Mac pulled out his notebook to give the basic rundown. He finished with, “Forensics preliminarily puts time of death between midnight and 2:00 a.m.”
“How’d the killer get in? Were there any signs of forced entry?” asked the chief.
“Not so far,” Mac replied, explaining about the new door locks and key they found.
“Anything missing?”
“Doesn’t seem to be,” Mac answered. “The house isn’t ransacked in any way. She had jewelry in her bedroom, some fairly expensive pieces, which appear to be undisturbed. So, at this point, it looks like whoever got in was let in, or had a key. Maybe a boyfriend.”
“Do we know anything about who she was seeing?”
“Not yet. We’ll need to get down to the station and talk to the people she worked with. Maybe we’ll learn something there.”
Sylvia Miller, the department spokeswoman, piped in. “The media knows that it’s Claire Daniels. I’ve already been getting calls, and they, being the media, want to know when we’ll have something to say. What can we offer at this point?”
Mac was about to speak, but he first looked to Flanagan, who nodded. “I know the heat’s on, but I don’t think we should release much. She was found dead this morning in her condo. I’d give them the usual bullshit that an autopsy will be performed. Indicate that we’ll be questioning people in the neighborhood, people she worked with, that sort of thing. Beyond that …” Mac shook his head.
“We’re getting hammered here, with the serial killer and then this,” Miller pleaded. “Can’t we go with more, the strangling, time of death, the sex information … any of that?”
“Not yet,” Flanagan answered. “It’s way too early. I don’t want us to get hung based on speculative information we’ll have to retract later. I don’t wanna compromise the investigation.”
“I understand that, but information’ll get out on a case like this,” Miller pushed. “The media pressure’ll be immense. One of their own is dead here. We need to throw them a bone, or we’re gonna get skewered.”
“Damn it, I fuckin’ know that!” yelled Flanagan, who then caught himself, obviously regretting the outburst. After a quiet moment and an exhale, he said more calmly, “I’m sorry. I do appreciate your situation, Sylvia. But we must let the detectives do their work. If we catch the guy, we’ll be fine. If not, I’ll take the heat.” Flanagan then turned to Mac. “This is your case to run. But be smart. You need help, boyo, ask, and keep Peters in the loop. And, son, all media requests go to Sylvia for now.”
“Avoiding the media is fine by me,” Mac replied.
“That goes for you too, Lich,” added Peters, his tone just a bit accusatory.
Mac smiled inside. Lich liked to talk.
“What’d I do?” pleaded Lich with his arms held open.
“Dick,” said Flanagan, “you have a rep for leaking. Not here. Keep your mouth shut.” It was not a request.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, boys, go to it.”
Mac and Lich left the room.
Once they were gone, Miller, always evaluating the public perception of things asked, “Chief, isn’t McRyan kind of young to be handling this?”
The chief gave Miller a long, severe look before answering. “You know his background. He’s got four good years as a detective. He’ll be fine. From your perspective, he should be someone we want in front of the camera. People will recognize the name.”
“That’s all true, but this isn’t a public service announcement. This is a murder case of a well-known reporter on top of a serial killer. This is very high-profile. McRyan doesn’t look very senior. People might wonder, is all I’m saying.”
“Your concerns are noted,” was Flanagan’s terse reply.
With that, Miller and Peters got up to leave. The chief asked Peters to stay.
With the door closing behind Miller, the chief asked, “She have a point on Mac?”
“No,” Peters responded without hesitation. “Mac’s fine. He’s young, sure, but smart. Lich’s fine too if he’s with it, and I made sure he was properly motivated this morning. Mac doesn’t concern me.”
The chief considered it for a minute. “Real police. It’s in his blood.”
“Yes, sir,” Peters replied. “He’s a natural at this. He’s level headed, a natural leader, he wants the responsibility. Plus, he’s smarter than hell.”
Chief Flanagan thought it over. “You know, he reminds me of his old man.”
Peters smiled. “Me too, Chief.”
“Well, screw them all then,” Flanagan said. “We let the real police do their job.”
Chapter Four
“Claire’s dead.”
Mac and Lich got back in the Explorer and drove to Daniels’s place. Mac was jacked. It was not often he got a case like this. Lich, catching the mood of the moment, put it right, “This type of case—bring it home, and you’re set, Mac. Screw it up, and you might get night watch down in the jail.”
As they pulled onto Grand and were a few blocks away from Daniels’s place, Lich chirped, “Media’s in heaven. They’ll have a field day with us today.”
Mac couldn’t argue with him, it was going to be rough, especially for the chief and Sylvia Miller.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Lich said with just a touch of wry sarcasm.
Mac caught the tone. “You gonna be okay following my lead on this?”
Lich chuckled. “There’ll be no problem, Mac. I haven’t exactly been busting my hump lately, but I’m with you on this. No fucking around.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what’s on our agenda?”
“Check out the condo. Then we’ll head down to Channel 6 and talk with her colleagues. Her mother’s been notified. We’ll have to talk with her as well, although word is they weren’t close.”
