The Washington Lawyer (28 page)

“I'm leaving the house in a few minutes, Martin told the ambassador. Let's meet at my office in an hour.”

“Could I possibly come to your house?”

“Certainly, I'll give you the address.”

“I recall it from the wonderful dinner party you invited me to last year. I'll be there in about thirty minutes.”

* * *

When the ambassador arrived, Martin was dressed in a suit and tie. He offered coffee or tea, which the ambassador declined. He was all business. His face was wrinkled with concern. Martin led him into the first floor study, the same room in which he had spoken to Jasper when the senator called from Anguilla. They were seated in leather chairs across a coffee table.

“I'm sorry impose on you,” the ambassador said.

“Please, it's never an imposition. I'm always happy to talk with you.”

The ambassador cleared his throat, then said, “You've no doubt heard about the DuPont Circle Metro incident.”

Martin straightened up with a start. “Yes, of course. Involving the woman Allison Boyd.”

“Well, this is extremely awkward and sensitive. The dead man's name is Han Shi. A member of my embassy staff in the economic section. Once the police saw his embassy ID, they called the state department. The secretary's office directed them to withhold his name until I've had a chance to meet with Secretary of State Prosser. We have a meeting scheduled for two o'clock this afternoon. I don't have to tell you that now is a tense time in relations between our nations with economic, trade, and currency issues.”

“I'm well aware of that.”

Martin wanted to scream. “Why in the hell was Han Shi chasing Allison with a gun?” But he waited for the ambassador to continue.

“This was a lover's quarrel,” the ambassador said.

He told the blatant lie with a straight face. “Really,” Martin said, deadpan himself.

“Yes, it got out of control, and it would be very unfortunate if those facts became public.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“I understand you are friendly with Secretary of State Prosser.”

“That's correct. I've known Jane for a long time, since she was a senator from Indiana.”

Martin recalled that Jane had been in his dining room at the time he received the call from Jasper in Anguilla.

“I'd like you to meet with the secretary of state and ask her to persuade the Washington police to halt their investigation of the Metro incident. Please explain to her this was a lover's quarrel. You may tell her that it is important for my government to avoid this embarrassment.”

Martin took a deep breath and thought about the request. He had always prided himself on his ethical standards. Moreover, he had cultivated good relationships with top officials like the secretary of state because they knew he was honest. “A straight shooter,” Jane had once told him when he presented to her a complicated issue for the French government.

Now, he was being asked to make representations that he knew were totally false. Normally, he would never have done it, but this was a special situation. He knew that somehow Han Shi's pursuit of Allison Boyd was related to Allison's effort to discover the facts about her sister's death. A police investigation of the Metro incident would lead back to the Anguilla drowning and the danger of exposing Martin's role in moving the body.

He should be grateful to the ambassador for giving him a way to block the investigation. At the same time, he recognized he would be starting down a slippery slope of immorality and unethical conduct. Hell, he had already started down that path when he made the call to Gorton Sunday night, asking him to move Vanessa's body. Having taken that step, he had to take this one.

Martin thought about other famous Washington lawyers, such as Clark Clifford, Abe Fortas, and Burke Marshall—all revered for decades as he was, whose reputations and careers were destroyed by ethical lapses. He had to be very careful or he'd end up like them. But he had to do it.

“Okay, I'll meet with the secretary of state. I can't promise you success. Jane can be unpredictable. But I will try and report back to you.”

“That's all I'm asking.”

“If I succeed, you won't need your two o'clock meeting with her.”

The ambassador thanked Martin and left. When he was gone, before reaching for the phone to call Jane, Martin paused to contemplate what was happening.

Had Jasper hired Han Shi to do his dirty work and kill Allison as Francis suggested? Was Han Shi moonlighting as a hired thug? Was that what the ambassador was trying to cover up? It seemed too farfetched. There had to be a better explanation, but Martin couldn't think what it was. He had decided not to press the ambassador and he didn't want to call Jasper.

