Deadly Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  Albert paused at the doorway. Spotting Danny, he broke into a smile. “Colonel, it’s good to see you. Molly, if you two were planning on dinner, I can tell Peter you’ll be a little late tonight.”

  “Call me Danny, please,” Danny said, extending his hand to Albert. “And dinner sounds like a good idea. What about it, Molly?”

  “Why not? Maybe I’ll be able to stay away from the buffet table then.”

  Albert retreated with a big grin. I could tell he couldn’t wait to report to Luisa. “Okay, then, I’ll let Peter know. See you later, Molly. Good to see you again, Col, uh, Danny.”

  Danny checked his watch. “Nearly five o’clock. We could leave now so you won’t be late for the reception.”

  Just then, I heard the familiar beep of a message coming through on my BlackBerry. Scrolling down, I read the message to myself and stared at it for a second before reading it out loud.

  “It’s from Jed. ‘Please talk to me before you go to police. My apartment tonight 10:00 p.m. 1137 New Hampshire Avenue, number 1410.’” I glanced up at Danny. “What do you think?”

  “I think you got his attention.”

  _____

  “Did you send the email?”

  “Y-yes, just now,” Jed said, pressing the cell phone closer to his ear. The phone slipped against his damp cheek. He hated that the sound of the man’s voice made him sweat.

  “Go to your apartment straight from the office, Jed. I’ll drop by around seven o’clock.”

  “You’re coming to my place? But why?” He was unable to conceal his panic.

  The deep voice paused. “We need to talk, Jed. We need to make plans.”

  Plans. Plans were good. He grasped at that. “O-okay. Seven o’clock. I’ll be there.”

  _____

  “When are you two going over there?” Casey asked as he scanned the clusters of congressman and staffers crowding Senator Russell’s reception.

  A light rain earlier had sent everyone fleeing from the garden, and the Russell mansion was packed. Living room, dining room, hallways, and doorways to the patio for those who didn’t mind the drizzle. Only the caterers’ closed door kept them from wandering into the kitchen. I was glad I’d locked my office door.

  I sipped the Pinot Blanc. “Danny’s coming over about nine thirty. It sounds like Jed’s building is near Washington Circle, so it shouldn’t take long to get there.”

  “Don’t let him talk you out of it, Molly.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I’ll be glad to take you to see Schroeder first thing tomorrow,” Casey added before he returned to his routine prowling of the edges of the crowd.

  “Sounds good.” I sipped the tart, fresh taste and returned to my own prowling of the perimeter. There were fewer familiar faces in this crowd tonight. Consequences of the last election turnover, no doubt. Fewer conversations meant more time to think, and my thoughts were still churning, wondering about the mystery photographer. Who and why?

  Wandering the edges of the living room, I spied Aggie smoothly serving drinks, moving about the crowd in a pattern. Ryan had his tray filled with appetizers as usual. And Bud was at his regular spot at the bar, efficiently filling the glasses of politicians who clustered around the rim.

  As I watched and sipped, a long-ago memory inched from the back of my mind. Something my father had once said about Georgetown cocktail parties. Another sip brought it forward and into focus. The spy network. That was it. My father told me years ago that CIA spooks regularly worked political parties in Georgetown—wherever influential politicians and government officials gathered. Waiters, servers, kitchen staff moved freely about the crowds—invisible. No one noticed them, so it was easy to eavesdrop and report back everything they overheard.

  Remembering more clearly now, I pictured my father shaking his head in wry amusement when he told the stories of colleagues who drank too much. Espionage professionals knew that it was easy for secrets to slip out wherever liquor was flowing. Influential congressmen, senators, ambassadors, and diplomats liked to think they were careful, but the truth was they frequently slipped—and didn’t even remember.

  Another thought wiggled forward as I watched Aggie efficiently working around clusters of congressman and staffers. Replenishing drinks, removing empty glasses, moving through the room, pausing at each group.