As they approached Daniels’s condo, the media horde became evident, with television trucks and microphones everywhere, people running back and forth. To avoid it, Mac dumped the Explorer in an open spot along Grand, half a block away. He and Lich got out and made their way towards the condo, casually winding through the news vans, and ducking under the crime scene tape.
Mac saw a uniform cop and said, “Go get me Clark and Green,” and to Lich, “Let’s take a closer look around the condo.”
As Mac entered the bedroom, forensics was getting ready to transport the body. Morgan had nothing additional to give them; they would have to wait for the autopsy. On his first time through, Mac had gotten the feeling that very little was amiss, but he wanted to look around and get a feel for Daniels.
The bedroom was really two rooms. There was the area where her bed, dresser, and closet were located. Claire must have slept on the right side normally, as there was a phone and an alarm clock on that side of the bed. The drawer on the right nightstand was filled with the usual stuff one might expect, including a notepad and pen to take messages. The drawer on the left side held a brass tin that contained condoms, which was interesting, for, if nothing else, she was prepared.
He took a look at her closet, a deep walk-in. Claire had been a clotheshorse, which was not surprising for a television reporter. There were a couple of boxes with personal effects, some family pictures, and a high school yearbook from Bristol, Ohio. Mac took out the yearbook and thumbed through it. Bristol was a small town as Claire’s graduating class looked to be about fifty students. He found Claire, with a last name of Miller, so she must have been married at some point or changed her name. Her graduation picture certainly indicated that she must have been the object of many a Bristol boys’ dreams.
Mac left the closet, and went to the other side of the bedroom through a wide archway into what was a large sitting room. When she was home, Claire obviously had spent most of her time here. The room was tastefully furnished with a plaid love seat and chair combination. There was a large entertainment center and collection of DVDs and CDs. Claire was a Meg Ryan fan, owning copies of Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally,
You’ve Got Mail, and even Kate and Leopold. There was also a run of movies that had some of the hotter scenes around. She owned Sliver, Body Heat, 9½ Weeks, Basic Instinct, and a few Andrew Stevens and Shannon Tweed B movies, flicks one would typically find in a frat house. There were even two porno flicks, which he found mildly amusing, something he would have expected to find in a couple of his buddies’ places, but not here.
There were also a number of DVD copies. Upon closer inspection, Mac saw that they were DVDs of her TV work. Each was indexed and well organized, indicating the story she had reported and the date. She also had some videotapes of her work in Denver and Salt Lake City.
A door from the sitting room led into the hallway. On the other side was an office. She had an L-shaped desk with a glass top. A desktop computer sat on the left corner, a tower of CDs to the right. Forensics would go over the computer with a fine tooth comb.
There were a couple of filing cabinets. A quick inspection of the desk revealed she was, again, very organized. Mortgage, investments, insurance, vehicle information—all segregated in colored folders with typed labels. There was little else in the office of interest. It didn’t look as if anything had been disturbed or was out of order. As he finished, Lich came in and just shrugged his shoulders—nothing of interest found downstairs.
They walked back down the hallway to a built-in cabinet. It had bookshelves on top, a drawer and cabinet on the bottom. The cabinet had spare towels, washcloths, and some bathroom supplies. The drawer had some decorative washcloths and towels, probably for when Claire entertained. There were a few books, trinkets, and a wood Roman numeral X on the shelves.
A tour of the spare bedroom revealed a junk room, with some old clothes hanging in the closet and a few pieces of exercise equipment. They walked back into the master bedroom. Lich spoke first. “Gotta be someone she knows, because, best as I can tell, nothing’s out of place.”
“You may be right,” Mac replied, unable to argue with the premise. He headed down the steps. As he reached the bottom, he saw Clark and Green walking up. Mac tilted his head up in greeting as they approached.
“Nothing so far,” Green said. “We’ve gone through the apartment buildings across the street. There are a couple of apartments where people didn’t respond, though, so we’ll have to go back.”
“Okay, keep at it. Lich and I are heading down to Channel 6 to talk to her work people. If you get anything, give me a call.”
Nobody had anything to add, so Mac and Lich headed out. Word spread that Mac was lead on the case, and the media had identified him. As he and Lich headed towards the Explorer, a throng of reporters approached and started shouting questions. “No comment,” and, “You’ll have to work through media relations,” was all Mac would say. Lich, on his best behavior, said nothing.
• • • • •
There were two US Senate dining rooms. One was for use by current members, their families, as well as any former senators. The other dining room, a small one, was only for current senators. It was perhaps the most exclusive restaurant in Washington, if not in all of the country.
Senator Mason Johnson was having a late lunch with the junior senators from Wisconsin and Iowa. They were discussing various issues involved in a farm bill before the Agriculture Committee, of which all three were members. The Republican senator from Iowa had sponsored the bill and was explaining to his esteemed Democratic friend from Wisconsin his displeasure with other Democratic senators who were, in his terms, “fiddlin” with his bill.
Senator Johnson was hearing their conversation, but he wasn’t really listening. Rather, he was enjoying his tomato-basil soup out of an exquisite fine-china bowl and thinking about Claire.
