Death of an Intern (5 page)

“Was this a friend type visit? Were they going someplace?”

Marsha's bloodshot eyes looked up at me with an excruciatingly pained look on her face. “I should have gone with her.”

“Were you planning to and changed your mind?”

“Janet wanted to go by herself.” A startled look came over her face. “Rice. Tishana Rice. She works in communications. I don't know if that's media or internal.”

“That's great. Where was Tishana Rice taking her?”

“A pregnancy clinic where no one from the office would be. An inner city place.”

Where a butcher waited for victims. “Do you know how to reach Tishana?”

Marsha shook her head and blew her nose again. “She's black, lives in D.C., and works at the White House.”

“What about Janet's boyfriend?” I tried to keep my voice even, not showing the excitement I felt inside.

Marsha held that thought for a moment and then replied very quietly. “Janet didn't have one. Not that I knew.”

Pregnant and no boyfriend? “How many people knew about Janet's pregnancy?”

“She didn't want people to know. She was getting pressure to abort.”

“Was she planning an abortion?”

“No!”

I noticed Marsha's sharper distinction from her earlier replies.

“She wanted the baby,” the roommate choked.

“Did her parents know?” I asked cautiously.

“She was telling them this week.”

“Did she call you after she visited the clinic?”

Marsha nodded. “She said people at the clinic would help, even with her keeping the baby. She was going over to Kat's, and then coming home. When I didn't see her, I assumed she stayed at Kat's. She'd done that before.”

“She and Kat were good friends? She knew of the pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Give me a minute.” I took out my phone and punched in Max's number. Marsha lay down on the bed, completely wiped out. I walked into the hall.

“Captain Walsh's office, Officer Green speaking.”

“Delia, Laura.”

“Hi, Laura. He's holding that briefing right now.”

“On Janet Rausch?” I asked softly.

“Right. We got the go-ahead from the White House a couple of minutes ago. The family and the Vice President know.”

“Thanks, Delia. Tell him I'll call later.” I clicked off. “Marsha, I think it would be best if I got you out of here.”

“Why? I don't want to go anyplace.”

“MPD is holding the news briefing about Janet right now. In a few minutes, TV crews and reporters will spread out looking for people to interview. Some will come here.”

“To my house?”

“Exactly.”

“Let them,” Marsha said, challenging that effrontery.

“Oh really!” I blurted, shocking Marsha.

The young woman was in no condition to face the media. I also wanted to keep her to myself for a while, but I wanted to protect her too. Marsha didn't have the strength to face a cross examination by reporters.

“I don't know anything,” she said pleadingly.

“They will hit you with questions about everything. Janet was pregnant. You were her roommate. She worked for the Vice President. When you say,
I don't know
, to a reporter, it's like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

“I can't say what I don't know.” She was getting argumentative.

“They won't believe you,” I said firmly. “TV cameras will record everything, and they can make you look any way they want. Have you ever faced an interrogation before?” I felt my intensity building.

Marsha was scared. “Why are you doing this?”

“What
I'm
doing is nothing compared to what they will put you through.”

Marsha broke down again. I had to calm her.

“This is not the time for you to try to stand up to a horde of rabid reporters.” No time was, actually. “You are going through a horrible experience. You need time. Grab a week's worth of stuff, and let's get out of here.”

“Where will I go?”

“Once we get out of here first, we'll figure that out.”

I already had the place in mind. Marsha nodded weakly, went to her closet, and took out a medium-sized, soft clothes bag.

While she packed, I walked back to Janet's room. The photo album was tempting. No, it could be evidence. I went back to check on Marsha.

She was coming out of her bathroom carrying some toiletries that she carelessly stuffed in a rather full bag. Marsha seemed to look better, like she had thrown water on her face and smoothed back her damp, shoulder-length hair now held in place with a headband.

We went down the stairs and out the door. I put Marsha's bag in back while the young woman closed and double-locked the front door.

Once in the SUV, I drove out of the development. At Glebe Road, a white TV remote truck from the local NBC station, WRC-TV, was turning in. I turned onto Glebe and shortly was on I-395, heading back into the District and
Scalawag.

O
ur drive into D.C. was quiet. Marsha was half slumped in her seat, her eyes closed. I was struggling within myself: a journalism devil on one shoulder, urging me to get everything I could out of Marsha, while on the other, something equally as powerful urging me to leave the woman alone. I compromised and called Jerry.

“Hey, what's happening?”

“I'm headed your way with a guest.”

“You bringing Max home for dinner?”

