The Washington Lawyer (11 page)

“Are you certain she wasn't with a man?”

“I did question the manager of the hotel on that myself.”

“What's his name?”

“John Burt. But I've already told you what he knows.”

“I understand that.”

Allison realized she wouldn't get anything else from Stevens. She hung up the phone.

Damn it, she thought. If only she'd pressed Vanessa in their last talk about her plans for the weekend, she'd know something.

She was convinced Vanessa had gone with an older, powerful man. And he didn't want his name linked with her. So he left her dead body on the beach and ran. Protecting his marriage? His career? Both?

Allison recalled another time that Vanessa's affair with an older, powerful man ended in disaster. She had told Allison she was in Rome dating one of the wealthiest and most important men in the country. Then two days later, Allison received a call from the police in Rome, telling her that Vanessa, strung out on drugs and drunk, had been arrested for being nude frolicking in the Trevi Fountain with a man who had run away and wasn't identified.

Allison had immediately flown to Rome. She persuaded the police to release her sister, who was well known from the covers of fashion magazines, on the condition that Allison immediately take Vanessa to a clinic in Northern Italy for rehab, and she would have to remain there for a month. Allison readily agreed.

When Allison returned a month later, she took Vanessa for a week to Stresa. During that week, Vanessa poured out the full extent of her unhappiness to Allison. “Mother really pushed me into modeling from the time I was five. Sure, I thought it would be a glamorous life when she arranged for me to leave our house in Ohio and go to New York with the Premier Modeling Agency. And it was for a while. I should have quit years ago, but I was afraid of facing her. To overcome my misery, I started doing drugs, drinking far too much, and sleeping with men who were no good.”

Allison developed the blueprint for Vanessa's new life. Quit modeling, go back to school at NYU, and get a degree. Vanessa wasn't a straight-A student like Allison, but she was smart. Even while modeling, she took courses at NYU and always managed to get Bs. In her new life, Vanessa swore to Allison there would be no more hard drugs. Only pot. And alcohol in moderation.

At Vanessa's insistence, Allison traveled to Oxford with Vanessa to explain to Mother that Vanessa was giving up the modeling life. It was an acrimonious discussion, with father on the sidelines as usual, and Mother calling Allison “a jealous spoiler.” But Vanessa hung tough. And Vanessa began her new life.

She graduated from NYU with honors in government, planning to go to law school one day. In the meantime, she landed a good job in Congress. As far as Allison knew, she never did hard drugs again. Allison was proud of Vanessa and proud of how she helped her twin sister, who meant more to her than anything in life.

But now her sister was gone. And Allison couldn't bring her back. All Allison had now was a burning desire for revenge. She needed to find out whom Vanessa was with in Anguilla and destroy him.

Washington

P
aul Maltoni sat across the desk from Andrew Martin and waited for the senior partner's reaction. By working until two in the morning he had a preliminary analysis of what it would take to prevail in a challenge to the FCC's proposed television decency regulations.

For the last fifteen minutes he had presented it to a dour-faced Martin, who had only asked a couple of clarifying questions—nothing to gauge Martin's reaction.

After leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes for a minute, Martin said, “A brief along those lines should work. Get started now. You'll need a full court press. Time's short. I'll want a draft in a week.”

“You'll have it.”

Pleased, Paul returned to his office and began preparing a detailed schedule for the brief.

Suddenly, Ray York, a friend and fellow associate of Paul's for the last eight years, barged into the office, waving a newspaper. “Hey, amigo, did you know she died?”

Paul looked up from his notes. “Who died?”

“You didn't see the
Post
this morning?”

“I was down here until two on a project for Martin. So who died?”

Paul's mind was cluttered with facts about the FCC decency regulations and Jenson's brief. “Who died?”

“That luscious piece you introduced me to last year at Warren Scott's fundraiser. I was insanely jealous.”

Paul's mind cleared in a snap. “Vanessa Boyd died?”

“You got it.”

He held out his hand and Ray gave him the morning Metro section.