  Aggie had been working these Georgetown parties for years. She’d worked for my parents’ parties, Dave’s and mine, and she was still working. That was a lot of politicians over the years. I recalled something Aggie said to me the first week I returned to Washington. A comment about her “Cuban boyfriend.”

  Aggie offered wines to a nearby group of chattering congressmen, then headed my way. “I’ve got one Pinot Blanc left, Molly.”

  “I’m good, Aggie. Thanks, anyway.” A crazy idea had come into my head suddenly. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” She settled into a comfortable stance, tray on her shoulder.

  “You’ve been working these political parties for a lifetime. Most of them in Georgetown, right?”

  “Mostly. But I also work in other areas of the city, as well as Virginia and Maryland, too. Wherever the parties are.” She cocked her head to the side. “What are you asking, Molly?”

  I felt her warm gaze settle on me, and I tried to appear as innocent as possible. Always a struggle for me. “I was simply wondering if you knew if there are any surveillance cameras located along Georgetown streets or security groups watching the neighborhoods. You know, since there are so many diplomats and politicians living here and all that.”

  A slow smile started. “There are all sorts of groups that work Washington. You know that, Molly. They’ve always been here. I’ve heard it said there are more spies per square foot in Washington, D.C., than any other city in the world.”

  Since Aggie had opened that door, I decided to walk right through it. “My father told me that CIA spooks were all over Georgetown parties years ago.”

  Aggie kept her smile, but made no reply.

  So, I decided what the hell. “Are you a spook, Aggie?” I sent her an engaging smile of my own.

  Aggie’s eyes lit up. “Who, me? Do I look like a spy? They’re all tall, dark, and handsome, aren’t they?” she replied as she backed away into the congressional clusters once more.

  I recognized a non-denial denial when I heard one. Finishing off my wine, I was about to resume my stroll when Luisa approached.

  “The colonel is in the kitchen, Molly. He says not to hurry, he’s early.”

  I glanced at my watch. 9:25. Time for the last act of today’s bizarre drama to play itself out. I drained my glass and followed after Luisa.

  Twenty-one

  The lobby of Jed’s New Hampshire Avenue apartment building was about what I expected. A nice but not fancy condo with secured entry. Guests had to be buzzed in. Exiting the elevator at the fourteenth floor, Danny and I located Jed’s apartment only a few feet down the hallway.

  Danny raised his hand to knock, then paused, glancing back at me. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Not entirely sure why Jed wanted to see me, I figured he probably hoped to make one last attempt to convince me not to involve the police. Beg me not to reveal his involvement. Plead with me to think of his family.

  But I was way past the point where whining, begging, or pleading could affect me. As for Jed’s family, he should have thought of them himself. Before he began his affair with Karen. Jed Molinoff’s conscience wasn’t my concern. Catching Karen’s killer was.

  There was no answer to Danny’s knock at first, then the door opened. Jed Molinoff stood in the opening, staring at us for a second. He looked haggard, and his eyes were red. “Come in, come in,” he beckoned us inside with a choppy wave of his hand.

 
Following Jed into his living room, I glimpsed the gorgeous view of the city through the balcony door. A briefcase sat open, and papers were strewn across the dining room table in the corner. A nearly empty bottle of Scotch and half-filled glass sat on the coffee table.

  Jed sank into the sofa and reached for his glass. “Sit down,” he waved toward the nearby chairs.

  “No, thanks, Jed. We won’t be staying long,” I said, watching him take a drink. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t reply. He took another drink instead. “As I said in my email, I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to go to the police and tell them what you know before I take the photos to Detective Schroeder.”

  Jed leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs as he stared at the glass in his hands. He didn’t answer.

  I waited for him to start to wheedle or plead or even cry. But nothing. He just sat there. Finally I said, “Do you understand me, Jed?”

  This time he nodded. “Yeah I’ll go,” he said in a soft voice.

