Senate Cloakroom Cabal (23 page)

“Thanks, Max.” I hit speed dial for Jerry. He answered almost immediately.

“Max ID'd one guy. He doesn't think they knew who I was.”

“I don't like the ominous feeling of this, my dear,” he said in his bad Groucho Marx impression, “but for a small fee I can give—”

“You're crazy, you know that?”

“Only about you,” he said, continuing his bad Groucho.

“My, my. Am I missing something here?”

“Hmmm, we'll have to give that close scrutiny,” he said suggestively.

“I thought I was the one whose juices were flowing.”

“Yes. That's the close scrutiny I was thinking about.”

“I've got work to do. I'm a busy reporter,” I said, trying not to get too excited.

“Tsk-tsk.”

“Enough please.” He knew exactly what I needed. “You are a treasure, you know that?”

“No. You'll have to tell me more about that.”

“Don't you have a case . . . or a client?”

“I'm afraid so. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I hung up.

“You are so lucky.” It was Mary standing behind me.

“I know. What's up?” I said, trying to stay on an even keel.

“Ms. Lassiter awaits you.”

Barton Williams was with Lassiter. He stood to greet me. I sat in the chair next to him.

“Fill Barton in.”

I began with my first Stroble meeting and concluded with, “MPD has definitely ID'd one of the hit men.” I shifted to what we suspected Rogers Pharmaceuticals had up its sleeve. Both editors were overwhelmed by the breadth of activities.

“All this started with a junior senator not wanting to go along with her party's leadership on dumping a drug,” Lassiter said sarcastically.

“Having me write the Style piece on Senator Dalton got me to meet her father and learn some about Rogers Pharmaceuticals's plans.”

“Yes,” Barton said, shifting in his chair. “You had also, if I remember correctly, encouraged Senator Dalton's AA to engage some of his friends in a little private sleuthing. And do I gather correctly that Stroble was a result of those efforts?”

“He was. The tape I made could become the heart of the case along with Mort's murder. In death, he may become the important person he wanted to be in life. He gave us a terrific inside view of how the pharmas, namely Stanley Horowitz, have gotten a vise-like grip on the United States Senate.”

Barton blanched. “Horowitz? I know him. I've run across him at fundraisers.”

“He may be making Senator Kelly and other senators wealthy men.”

Barton looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Well, our Puerto Rican reporter hasn't found anything helpful.”

“In a passive way, he may have. Because no Rogers's technicians were at the clinic, I'm convinced Puerto Rico is a jumping off place to some rock in the Caribbean.”

Barton was studying me. “When will the Szymanski/Dalton bill be introduced?”

“Within days. Senator Dalton is sure three members of her party will join with her and the opposition, giving them a majority.”

“According to Claire Rowley, Senator Pembroke's bill is weak and creating some rumblings.”

“That's the discontent Senator Dalton is counting on.”

“Yes. We see vulnerability there.” He outlined a series of critical articles he was planning on the Congress's handling of pharmaceuticals in general. “We've lined up the paper's top medical, congressional, business, and health writers, who will be under Associate Managing Editor Riley Harris. I want it to be a hard-hitting series.”

Management was putting the
Star
's prestige on the line. Each reporter was well-versed in his or her respective niche. Barton planned to begin the series following the cosponsored bill's announcement and Roanne's Style piece. I was to concentrate on Rogers and Dalton.

“You and Claire can share your information,” he concluded hesitantly.

There was a time when the idea of me giving up any of my private information would have torn at my insides. However, I didn't think I would be writing stories using Claire's background. I conceded with, “Claire's insights will be useful to Senator Dalton—that's her beat. I'll share what I have, but prefer to remain covert on details concerning Kelly, Pembroke, and Tutoxtamen.”

My editors looked shocked. Lassiter recovered first.

“That might work, Barton, I think that might work very well.”

“Yes, eh, I think it will. Yes,” the managing editor agreed offhandedly.

