He had a good point. Since the era of terrorist threats and mass shootings, the United States Capitol had been on lockdown. Everyone who entered the Senate office buildings had to go through a security scanner. The police officers operating the scanners were vigilant. A few months ago, Kara had attempted to bring in a knife to cut the huge cake the office had bought for Langsford’s birthday. She was stopped at the entrance and detained until Lucinda came to her rescue. The police kept the utensil, and we had to cut the cake with a plastic knife instead.
Carrying out a premeditated murder was complicated. A weapon or firearm was out of the question. Senators could sometimes bypass security when they arrived from the parking garage, but anyone accompanying senators, including staff and spouses, had to pass through the scanner.
Maybe someone had argued with Senator Langsford, and seeing a sharp object handy, had stabbed him in the heat of the moment.
Kara interrupted, leaning over my desk. She whispered, “Matt wants to see you, pronto.”
I nodded. “Listen, I have to go, Doug. My boss needs to talk to me. I’ll call you when I find out anything more. In the meantime, don’t worry. I have everything under control.”
I could sense Doug’s furrowed brows over the phone. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Please, Kit, don’t do anything stupid. Let the police do their job so they can find the person who did this. Remember, chances are if Senator Langsford knew the person who killed him and the murder took place in his Senate office, it’s likely someone you knew too.”
I shuddered as I hung up the phone. He was right. I had worked for Langsford for four years and knew most of the major players in his political world. Had an insider ended the senator’s life?
Walking down the hall, I glanced inside Lucinda’s office. Her face was red and puffy, and tears streamed down her mature face. If Vivian wasn’t bawling, Lucinda was certainly making up for her lack of waterworks. Her phone headset was on and her Rolodex in front of her. As the chief of staff, Lucinda had the unenviable task of calling the senator’s closest associates to let them know personally about his death. She wouldn’t beat the cable news reporting the murder, but the senator’s long-term friends and donors deserved to be personally notified.
I knocked, then cracked open Matt’s office door. “You wanted to see me?”
Matt seemed to have aged about a decade since this morning. Judging from the dishevelment of his mane, a record-breaking amount of hair tugging had taken place in the past hour. Matt had known the senator since his first campaign for office. This was an emotional blow. Also, if Trevor was right, Matt had to figure out how the senator’s office would continue to function until the governor appointed a replacement.
Matt motioned for me to sit. “I hear that despite emerging from the senator’s office with the murder weapon in your hand, you’re no longer being detained.” He managed a small, wry smile.
“According to Detective O’Halloran, I’m not supposed to leave town,” I said. “I’m sorry. I probably caused you even more trouble this morning than you were already handling.”
He waved his hands in earnest denial. “I’m glad you’re okay and you weren’t the second victim.”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to me. If I had arrived earlier, I might have stumbled across the perpetrator. The detective said the senator was probably killed about an hour before my discovery of the body. I racked my brain to access knowledge of forensics from television shows. That timeline was a crude crime-scene estimate. The coroner would confirm the time of death within an hour, give or take. I could have come close to spotting the killer, especially if the person had stayed in the office for any length of time after the murder. But I had passed no one in the hallway or the building before entering the office. Nothing stuck out. With security cameras monitoring the entrance to the building, I wondered, how had the killer escaped detection this morning?
Matt seemed to have something else on his mind besides celebrating the fact I hadn’t been killed. I waited.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Kit, there’s something you should know. You probably haven’t had a chance to turn on your computer.” I had printed the memo for the senator the night before. All I had done this morning was unlock my file cabinet drawer underneath my desk and head toward the senator’s office.
“No, I haven’t even logged on.”
He hesitated and gave his hair another tug. “Pull your chair up and take a look at the news reports.” Matt turned his computer monitor around so I could read it. My jaw dropped. A color photograph of me in handcuffs appeared, with the headline STAFFER LEAD SUSPECT IN SENATOR’S DEATH.
Chapter 5
Once I could speak, I asked Matt which news outlets had reported the story.
He sighed. “Which hasn’t?”
The Capitol Hill newspaper, infamously known as Roll Call, had probably started the stampede. I had seen their lead photographer among the crowd of reporters surrounding me earlier. The Drudge Report had picked it up, which meant the story had gone viral in less than five minutes. It didn’t matter what the police had said in the brief statement released thirty minutes later. Politico, The Hill, The Washington Post, The Daily Caller—you name it. Every media outlet led with the photo of me in cuffs. There was no escape. The entire Washington press corps viewed me as the lead suspect in the murder of a powerful United States Senator. My stomach lurched.
Matt poured me a cup of water and sat next to me. “Listen, it could be worse. Everyone here knows you didn’t kill Langsford. This will get cleared up. As soon as the police find the real murderer, you’ll have had your fifteen minutes of fame and that’s it.” He smacked his hands together. “And then, presto, you’re back to being another faceless staffer on Capitol Hill.” He chuckled. Matt was right about the brief interlude with notoriety, but anxiety over future job prospects on Capitol Hill fluttered in my stomach. Avoiding arrest was the top priority, but the prospect of months of unemployment terrified me.