“No. Someone who needs sanctuary. I'm crossing the river now.”

“I'll make some coffee.”

The waterfront traffic was busy, but not unmanageable. I pulled up to the marina's gate. James was at his usual post in the small, vinyl-sided shack.

“How do, Ms. Wolfe. Weez purtty jammed up.”

“I'm not staying, James. Dropping off a guest. I'll be about ten minutes or so.”

“Well, you jess pull right chere.” He pointed to an area immediately to his left. “Jess leave them keys. Don't ‘spect no one from dem cars is goin no place fer a while, but…”

“Thanks, James.” I pulled in as directed, thankful that our Christmas gift to him had been to his liking.

“Are we getting out here?” Marsha asked weakly.

“We have a boat here. It's quiet. It'll give you a chance to rest.”

“Why do you care about me? You really didn't know Janet. Is this for your job?”

“Well, I guess I could have worn you down with questions and then left you to the others. Is that what you mean?”

Marsha suddenly understood her good fortune. “I'm sorry. I'm not thinking, I…”

“Come on, let's get you on board and get some food in you.” I retrieved Marsha's bag. We went through the security gate and along the dock to
Scalawag's
pier.

Jerry was in the cockpit when we arrived. I introduced him to Marsha, and we ushered her below. Even in her depressed state, Marsha showed an appreciation for the accommodations. Jerry stowed her bag.

“I'm going to the office. You need anything, ask Jerry. He's not as mean as he looks.”

Marsha almost smiled.

“If you'd rather sleep, that's fine too. I'll be up on deck doing some maintenance,” Jerry said. He turned to me. “Can we talk?” He indicated topside.

“Marsha, I do have one question, though. Did Janet tell you who fathered her child?”

“No, although she would have. She did say the guy didn't want the child. She was told to get rid of it and he'd pay for it.”

“Did you or Janet have guys over?”

“No. Not with my studies and all. A guy takes too much time. Jan's life was work day and night. She did stuff after hours with the people she worked with, although she seemed to be home more recently, until softball started.”

“Could she have been seeing a guy and you not know it?”

“I guess. Although I think she would have said something, if there had been someone special. Beyond having sex with him, I mean.”

“Having sex with some guy was acceptable?”

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“Okay. I'm sorry.” I could have kicked myself for such a stupid comment. I was thinking “having sex and not talking about it,” but it was better I leave it alone.

“Okay. You rest. We have plenty of food. It's going to be a sunny day. The forward deck is great for sunning.”

“Thanks,” Marsha replied in a tired voice.

I went above.

“You call Max?” Jerry asked.

“We talked when I was at Marsha's. I gave him her name.”

“Yes, but is he aware of the new motherly relationship you've created with her?” he asked knowingly.

“Am I in violation of a law?”

“If everything is as it appears, she's not a material witness. But you still better tell him.” His tone was firm.

I nodded. “This is all coincidence, I know, but Janet was told to keep her pregnancy quiet and get an abortion. Marsha said Janet was keeping the baby. Now Janet is dead.”

“This is a serial killing. What you say is interesting, but going after the father…”

“I know. What I mean is if Janet hadn't been forced to abort…well, she wouldn't have ended up at a pregnancy clinic where some sick bastard was lying in wait.”

“That's a reasonable guess, but you still need to tell Max.” His tone was growing more serious. “Or I will—to protect you from yourself. This is a lot bigger story than what you are used to. Don't go solo; you'll only get hurt, emotionally and professionally.”

“I'll be careful,” I cooed in an attempt to soften him.

“And sensible?” he prodded.

“I've got to see Lassiter. She's working on Janet's Iowa background. Once I have that worked into my story, I'll call Max.”

However, as I left
Scalawag
, I knew I wouldn't be telling either of them right away. Things about Janet were gnawing at me; something was not right about all of this.

R
emnants of Chinese carryout were spread out over my desk. I'd done the final assembly of my story and dropped the draft off to Lassiter. On my way to a vending machine, I noticed considerable activity at the national news side of the room. I wondered if the matron of the White House press corps, “Gerty” Lane, had euphemistically been wheeled in from her large house in Northwest. I rather doubted it. Gerty hadn't been close to beat work in decades and was much too comfortable with her senior White House correspondent status to stoop to that level.

I hadn't been in these waters before and wondered whether the paper's managing editor, Barton Williams, might tell Lassiter to have me ghost the Rausch part for Gerty.

