at 7 p.m.” “H & J meet.” “H & D meet.” “H & R meet.”

“J” could mean Jed or Congressman Jackson. There was no clue as to which one. And who were H, D, and R? I could only guess at the other initials. Karen's notes were cryptic, almost as if she were writing in code for herself. Dates were filled with meetings, calls, appointments. Email addresses and phone numbers were scribbled everywhere.

I tapped my finger on the daytimer. Was there anything else I could check? Anything I'd missed? I glanced to the box at my feet. Karen's personal files from her office. Setting my coffee aside, I sorted through the files. There were reports on agricultural subsidies, personnel files, another report on Nebraska fundraising. Then, a file marked “Miscellaneous.”