“Thanks, Matt. You really know how to cheer a girl up.”
He put his arm around me and gave a little squeeze. “I’ve got your back.”
Just when I’d started to feel a little better about my predicament, the press secretary Mandy barged into Matt’s office. She looked like hell. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was tangled, and her blouse, instead of being neatly tucked in, was half pulled out, wrinkles spilling over her pencil-straight skirt. The press had endless questions about Langsford’s murder and office politics. From her perspective, it was the equivalent of a press tsunami.
Mandy peered at me with pure revulsion. “Just the person I’m looking for. Not only do I have to deal with the fact that the senator was murdered, but I also have to explain why his legislative assistant couldn’t have murdered him.”
I stayed silent. Great. Obviously Mandy would not be jumping to my defense against the media.
Her rage intensified. “I mean, did you have to pull the helicopter out of his chest? Do you know what a nightmare that is to explain?”
“I was trying to save him. That’s what you should tell people. I thought he might still be alive.”
Mandy held up her hands as if balancing a scale. One side tipped heavily and she scoffed, “Let me think. Is that little detail going to compete with a photo of you in handcuffs?”
She faced Matt. “I can’t answer questions about our office paramedic. Until you come up with a statement, I’m saying we have no comment.”
She turned back to me. “I work for the senator and not you. Get your boyfriend and his family to do your PR.”
Mandy wasn’t my friend, yet her scathing words hit me hard. She was throwing me to the Washington wolves. I looked at Matt, who had listened to the exchange with a raised eyebrow.
Matt stood and faced her. “You don’t have the authority to make a decision like that, Mandy. We won’t abandon our colleague at a time like this. We both know Kit is innocent.”
Mandy cleared her thro
at and pointed at me for emphasis. “I know no such thing. As I said, I don’t work for her. I work for the senator, and that’s my priority.”
Matt looked puzzled. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but none of us work for Lyndon Langsford anymore. He’s dead. Officially, we’re United States Senate employees waiting for the governor to appoint a successor. Your diatribe about working for the senator might have worked, but only when he was alive.”
As Mandy huffed and headed for the door, Matt called for her to stop. “Your immediate supervisors, until further notice, are Lucinda and me. If press calls come in about Kit, you set the record straight. We’re fully supportive of our staff at this difficult time. Do you understand?”
Mandy straightened her skirt and managed a fake, weak smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll give those calls my absolute attention.” She left the office.
Matt glanced at me. “Well, that settles that. Go back to your desk, Kit. It’s a media circus outside. Stay here for a while. We’ll figure out a way to get you home later on. For now, I think it’s best if we all lie low.”
I thanked him. “I’m lucky to have you as a boss.” On my way back to my desk, I passed the recycling bin. Our office had “gone green” recently. Senator Langsford had been a strong supporter of the environment and eagerly signed his staff up for every recycling and eco-friendly project run on the Capitol grounds. Our lights were motion sensitive and we relied on filtered tap water instead of bottles. Automatic thermostats controlled office heat and air conditioning.
The lid of the recycling bin was off-kilter. I stopped to straighten the lid and refasten it to the bin. But a piece of paper was stuck, preventing the lid from attaching to the bin. I pulled the paper and was surprised to see my memo, the one I had carried into Langsford’s office earlier today.
The police would not have allowed anyone to clean up Senator Langsford’s office already. Then why was it in the recycling bin? I closed my eyes as I forced myself to visualize the details of this morning. When I walked into his office, the memo was in my hands. I hadn’t placed it on his desk. I pulled the model helicopter out of his chest with my right hand. At that point, the memo was in my left hand. After falling backward, I encountered Kara. Then I stumbled out of the senator’s office and into Kara’s adjacent office area.
Somewhere along the way, I’d dropped the memo.
Maybe Kara recycled it, thinking it was trash that had fallen in her office. But she was meticulous and wouldn’t discard any paper that had the remote chance of being important. Also, the senator archived all his official paperwork, including policy memos written by staff. As his personal assistant, Kara certainly would have wanted to preserve what might have been the last memo for Senator Langsford.
I decided to take a detour to find Kara and ask her myself. I glanced out a window. It was beautiful, without a cloud in the sky, a typical summer day in Washington. The city was past the rainstorm season and in the “hot and humid” phase that could last several months. It looked like ideal weather for a run, but any jogger setting foot on the Mall at this hour would suffer a heatstroke. I wished with all my heart that I could be outside, running free toward the Lincoln Memorial, far from Capitol Hill, the murder, and all my problems.
Instead, I entered Kara’s office. Her workspace was usually the model for serenity and order, every paper and folder in its proper place. Now, everything was strewn about on her desk as if a tornado had touched down.
Kara still looked professional, despite the disruptions. She always dressed in a slightly offbeat manner, without pushing the hipster attire too far. Today, she had on a stylish purple suit with a pleated skirt. A small bow in her black pixie hair completed the ensemble. Dark tights, Mary Janes, and carefully accented makeup gave her a funky, career-chic look.
Her desk phone rang, and she ignored it. Instead, she focused on a cellphone call. She politely explained that funeral arrangements hadn’t been finalized, clicked the phone shut, and turned to me.