Reading the obit, Paul was stunned. He couldn't believe Vanessa was dead.

“Why'd you break up with her?” Ray asked. “You told me you were going to marry her.”

“It's a long story.”

“At least you could have turned her over to me.”

“You weren't her type,” Paul said glumly.

“Okay. I've got it. You want to be alone right now.”

“Yeah.”

“Call me later if you want to drown your sorrow in a few beers this evening.”

“I'll let you know.”

Ray left the office and closed the door.

Paul was stunned.

He thought about the first time he'd met Vanessa. It was now a year and a half ago. Martin, who represented the Chinese government, was making an effort to block legislation authorizing an American arms sale to Taiwan. Paul, working with Martin, had prepared a report demonstrating that the weapons weren't needed by Taiwan, wouldn't be used defensively, and would only exacerbate US-Chinese relations. Martin had told Paul to take his report to the Senate Armed Services Committee.

Paul had learned from the committee counsel that Vanessa Boyd was the key staffer on the bill. So he went up to the Hart Senate Office Building to meet with her.

The receptionist directed him to a knockout, drop-dead blonde, whom Paul assumed was one of the member's mistresses stashed as a “secretary” in a committee office where answering the phone and smiling at constituents was the job description. To his surprise, the blonde was the staffer. Okay, he thought, this is going to be great, explaining these complex concepts to some airhead.

In fact, Vanessa knew more about the arms package for Taiwan than he did.

She also supplied him with data on the recent Chinese arms buildup, showing that the balance of power between China and Taiwan had been adversely affected by Beijing and the new arms were necessary to restore the balance of power. When he made his point about US-Chinese relations, she told him, “Senator Jasper and a majority of my committee members believe we have to be tough with China.” In the end Paul said, “Will you please distribute my report to all of your members.”

“Absolutely.”

Then Paul, who always liked long shots, decided to try one with this gorgeous woman who was also smart and savvy. “What are you doing this evening?”

“Having dinner with you. Tell me where and when.”

He couldn't believe it.

“Eight o'clock at Tosca.”

“Good. I like Tosca. I'll be there.”

Leaving her office, he had second thoughts. He was just a nerdy lawyer. Was she too much for him? A little voice, deep inside, said, “You're going to get hurt.”

He ignored that voice. That evening, Paul had a fabulous meal, including great wine because, thanks to dinners he'd had with Martin on business trips, he had learned quite a bit about French and Italian reds. But even more than this, he later had the most incredible sex of his life. When he left Vanessa's DuPont Circle apartment at one thirty in the morning, he thought his dick would fall off.

He was wildly in love with her. They dated for about six months. She refused to move in with him, but they saw each other most weekends and traveled to Cannes and Paris, where she knew all the best places.

Then one day, without any warning, she broke it off with him.

“You're intelligent, fun to be with, and the nicest man I ever met, Paul, but I don't want to marry you. It's gotten too serious.”

“Don't you ever want to get married?”

“I'm looking for something different.”

“You mean a powerful Washington figure. Not an associate, or even a junior partner, in a law firm? No house in Bethesda with a white picket fence?”

“That's right. Let's go out to dinner, come back to my bedroom for one more fling, and part as friends.”

Paul realized that arguing with her was hopeless. After that evening, he never saw her again.

Now she was dead. The only woman he'd ever loved.

He recalled that once when he was dating Vanessa he had met her twin sister, Allison, who was visiting her in Washington. The three of them had dinner together. He was amazed at how different the twins were.

He had to call Allison and tell her how sorry he was. He realized that he had Vanessa's parents' phone number in his contacts. She had called him from Oxford once when she was visiting there.

A woman answered, who called Allison to the phone.

“This is Paul Maltoni in Washington. Hopefully, you remember me. I had dinner with you and Vanessa a year or so ago.”

“Sure. I remember.”

“I read about Vanessa, and I wanted to tell you how sorry …”

“Oh, Paul, I can't believe it.”

She began crying.

“What? What happened?”

“She drowned Sunday night … I got a call in Israel that she drowned in Anguilla.”