I shrugged that off as fast as I thought of it. I was the only one who had talked with Marsha and knew about Tishana Rice. No one else knew that Janet went to a clinic, and I hadn't read anything saying Thalma had either, and it hadn't been in MPD's release. As I flipped through various reports, I came across a TV interview of Thalma's mother that revealed her daughter had gone to a clinic the night she had disappeared.

No one knew anything about Janet and certainly nothing about her going to a clinic anywhere. I'm the only one who could make that speculation.

A clinic could be this psycho's feeding ground. Williams had been raped and tortured. I hadn't read whether it had been pre- or postmortem. What would a profiler say? How did taking the fetus fit in? What sets off a person to do this? Was this really serial? Could there be a completely different scenario as to why these women were killed? Copycat wasn't out of the question.

Max didn't know about Thalma Williams's pregnancy until after the interview with Mrs. Williams the next day. Few knew about Janet's pregnancy, although there would be an autopsy, given the similarity of the killings. However, a clinic doesn't appear to be on peoples' minds. The autopsy would change that, but MPD might not release all the details.

“Oh shit,” I burst out. “What a screw up.” I dug into my pile of papers for the MPD news conference's transcript again; I had written about Janet's pregnancy in my article. I called Max.

“Yes, Ms. Wolfe?”

“Was Janet's fetus cut out?” I asked, a little too impetuously.

He smirked. “Getting a little personal, aren't we?”

“It's not in the MPD transcript,” I replied flatly.

“The roommate come up with something?” he asked, nailing it.

“She confirmed Janet was pregnant. Anything else not in your report?”

“Yup. But I'm not telling you…”

“There goes a boat ride.”

“…or anyone else, for that matter. And that is background.”

“No word from the ME?”

“Not yet. We…” (I knew he meant me) “…will withhold saying anything until the official forensics report is issued. Just so I don't get in trouble with my bosses.”

“But I have someone independent of you saying she was pregnant.” I realized I would have to explain that. “However, even though you're holding out on me, I'm going to magnanimously give you something that will solve the whole case.”

“Damn, I was hoping it would last at least another week. My people need the overtime.” I heard the smirk in his voice.

“Ha! You always stress corroboration. Well, I have a name for you. Tishana Rice. She works in the Executive Office Building, communications branch. Yesterday afternoon, Janet drove to Tishana's home in Northwest where she lives with her mother. Tishana then took Janet to a pregnancy clinic in D.C. They had a four o'clock appointment. I don't have Tishana's phone number or address.”

“I'm about to,” he said officiously.

I could hear him ruffling papers.

“I've got to see Lassiter. I have to change something in my article.”

“Hold on. Tell me about Rice while I'm looking.”

“Janet went to Tishana because she didn't want publicity about her pregnancy. She didn't want an accidental encounter with someone she knew. Marsha said the baby's father had put pressure on Janet to abort and he'd pay for the abortion. After Janet visited the clinic, she called Marsha and told her she was keeping the baby.”

“But you don't know if it was the 2nd Street Clinic?”

“Where Williams went? No. But I'd bet on it, and your conversation with Tishana Rice will confirm it.”

“Ah, the Wolfetonian instincts.” He was baiting me.

“The clinic is the common denominator.”

“Ah, here it is. Okay. Looks like Mrs. Amaryllis Rice lives in the thirteen hundred block of Irving Street Northwest. No other Rice in that area. This gives you another leg up on your media pals.”

“Only if you call me before adding it to your official report.”

“You gave me the lead; I think I can accommodate that. Being that it's late Sunday, I doubt I will include it in our 11:00 p.m. release. Oh, one thing, so you'll know we actually do some things on our own, we talked to that clinic's director last Friday.”

“If we're right, you'll be living with that director.”

I heard him snort before the line went dead.

I went to Lassiter. “I screwed up. I know Janet was pregnant, but the police don't, officially. Like with Williams, they didn't know at the scene, but having discovered that about Williams, they are autopsying Janet Rausch.”

Lassiter was staring at me. “You look like crap.”

I plopped into one of her soft chairs.

“You all right?” she asked, concerned.

I rubbed my face and ran my fingers through my hair.

“This is the most sickening piece…”

I put my head in my hands, elbows on my knees, trying to hide what my face must be saying. I knew what was going on inside me, but I wasn't about to tell Lassiter. Not now anyway.

“Shit happens,” my boss said.

“Cruelty doesn't describe this unmitigated brutality. What kind of a person does this?” I was near tears. Too many emotions were mixing up inside me to mask them all in the cold world of journalism.

Lassiter approached and tapped my shoulder with a box of tissues. I took it.

“You don't seem yourself. You want off this one?”