“Well, you certainly look less menacing than earlier this morning. You know, when you had a murder weapon in your hand and waved it at me?”
I was relieved. Unlike Mandy, Kara was trying to bring a little levity to the stressful situation. “Yeah, I know. It was dumb, and we were both scared. And sharp, bloody objects aren’t good accessories this season.”
“Touché. What can I do for you?”
“I noticed this memo in the recycling bin.” I showed her the memo to Senator Langsford on the upcoming defense contract renewal. “I was about to give it to Senator Langsford when … um … well, you know.”
I didn’t want to say “I found him murdered” to Kara. She was upset about losing the senator. She had worked as his assistant for over five years.
“Is that why you were in his office?” Kara asked. “I wondered why. You never get here early. So you wanted to give him this memo, huh?”
“Right. I must have dropped it in his office. I just don’t understand how it got into the recycling bin.”
She had bigger problems and shook her head. “Beats me. This place is complete chaos. I’ve had everyone in here, from the police to the FBI. Even Senator Regan was here earlier. And that annoying Carter Power lobbyist, Jeff Prentice. I admit, I won’t miss him much …” her voice trailed off.
My mind raced. I wanted to make sure Kara hadn’t thrown away the memo by accident. “So, maybe you put the memo into the recycling bin? To tidy up the place before Mrs. Langsford arrived?”
She frowned. “Listen, you know I would never put a memo into the garbage. That’s against office protocol. Besides, I have other worries this morning besides cleaning up this place.”
I offered her the paper. “Do you want the memo for the archives?”
Kara tapped her fingers on the desk and considered my question. “No, I don’t think so. Not if Senator Langsford never received it. It’s not part of his legislative history. If he had received it last night and read it, I would take it for the archive. But since he was …” she paused a second to clear her throat, “deceased before you could give it to him, it’s not really his memo, is it?”
I wasn’t certain about her logic, but a voice in my head told me to hold on to the memo. Matt’s handwritten initials were on the hard copy. It was proof he’d cleared it for the senator and we’d agreed on the suggested course of action.
The atmosphere in the office was still hectic. I looked across the hallway and into our office’s large conference room, where at least ten police officers huddled. A few examined file folders, others talked back and forth, and several looked downright bored. I thought about my picture online, the image being disseminated exponentially at this very moment.
I needed to be alone and think. A lot was at stake. I might have a few more days working in the Senate office, at least until the governor appointed a successor. New senators, even a temporary appointment, would want to bring in their own staff. In other words, I would be out of a job soon. The most valuable commodity on the Washington, D.C., job market was a professional reputation. I had worked hard for Senator Langsford and had my share of contacts on Capitol Hill. Nonetheless, even a hint that I was a suspect in the murder of my boss, however wrongheaded the notion, wouldn’t enhance my job prospects.
To make matters worse, my brief foray into the limelight would embarrass Doug. He was a prominent professor at Georgetown and had just started going on television as a historical commentator for the multitude of talk shows. He was young, photogenic, newly tenured, and an expert on American history, which made him the ideal news show guest. My status as a murder suspect would not help him, and it could be devastating, both to him and our relationship. We had been through our share of challenges—finding jobs in the same city, learning to share an apartment, compromising on our priorities. Dealing with infamy would be the ultimate test.
On top of it all, there was the delicate subject of Doug’s family. They traced their history back to the Massachusetts Bay Colony. His great-grandfather,
a proud Winthrop Society member, started a prominent law firm in Boston, still employing many of his male descendants, along with the women in the current generation. Doug inherited the smarts, but not the desire to become a lawyer. Even though he was a wildly successful historian by any academic standards, his father had never accepted his son’s career choice. He was devastated Doug didn’t study law and wouldn’t join the firm. Doug was close to “black sheep” status. The worst thing I could do was to bring dishonor upon his family. Those ski trips to Killington over the holidays would be torture if my name wasn’t cleared quickly.
The easiest and most obvious move on my part would be to step back and allow the police to solve the crime. The Capitol Hill cops would spare no expense on this investigation, and other law enforcement agencies would help. The big problem with this option was it would take the police several days to figure out the likely suspects. They didn’t know Senator Langsford, they didn’t know his staff, and they certainly didn’t know much about his contacts and inner circle. I had worked for him long enough to know all these people.
I kept coming back to my memo. It wouldn’t have been difficult for someone to snatch it out of the office in the midst of the confusion and slide it right into the recycling bin across the hallway, but why would he or she want to do that? Was it a pure coincidence, or was it related to Senator Langsford’s demise?
It made sense to keep my recovery of the memo a secret. Let the person who trashed it think he, or she, had gotten away with it. I doubted any innocent office staffer or the police had put my memo in the trash deliberately. That meant it either landed there by accident, or its timely disposal had something to do with Senator Langsford’s murder.
I could put my fate into the hands of the cops, or I could try to figure out who killed Langsford and clear my name. The quicker this mystery was wrapped up, the better—for me, Doug, and everyone who had worked for Langsford.
Stabbing in the Senate Page 3