  His abrupt capitulation caught me off guard, and I just stood there, watching him for a moment. “You saw something, didn’t you, Jed?”

  Again, he didn’t look up; he simply nodded. “Yeah. I saw a guy pass me on the sidewalk after I left the car.” He took another drink. “Afraid to tell.” This time he drained the glass and reached for the bottle.

  Watching Jed pour another half-glass of Scotch, I glanced at Danny, whose face registered the same surprise I felt. Something had happened to reawaken Jed Molinoff’s conscience. And for that, I was shocked and grateful. But I’d still be checking Detective Schroeder’s office at noon tomorrow to see if Jed showed up as promised.

  “That’s a good decision, Jed,” I offered. “It’ll be better if you approach the police first.”

  Jed kept staring at the glass of Scotch. Then his voice came softly. “I’m sorry about Karen.”

  That took me aback, and I waited another full minute in case he ventured another comment. When he didn’t, I started backing away. Jed removed his cell phone from his pocket and was dialing. Danny and I headed to the door and let ourselves out.

  We walked to the elevator without a word. As the elevator doors closed and the motor’s hum started on the downward motion, we looked at each other.

  “That was weird,” Danny said.

  “I confess, I never expected him to admit it quickly. I mean, he didn’t plead with me once.”

  “You had him by the balls, Molly,” Danny said with a wry smile as the doors opened onto the lobby once more. “Molinoff knew you weren’t going to cut him any slack.”

  I shook my head, still surprised. “I guess.”

  Danny pushed the heavy glass entry door open. “I know a good coffee shop down the avenue. I could use some right now, but I’d advise you to get decaf.”

  _____

  I cupped both hands around my hot chocolate. “I’m still amazed how submissive Jed was. All confrontation gone.” I took a sip of the rich chocolately milk. Hot and sweet.

  Danny hunched over his empty cup. “Think about it. His political career is over. There’s proof he lied to the police in a murder investigation. That’s bad enough. But when the reason he lied comes out, that’s it. He’s road kill. And the press will eat it up.”

  Danny’s dramatic description was brutal but on target. The media vultures that hovered in the trees, watching and waiting, would swoop down and remove all traces of Jed. They’d scour the pavement clean.

  I stared through the coffee shop window beside us in silence. Several couples hurried along the sidewalk, talking animatedly. “His apology caught me by surprise.”

  “He owed you one. You’re still taking those photos to the detective, right?”

  Two guys ran past the window. I noticed a couple pointing down the street and talking to another couple. “Yeah. I’ll go over at noon.”

  A siren’s wail sounded in the distance then grew louder, coming closer. A police cruiser shot by. Two couples dressed in workout clothes ran past on the sidewalk outside. More people appeared across the street.

  “Something’s up,” Danny observed, staring out the window.

  A college-aged couple entered the shop then, and a man sitting at the table beside us called out to them. “Hey, what’s with the sirens and cops?”

  “A guy jumped out of a building down the street,” the young man said, pointing in the direction where Danny and I had been. “Right off the balcony.” He made a diving gesture with his hands. “Blam!”

  His girlfriend made a face. “It was gross!”

  The guy shrugged before they headed to the counter. Danny and I glanced at each other, then bolted for the door.

  Twenty-two

  I sat at my kitchen table, drinking my first mug of coffee for the day, while I stared at the newspaper headlines again. Nebraska congressman’s chief of staff leaps to death. Confesses in suicide note. Killed ex-lover to keep her from revealing illicit affair. Lied to police. Covered up involvement in Hill staffer’s murder in Georgetown. And on and on. I’d read every article over and over. I couldn’t read another word.

  The garish bold-face headlines and sidebar stories highlighted the soap-opera details of the tragic story and blew them out of proportion. Made the people involved into caricatures, not real human beings. And they called that “reporting.”