“No!” My response was sharp, like Marsha's had been about Janet not planning an abortion. I took a tissue. I was too tired, too wrung out to be of any help to myself. Maybe Jerry was right. This was a bigger story than what I normally handled. “This is what happens to me when I have to work on Sundays.” My attempt at light humor fell flat. Lassiter returned to behind her desk

I imagined MPD detectives were with Mrs. Rice about now. I sat up and blew my nose. Lassiter sat eyeing me intently.

“Maybe this is a serial killing. I wrote what I know, but I know more than I wrote. I have a lot of uncorroborated stuff in my head. Janet's roommate knows very little, but still told me a lot, little everyday things. Not evidence, but clues leading to evidence.

“I called Captain Walsh and told him about Tishana Rice, who had made an appointment at an inner city pregnancy clinic for Janet for late yesterday afternoon. She left the clinic alive and was supposedly on her way to see Kat Turner, a young woman who also works for the Vice President. Marsha wasn't concerned when Janet didn't come home, because she had stayed over at Kat's before.”

Lassiter listened, showing no expression.

“This is all stuff which only I know. It's as if I turned on a hose and can't turn it off. According to Marsha, Janet had no known boyfriend, yet she became pregnant. Her total social life was wrapped around the people at work. Marsha knew little about Janet's life there, which seems strange to me. Lots of secrets.”

Lassiter's stare was boring into me. When she spoke, there was darkness in her tone.

“You talk to no one about this but me. Nothing you do, no information, no matter its significance do you share with anyone here except me.” Lassiter said clear and firm.

Our eyes met, coalesced. There was no mistaking her meaning,

“I should hear soon from Captain Walsh about Tishana Rice. If she confirms Marsha's story to the MPD detectives, I'll have corroborated stuff no one else has.”

“And you'll write that,” Lassiter said flatly.

“Along with checking on any possible connections between Thalma Williams and Janet Rausch, just in case.”

Lassiter browsed papers on her desk. “I'll have Wilder do that, a routine background on Williams and the clinic. You'll have your hands full. Having a piece of the serial action will keep him from being too bent out of shape over your A-1 story.”

My pulse rate surged when I heard A-1 story. I grabbed hold of my emotions before my mouth made a mistake. Lassiter had done it, gotten me on page one.

“Okay,” I said carefully. “I'll push for more information on Rausch, which means I'll be treading on Gerty's street.”

“Don't mug anybody along the way.”

I slowly walked out of Lassiter's office. My feelings were euphoric. I had just been given permission to go deep into this story.

Max called about an hour later. “Two detectives visited a very distraught Tishana Rice and mother. Tishana took Ms. Rausch to the 2nd Street Clinic, and yes, she had gone there herself four years earlier for an abortion, and, no, she did not know Thalma Williams.

“We called the director at home to come in and open up the clinic for us. We are cordoning off a block in each direction of the clinic, and are attempting to interview as many people as we can rouse. We'll walk the entire area in the morning. None of any of this will be released publicly until morning. However, you are free to use everything which you introduced to us. I will talk with you tomorrow.” He disconnected.

This meant Hines, Rice, and the 2nd Street Clinic could all be part of my story. Euphoria may not be the best way to express how I felt, considering the gravity of the circumstances, but information only I, Laura Wolfe, had uncovered gave focus to this investigation. I wrote in the new information, scanned the article, made a few tweaks, and did a word count.

I walked the copy to Lassiter, where I found my editor arguing with someone on the phone. I heard, “…and I'll take full responsibility. You forget how it works down here? That's—”

Lassiter stopped as I entered and placed the copy on her desk.

“Hold on.” Lassiter punched the hold button on her phone. “Well?”

“Tishana Rice confirmed she took Janet to the 2nd Street Clinic. Captain Walsh gave me the go ahead on all my stuff, including the newest parts that he won't be releasing until morning. We've got a scoop.”

“Be careful where you scrape.”

“I'm not mentioning Tishana or Marsha by name.” They would be the ubiquitous, unnamed sources. Lassiter nodded. My signal to leave. As I went out, I heard her say.

“We have corroboration.”

I looked back, but that comment wasn't for me. She had said it into the phone. She had gone to bat for me.

As I cleaned up my cubicle, I saw by my desk clock there would still be some daylight left. This was to have been the beginning of my new and more laid-back lifestyle. Oh well. I'll tell Max about Marsha tomorrow. However, I won't tell Lassiter or Max about the baby, yet.

I wanted time to prove that I could handle a heavy workload and my pregnancy at the same time.