As he was finishing his lunch, a senate page approached their table. He had a note for the senator. “Come back to the office right away—Jordan.” Jordan Hines was Johnson’s best friend and chief of staff. Hmmm, he wondered. What could be so important? Johnson excused himself and made tracks for his office in the Russell Senate Building.
The senator was conflicted. He knew his own marriage was over, although he had not discussed divorce with his wife. While he was only forty-four years old, he had been in Washington for fourteen years, six as a congressman and eight as a senator.
His years in Washington had taught him one immutable truth about his job: it was demanding on a marriage. There were long hours at the capital, traveling, raising money, as well as spending time in the home state. His wife was a good woman, intelligent, attractive, but not one to stay home and be the dutiful senator’s wife. In their many years in Washington, she had become a force in a number of political causes, some of which differed from his own political philosophy. The time she spent on her career and the time required for his strained the marriage. He had brought up the issues with Gwen, hoping she would understand the importance of what he was doing as a senator and would give up some of her work to be there for him. However, the more he brought it up, the more strained things became. He couldn’t remember the last time they had spent a night together or made love. He needed her love, her attention and affection. Instead, he often found himself alone at the end of the day. They had simply drifted apart.
Then he met Claire. It was early September, at a birthday party for a political supporter back home. He was standing next to the bar, having a gin and tonic and talking to a group of friends when he saw her walk in. She was wearing a black strapless dress and, while very tasteful, it left little to the imagination. Then she flashed that smile he had seen on TV. She was stunning. While he had noticed her, as every other male in the joint must have, he didn’t make any sort of a move towards her. It was another half hour, and suddenly someone grabbed him by the arm. It was his friend Conner Lund, and with him was Claire Daniels.
“Mace, Claire wanted to meet you.”
It was not often that he was made uncomfortable, even intimidated by anyone, and in particular a woman, but Claire had that effect on him initially. It was her beauty. She was the most attractive woman he had ever met. However, once he met her, shook her hand and spent a few moments with her, he liked her immediately. He found her to be warm, funny, and intelligent. They talked for what seemed like hours, both within a group of people, as well as by themselves. There were numerous times each of them broke off to converse with others, but somehow they always ended up back together. At the end of the night, as everyone was leaving, he found himself standing next to her, waiting for the valet to bring up his car. He wondered how he could somehow mention seeing her again. She made it easy. As the valet pulled up her car, she mentioned she was going to be in DC in a couple of weeks. She wondered if they could get together for lunch. Of course, he said, just call his office. He didn’t even know if he was scheduled to be in town, but he decided he would make sure he was.
Sure enough, two weeks later, Claire showed up on his calendar. She was going to stop by the office to say hello. However, it was not going to be around lunch, but at 5:00 p.m. He figured she was busy but would stop by to say hello, probably on the way to the airport.
She stayed for five hours. They talked about everything going on in Washington. She had interviewed for a position with CBS, working in the capital. The job would start in January. She was excited about the opportunity. While she loved Minnesota, she was growing bored with local news and she wanted to work on a larger stage.
Toward the end of the evening, the topic of the senator’s wife came up. He had only told Jordan about his marital problems. For whatever reason, he told Claire everything. She just listened. She didn’t judge him. She didn’t lecture or argue about his wife’s desire to have a career of her own. She just listened.
At the end of the night, he walked her to the door of his office. He felt like a teenager on his first date. There was nobody around; he probably could have kissed her good night. He was attracted to her, yet he wasn’t sure if she was attracted to him. He’d never cheated on his wife, and he held back. Well, not completely. “I’m going to be
in the Cities in a week. Maybe we could get together for a drink?”
“I’d like that.” She left him her home number and leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
Claire was all he could think about for the next week. On Friday, he got into town and immediately called her. They agreed he would stop by her place for a drink. When he got there, they were in bed within fifteen minutes. She was everything he dreamed she would be. She was an energetic, aggressive, even wild lover. He’d never been with anyone like her. He felt twenty-four, instead of forty-four. She made him feel like a man again.
As a senator, he always made frequent trips home. He loved his state, and it was good politics to be seen at home, lest it appear you become more a resident of Washington, DC, than Minnesota. Having met Claire, he made it a point to get home each weekend. He made the trips home three-and-four-day weekends with plenty of political events to cover the visit. But most late nights were spent with Claire.
He would have to talk to Jordan. Hines knew all about Claire. He was the only one he’d told about it. He didn’t know if what he had with Claire would last. He wasn’t sure long-term relationships with a woman like her would work. She had a career of her own and was not the type to be the supportive, stay-at-home wife to a senator. But she made him feel alive again. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he could to see if it might work. But if nothing else, he knew that his marriage was over. It was time to have that conversation with his wife. He thought she might be having the same feelings. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Then there would be the political fallout. He and Jordan would have to plot out how best to handle the divorce from a political standpoint. It wasn’t unheard of for politicians to get divorced. What he didn’t want was a scandal. If he did it soon, with four years left in his term, any short-term political damage could be repaired, especially if the divorce was handled right. As he entered the lobby to his office, the receptionist indicated Jordan was waiting for him inside. As he walked into his office, Hines, with a concerned look on his face, motioned for him to close the door. The senator closed the door and asked, “What’s up?”
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