  But standing on the sidewalk last night outside Jed Molinoff’s condo building, the details were all too real. Real people had died in this tragedy. Not cartoon caricatures nor tabloid newspaper creations. Karen was killed. Now, Jed’s family had lost a husband and a father. Even Celeste’s accidental death wouldn’t have occurred if she hadn’t been forced to leave Washington. The losses kept mounting.

  I pushed the paper away and went to stand by the window to finish my morning coffee. Enjoy the blooms on the new azaleas and lilacs I had planted. I needed some beauty to balance the ugliness.

  Jed’s confession shocked me. I couldn’t believe the headline when I first read it. Never had that possibility entered my mind. Jed? Jed Molinoff was a weak and weasely coward, yes. But a killer? That picture wouldn’t come into focus.

  My cell phone rang and I recognized Danny’s number flashing. “You’ve seen the paper, right?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah. And it’s hard to believe. I never thought Jed could kill Karen. How could he do that?”

  “Maybe he just snapped. Fear does strange things to us all. It twists and distorts. Last night we couldn’t understand why Jed killed himself rather than confess he’d concealed information. Now, we know why. Molinoff was guilty of murder. And the thought of prison was too much. He panicked.”

  Danny’s explanation made as much sense as anything that had surfaced from the quagmire of my own mind.

  “Did you sleep at all after I took you home?” he asked.

  “Fitfully. Weird dreams kept waking me up.”

  “That’s understandable. Last night was pretty traumatic. We were the last ones to see Jed alive.”

  “You know, there are other things that keep bothering me, darting in and out of my head like they did last night.”

  “What’s bothering you, Molly?”

  “Ohhhh, stuff like the gun. I remember Schroeder saying that the gun used to kill Karen was a 9mm Glock. Why would Jed buy a gun like that? It’s…it’s just weird.”

  “It sounds like he planned it to me. As for the gun, if he bought it on the underground market then he’d take whatever the dealer offered him. And dumping it in the Bay was the smartest way to get rid of it. No way it would be found.”

  I pictured Jed taking his cabin cruiser out into the normally tranquil waters of Chesapeake Bay. Tossing the gun overboard along with the memories of all those weekend trysts with Karen. Cold-hearted didn’t come close.

  “Yeah, you’re right,
I guess.”

  “Anything else on your mind?” Danny asked when I’d been quiet for a minute.

  “Yeah. Why did he write his suicide note on the computer? It’s the last thing anyone will see of him. Wouldn’t he write a suicide note by hand?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to kill myself. Maybe he was so scared his hand was shaking.”

  “Maybe so.” I drained the last of my coffee and checked my watch. “Gotta get to the office. I’ll call you later.”

  “Better idea. Why don’t we go out to dinner?”

  That was a better idea. “Sounds good. Why don’t you pick me up here around five thirty.”

  “Got it. I’ll find a special place. Someplace quiet and peaceful.”

  I flipped off my phone, slipped on my fuschia red suit jacket, and headed out the door. Quiet and peaceful? I’m not sure I knew what that was anymore.

  _____

  “Hey, Striped Kitty, don’t you have a home?” I called to the huge tabby sunning himself on the bricks edging my upper flowerbed.

  Kitty answered with his usual lazy meow, not bothering to move. Wherever he belonged, Striped Kitty had taken up residence beside the flowerbeds every day. He greeted me every late afternoon when I walked home from the Russell mansion.

  I raced up the wrought iron steps and paused on my doorstep while I dug for my keys. A car door slammed nearby and Danny’s voice called out. “Perfect timing.”

  “Hey, there. Let me check the mail and we can go,” I said, slipping the key in the lock.

  “No hurry. How’d everyone take the news?” Danny asked as he approached.

  “Everyone was shocked. Senator Russell stopped by my office before he headed for the Hill. Peter was really shaken. He’d met Jed while working for a California congressman years ago. Albert and Luisa couldn’t believe it. Casey, well, he’s like you—cool, calm, and collected.” I gave him a grin as he walked up the steps.