As he thought about it some more, it occurred to him that the Chinese might owe Jasper a favor, and Wes had called it in to help protect him from Allison's snooping. If that was what was happening, Martin didn't want to know about it.

He'd do what the ambassador wanted because if he succeeded, it would help him. At least he hoped so.

* * *

“Excellent dinner Sunday evening,” Jane said, when they were alone in her spacious office in the state department. “All the wines were superb, but the '90 Clos La Roche was ethereal. It may be the best wine I've ever drunk.”

“Having seen your cellar, that's quite a compliment.”

“Yeah, but unfortunately, I'm stocked too heavily in Bordeaux. I like those wines, and many are outstanding, but there's nothing like a fabulous aged Burgundy for an incredible soft, velvety taste.”

“I couldn't agree with you more.”

“I never realized Francis played at Aspen. If she ever gives a performance, be sure to invite me.”

“Will do.”

They were seated at the small conference table in a corner of her office. Jane was sipping water. Martin had a cup of coffee. I'm drinking too much of this stuff, he thought, but he couldn't cut back.

“I'm almost afraid to ask you about the chief justice nomination,” Jane said. “I'm amazed you can do anything else.”

“It is a tense time.”

“I'd love you to get it. Well, anyhow, what's on your mind this morning?”

“I'm here at the request of the Chinese ambassador.

“The Metro incident?”

“Exactly.”

“What's this all about, Andrew?”

Martin hated lying to her. Damn it, he had no choice.

Calmly and coolly, he laid out the lover's quarrel explanation, embellishing it with details he made up from Allison's background to make it sound more believable.

When he was finished, Jane was smiling. “Oh Andrew, that is so boring. I envisioned all sorts of exotic explanations. A fight between an archeology professor and a Chinese diplomat over terra cotta warriors. Or maybe valuable relics from the Ming Dynasty. When I was at Yale, the Italian government sought to recover a large number of antiquities. Wow, that was a nasty battle. Here I was imagining fascinating scenarios.”

“Such as?” Martin held his breath, hoping she didn't mention Vanessa.

“Allison had stolen valuable artifacts from China during a trip there. She had smuggled them out in her luggage and now the Chinese were trying to recover them.”

“That would be much more exciting.”

“Someday, I'd like to meet Allison Boyd, the archeology professor. She must be one tough cookie.”

I hope you never do, Martin thought.

Jane paused to sip some water, then continued, “Tell your client, the Chinese ambassador, he can relax. For a lover's quarrel, I'll persuade the DC Police to back off. To close the investigation and treat it as an unfortunate accident. Besides, the dead party is a Chinese national in this country on a diplomatic passport. If they want to close it out, we shouldn't object.”

“I think that's right.”

“You can tell the ambassador I'm canceling our two o'clock. We don't have to waste our time on nonsense like this. All of us have too much to do.”

Martin started toward the door. As he did, Jane said, “Did you know the twin sister of Allison Boyd died in Anguilla about a week ago?”

Martin tried to act natural, though he felt tension and moisture forming under his arms.

“I heard that.”

“Odd, isn't it?”

“I learned long ago that life is full of coincidences.”

“I guess so. See you soon, Andrew. And good luck with the Supreme Court.”

* * *

When Allison woke up, she found a note from Paul on the kitchen table. “I went shopping for clothes for you. Help yourself to breakfast.”

She scarfed down some cereal, then grabbed a cup of coffee and began reading Vanessa's diaries, starting with the most recent.

After an hour, Allison was feeling sick to her stomach. She knew Vanessa had been no virgin, but my God, she had slept with so many different men that Allison's head was spinning. Except for Paul and a finance man, Jim Conway, a few months before she began dating Paul, all of them were congressmen or senators. In her diary, Vanessa didn't give them names or physical descriptions. Simply referred to them as Congressman A or Senator B. At the time the most recent diary had broken off, Vanessa was dating Senator Q. Perhaps he was the man she went with to Anguilla.