51

“W
hat the hell happened to Mort Stroble last night?” Fred Pembroke raged, as he burst into the majority leader's office.

Tom Kelly did not appreciate the senator's lack of consideration. “Calm down, Fred. MPD Homicide Captain Max Walsh called me a little after ten last night. I called Capitol Police Chief Dan Harbesham and asked him to help us track down Stroble's family.”

Kelly then explained to Pembroke how he and his chief of staff, Charlie Frost, had worked with Harbesham to locate Stroble's wife, Kyre, who was at her parents' home in Michigan.

“Charlie placed the call. The father-in-law was not happy being disturbed late at night.” Kelly had never had to make such a call in all his twenty-five years in the Senate.

He continued, “I then got on the line and explained that I need to talk with Kyre, which was a very trying but short conversation. She broke down, and her father came back on calmer this time and I gave him the meager details, assuring him we were doing everything possible to apprehend the killer. Then Charlie got the Strobles on the phone for me. It was not a fun time.

“Afterward, Charlie and I had a couple of stiff drinks while scoping out what needed to be done and who would do what. Charlie's our point man with MPD.”

During Kelly's soliloquy, Pembroke had sat. “How could this happen?” he asked weakly.

Kelly leaned forward, forearms on his desk. “The police don't know much. There was a fight, two drunks, something. They suspect Mort got caught between them and took a knife meant for someone else.”

“Were they Blacks?”

“No. Two white guys in business suits who didn't stick around. Mort was having dinner with three others. They had all gotten up to leave when the fight started.”

“Do you think this had anything to do with . . . ?” Pembroke said, slouching back in his chair rubbing his face.

“I don't know any more than you,” Kelly said solicitously. “It is what it is.”

Pembroke slowly rose and slouched out.

Kelly put in his third call to Stanley Horowitz, who had not returned his previous two.

52

S
enator Dalton sat behind her office desk, studying the bill she was about to cosponsor. Michael jauntily came in.

“My, your disposition has brightened.” He sat opposite her. “When I got home last night, I called Tyrell and Nancy to tell them about Mort. I got Tyrell. He blamed himself immediately, so I spent a half hour in a psychotherapy session with him. I didn't get Nancy, so I left her a message. She called me back at 6:30 this morning. She hadn't heard.”

Roanne shifted restlessly in her chair, wishing Michael would get to the point.

“Nancy and Gordon had dinner last night. Senator Crawford's feelings about you are very positive. He was not happy when Senator Kelly asked him to talk to you about Tutoxtamen, because he likes and admires you. How about that?” He was jubilant.

“Yes. I desperately needed something to lift my spirits. I have been having a difficult time concentrating on Al's bill.”

“Senator Crawford doesn't care much for Kelly, but likes Senator Pembroke, who he feels is caught in the middle doing Kelly's bidding.”

“Do you get the feeling Gavin will support our bill?”

“That is not something I'd ask Nancy. She's too close to the leadership.”

“Of course; I wasn't thinking. Have you heard from Laura?”

“No. She and her husband are certainly friendly with Captain Walsh.

I thought the story in the
Star
was bland, devoid of facts. Somehow, she protected you.”

“Laura is a good person to be with. She certainly knows her way around and shows great poise. I called my father, but not to complain. I saw his wisdom and experience at work last night.” She looked softly at her AA. “Michael, he and I are concerned about you.”

That startled him. “Me?”

“We've learned some damning information, and you have already been attacked once. It is not unreasonable to think . . . you walk to and from work, which makes you very vulnerable. We think you should have protection until—”

“I could always sleep on the sofa,” he said flippantly, indicating the large, leather, overstuffed sofa along a sidewall.

“That may do in a pinch, but I was thinking more about utilizing B&G.”

“Secret Service stuff, huh?”

“Michael, they may have been watching Mort for a while and know who you are. If they know that, they may be able to figure out I was one of the women with you in spite of my youthful ‘babe' makeover.” She finally saw a glimmer of understanding in him.