“But she was such a good swimmer.”

“Oh, Paul, it's awful. I'm back in Oxford.”

He'd never heard anyone sound so lonely and sad.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“The funeral's tomorrow.”

He made a snap decision. “I'd like to come. To be there for you. And to say goodbye.”

“Oh, Paul. Would you?”

“Just tell me where and when.”

“It'll be a graveside ceremony at ten in the morning in Oxford at 6200 Adams Road.”

“I'll be there.”

In a daze, Paul put down the phone. Beautiful Vanessa, gone. Drowned. He thought about his time with her at Rancho Valencia, north of La Jolla. She'd insisted on swimming in the Pacific. He'd never known such a good swimmer. How could she have drowned? Besides, if he didn't go to the funeral, he'd never believe she had died.

* * *

Martin stared across the dining room table at Jasper, who was pushing around the grilled salmon and butternut squash on his plate, and eating very little. On the other hand, he was hitting the sauce pretty hard. Jasper had two double scotches before dinner and three glasses of wine through the mushroom soup and main course. Martin had sipped only a little wine. He wanted to be stone sober when they talked about Anguilla. Jasper didn't usually drink this much. Martin was worried he was spinning out of control.

Still, Martin had to make sure to be alone with Jasper when they discussed Anguilla. So he confined their discussion to football and the stock market until they were finishing the salmon and he heard Isabella call from the kitchen. “Good night, Mr. Martin.”

He heard the back door close. Time to get serious.

“Listen, Wes. I've been thinking about Sunday night.”

Jasper drained the wine in his glass. “Send the bottle down here,” he said, slurring his words.

“I don't think so. We have to talk.”

He watched Jasper tense up, put down his fork, and clutch the arms of the chair. “Andrew, I'm sorry for involving you. But I had absolutely no choice. You know that movie with Glenn Close? Where she cooked the kid's rabbit?”

“
Fatal Attraction
.”

“Yeah. I felt like that guy.”

“What happened?”

“Saturday, Vanessa was fine. We had a great time. Sunday too, during the day. Then in the evening, I don't know what it was. Maybe all the wine. But she decided to snort coke on the beach.”

Jesus. This gets worse
, Martin thought.
She must've kept the stuff in his house
. “Did you do that too?”

Jasper shook his head. “Shit no. Anyhow, she got crazy after that. Taking off her bathing suit and running into the ocean. I tried stopping her, holding her, but she pulled away. I had to chase after her. When she started floundering, I tried my Red Cross lifesaving, but I kept going under, swallowed a ton of water, almost drowned myself, but somehow managed to get her on the beach. Probably should have left her in the deep. Then we wouldn't have this mess.”

“I've thought about this a lot,” Martin said somberly. “And I'm convinced I made a terrible mistake. Did you a disservice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I should have insisted you call the police.”

“You sure tried. But, it's too late now.”

“I don't think so. We can get on a plane first thing tomorrow. I know Dorsey, the governor. We'll tell him what happened. And he'll correct the records. Real simple and easy.”

Jasper now was sitting up ramrod straight. “But these so-called corrected records will show that the girl was with me on the beach. That the two of us were staying in your house.”

“Yeah. The truth.”

“No, no.” Jasper shook his head. “You might as well be putting a bullet in my brain.”

“Sure, the Governor will know. But he'll keep it quiet.”

“Are you kidding? Once they learn a US Senator was involved, it'll be too big not to spill right out. ‘
WOMAN DIES DURING TRYST WITH SENATOR
.' You've seen it every year. ‘S
TRIPPER WITH
C
ONGRESSMAN GOES INTO TIDAL BASIN
.' ‘
SENATOR NABBED IN MEN
'
S ROOM STING
.'”

Jasper tapped his fork on the table. “You know how that press crap goes.” Jasper was almost yelling. “And you know damn well, Linda hates this town. She'll toss my ass out of the house. Forget our twenty-seven years together. Call the
Denver Post
. My senate seat goes right down the tubes.”