Vanessa described in detail what they did on their dates and in bed together and the gifts they gave her. She discussed the likelihood they would marry her, and if they were married, the possibility of their leaving their wives for her. It gave Allison a sad and sordid picture of Vanessa.

Allison came to the realization that she had failed in her effort to pull Vanessa away from her self-destructive way of life. The old Vanessa, influenced by the modeling career Mother had pushed her into, had reasserted itself. She couldn't escape, in spite of Allison's influence. In the end, this led to her death. Sadly, Allison thought, as she flipped through the diary, Vanessa could not have been saved.

Allison heard the front door open and Paul shout, “I'm home.” She closed and put away the diaries.

Paul bounded into the kitchen with two shopping bags filled with funky clothes, as promised. There were walking shoes, as well as sunglasses, and a large brimmed hat to cover her face until the beauty salon went to work on her.

That occurred half an hour later. When Allison was finished and she studied herself in the mirror, she was convinced she looked so much like Vanessa that even Mother would have thought her daughter had returned to life.

It occurred to Allison that maybe Paul, who had been so much in love with Vanessa, was trying to recreate her, like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo. He was being so nice to her that she didn't share the thought with him.

From the beauty salon, they returned to his house.

“Now let's figure out whom Vanessa went with to Anguilla,” Paul said.

“He has to be a member of Congress.”

“What do you base that on?”

“Vanessa's diaries. When you were shopping, I went through them. She dated a number of members of Congress. But she didn't mention any names. She just referred to them as Congressman A or Senator B.”

“I should read the diaries. I might be able to figure out who they are.”

Allison shook her head. “Vanessa didn't include descriptions of them. And I'd rather you didn't.”

Allison didn't want to hurt him. She hoped he wouldn't press her.

But he continued.

“When you said she was dating those guys in Congress, you mean she was fucking them.”

“C'mon Paul. Leave it alone.”

“Was she doing them while she and I were going together?”

“Paul, believe me, the diaries won't help.”

Paul looked as if he'd been kicked in the teeth. She couldn't blame him. “So, I guess that means yes. Hey, no big surprise. Once when Vanessa came over she insisted on showering immediately. I was suspicious and now I understand.”

Anxious to move away from the diaries, Allison reached into her bag and took out the notes she had made when she had been with Mary Pat at Hibernia in Anguilla. With careful emphasis on each word, she read Mary Pat's description. “Is there any way we can use this?”

“I have an idea,” Paul exclaimed, now snapping out of it.

“Okay, what is it?”

“I can get pictures of all the members of Congress. With this description, we should be able to narrow it down to a reasonable number. Then forward pictures of those to Mary Pat for an ID.”

“I like it.”

“Right off the bat, we can eliminate the women, the non-Caucasians, and lots of the others.”

“How do we get all their pictures?”

“Easy. I'm hooked up to my computer at the office. Same Internet access. I go online with a legislative service. I can pull up pictures and backgrounds of all the senators and House members.”

“Great.”

Paul rushed into the den. With Allison looking over his shoulder, he booted up the computer. Minutes later, the printer began spitting out five hundred thirty-five pages. On each, in the upper left hand corner, was a color picture. In the text below there were physical descriptions, bios, and committee assignments.

Paul split the pile in half and handed one to Allison. After only the first cut, they had reduced the possibles to seven—two senators and five congressmen.

For two of those, Paul knew staffers well enough to find out where their bosses had been Veteran's Day weekend. Hal was someone he played tennis with from time to time. And Bruce had been a law school classmate he saw at alumni functions and lunched with periodically. He asked each of them in an offhand way, where their bosses had been on Veteran's Day in an otherwise general conversation. Both had been in Washington. “Okay. We're down to five.”

Paul restudied those. “Two,” he said, “are too old and feeble to make a jaunt like that. And I doubt Vanessa would climb into bed with them. So that leaves us Congressman Wayne Pelston, upstate New York, Senator Dave Wolcott, North Carolina, and Senator Wesley Jasper, Colorado. Both Wolcott and Jasper are on Vanessa's Senate Armed Services Committee. Jasper is the chairman.”