“Can I think about this a little?”

“Yes, but tonight you will either sleep here or be escorted home.” She was trying to be both firm and caring at the same time.

“Okay,” he said, nodding in agreement.

“Good. Let's move onto pending items. I'd like to meet with Senator Crawford today. Please see if that's possible?”

“Certainly.”

She watched him leave. He had a rumpled look and could be hard to read at times, but he was strong underneath it all. She went back to reading Szymanski's bill. It seemed like only minutes had passed when her intercom buzzed. “Yes.”

“Senator Crawford is on line three, Senator.”

“Thank you.”

She punched button three. “Gavin?” No answer. He hadn't picked up.

A few seconds later he did. “Senator?”

“Gavin, thank you for taking my call.”

“Happy to. That was terrible stuff last night about Mort Stroble. I talked to Fred, who is very broken up. He knew Mort quite well.”

She had to bite her lip not to respond. “Yes, Michael did too. I'd only met him once.”
Unfortunately that was last night
, she ruminated to herself.

“I may have met him. I don't remember.”

That makes you all the better man
, she thought. “Gavin, can you give me some private time today? And yes, I may ask you to do something for me.”

“Oh, ho,” he laughed lightly. “Touché.”

“I have to warn you, it could be job-threatening.”

“Well, you have piqued my interest. I can't do lunch. How is 2:00?”

“Would here be agreeable?”

“Ah, so you don't mind staff seeing us together, eh?” he said wryly.

“You're good for my image, which needs improving,” she said, enjoying the banter.

53

I
sat in Max's office at MPD headquarters on Indiana Avenue NW having metroed directly there from home. I was tense. “It can't be anything else, Max. They followed Mort to the Alley Pub last night. Maybe they've been tailing him for a while.”

“I don't disagree it was murder, thanks to B&G. We have a positive ID on the one perp, who conveniently has a criminal record, but nothing where he'd used a knife.”

“Is the knife traceable?”

“Very.”

My heart jumped. Another break. Then I saw his grin. I'd been had.

“A restaurant steak knife with no prints. I have asked Gary Graves to make his two agents available for some more questioning.”

“Gloves?”

He stopped me again. “Let us wait and not put any thoughts in—”

“I won't talk to them until you say I can.”

“It would be better that way. You know, you are definitely a much different person than a year ago—more compliant.”

“A few things have happened to me since then.”

He grinned. “Well, it's all for the better and less stressful on me.”

“Did I . . . you never . . . was I . . . ?”

He put his hand up to stop me. “You are always energetic and imaginative.”

He was being kind. I was probably a pain in his butt. “How'd you ever put up with me?”

“Because I knew if Jerry married you, you couldn't be all that bad.”

I was losing this tête-á-tête badly, and he was piling up points. “You introduced us,” I countered, trying to regain my aplomb.

“Could we change the subject please?” he asked, faking a plea. “Mr. Michael Horne and Mr. Tyrell Ward are coming in separately later this morning.”

“They're good guys, Max, and they're friends with Nancy Morris, the young woman we saw in the restaurant in Clarendon with Senator Kelly.”

“I appreciate your championing them. I'm satisfied about how the meal was set up, but we'll still need Horne's cell phone to confirm his call to Ward.”

“Will there be any restrictions from you on what they do?”

Max looked concerned. “You and they need to be careful; tread softly up there.”

“Does it feel to you like we've been here before?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But last year, you were after one killer. This time there could be a gang of them.”

We finished up, and I headed for Metro and a three-stop ride to the office. I'd barely taken a seat in the train when my cell rang. It was Michael.

“Laura, the senator would like to talk with you . . . in person.”

I changed trains at the next stop and went to Capitol Hill.

“Laura, thank you for coming so quickly. Michael said you were on Metro going the other way. How's your time?”

“I'm fine.”

“Good. Ah, as it's nearly lunch, may I treat you to a meal in the Senate dining room? We can ride over on our private mini subway to the Capitol.”