Stabbing in the Senate

by Colleen J. Shogan

  I thought a second. “I think the only people who knew were me, Matt, and Lucinda. But Senator Regan had to be aware that it was unlikely to go his way. The last meeting we had with him, it was clear Senator Langsford wasn’t going to support more funding for Carter Power. And then, of course, Jeff Prentice probably knew, since Senator Regan had to have kept him informed about how the votes were shaping up for the big committee hearing later this week.”

  Meg hovered over my desk. “Are you sure no one else knew which way Senator Langsford was leaning? Is that the complete list?”

  “I don’t see how anyone else could have known. It’s possible Senator Langsford told someone else, like Kara. But in this case, I doubt it. He asked us to keep his decision quiet. We only told Lucinda a week ago.”

  I heard someone clear his throat in an obvious manner. Both Meg and I looked over at Trevor. It was easy to forget he was even there.

  With a snide tone, Meg asked, “Trevor, would you like to say something?” She faced him, hands on her hips.

  Trevor straightened up in his chair and fixed an annoyed gaze on Meg. “You just stated no one knew about the Carter Power decision. Is that correct, Kit?”

  What was the point of keeping the secret anymore with Langsford dead? “Yes, although I guess that means you were eavesdropping on our conversation. Is that correct, Trevor?”

  Trevor chuckled in a stifled way. I couldn’t remember him laughing in the four years he sat next to me. He wasn’t a fun-loving person, by any stretch of the imagination.

  “It’s hard not to eavesdrop, sitting next to you, Kit. The way you talk, you and your best buddy here …” he jerked his thumb to point at Meg, “seem to think you’re sitting in a priest’s confessional rather than in the middle of a Senate office.”

  Meg let out a tiny gasp. I thought of all the times Meg and I had sat at my desk, chatting indiscriminately about all kinds of issues and people, with that weasel Trevor listening in on our conversations.

  “Okay, you’ve made your point. You like to listen in on other people’s conversations. So what’s the big deal about the Carter Power decision?”

  He smoothed his tailored pants and forced a fake smile. “Just a reminder. Your office transactions have not been exactly secretive.”

  “Trevor, if you know something about Carter Power, tell me right now.” I turned my chair to face him directly.

  “I find it ironic that we have hardly spoken all this time, and now you expect me to divulge sensitive information.” No doubt about it. Trevor was enjoying this. He had watched Meg and me chatter away for hours on end, day in and day out. Was he jealous? Maybe Trevor just wanted a friend.

  I tried a gentler approach. “Trevor, I just want to make sure I can carry on the senator’s legacy after his death. Don’t you think that’s what he would have wanted? I need to know who else in this office knew about Carter Power.”

  Trevor’s face softened. “It’s not a person inside the office.”

  Had Carter Power’s lobbyist Jeff Prentice told someone about our confidential discussions? If Prentice had opened his mouth, it might have sabotaged Regan’s chance of persuading Langsford to join him. Veteran politicians like Langsford didn’t appreciate being bullied over a big decision. Lobbyists had considerable power in Washington, but limits existed. Elected officials reacted poorly if lobbyists painted them into a corner. Besides, Langsford had sworn everyone to secrecy during the discussions. All participants had agreed to his terms, even Jeff.

  “Who could have found out about this outside the office? Trevor, you didn’t say something to a friend, did you?” This was a long shot, since I doubted Trevor had many friends.

  He shook his head. “You’re missing the obvious, Kit.”

  He was enjoying this riddle repartee, and he was going to make me work for the answer.

  I looked at him blankly. I could tell from the expression on Meg’s face that she had lost patience. She despised Trevor, and she didn’t want to waste more time talking with him.

  Meg extended a manicured red nail toward him. “Now listen here. Stop playing these silly games and tell us. If it was so obvious, we’d already know who it was, wouldn’t we?”

  “That’s a leap of logic I wouldn’t make,” said Trevor.

  As Meg glowered, Trevor leaned back in his chair. “I can see you two need some help on this. Who else advised Langsford on the decisions he made as a senator? Wouldn’t it make sense he would have talked to her about such an important choice?”

  He was right. It was so obvious, I completely missed it. If I was going to figure out who had murdered Senator Langsford, I’d have to hone my sleuthing skills.

  “Vivian, of course. Senator Langsford hardly made a decision without talking to his wife.”

  Trevor beamed—a rare sight for a guy who didn’t make smiling a priority. “Well, it’s good to know you’re not completely clueless.” He turned back toward his computer and started pounding away.

  Of course we could not be absolutely sure Vivian knew about Senator Langsford’s decision concerning Carter Power. He had been more adamant about keeping his position under wraps than the other times he had sworn staff to secrecy.

  I toyed with the idea of Vivian as a prime suspect. She had wanted Senator Langsford to retire from the Senate at the end of his term and get a high-paying job as a defense lobbyist, even though Langsford was eager to run for another term. Voting against Carter Power wouldn’t endear him to most of the power players on K Street. Both his desire to remain in the Senate and revoke his support of Carter Power had to rub Vivian the wrong way.

  Furthermore, she would have had access to the senator’s office and Kara’s area. She could have easily swiped my memo and put it in the recycling bin. Did she want to keep her husband’s intentions regarding Carter Power under wraps so she could broker a sweetheart deal down the road?

  My theory didn’t matter if I couldn’t confirm Trevor’s contention. “Wait a second, Trevor. Are you positive Vivian knew about Carter Power? Or are you just assuming?”

  Trevor stopped banging the keyboard and peered at me. “Kit, of course I’m positive. Would I provide you with less than concrete information pertaining to a murder investigation?”

  “How did you know? I need specifics, Trevor.”

  “Quite simple. One day last week I was waiting to meet with the senator, and I took a seat in his waiting area.” Trevor’s language was so formal, it bordered on amusing. Who talked like that?

  I prodded him, “Go on. Spit it out.” If all my interrogations took this long, I might as well wait for the police and forensics to solve the murder.

  “It was late in the day. Mrs. Langsford was also waiting for the senator so they could go to their evening engagement. Her cellphone rang, and she took the call. She was obviously upset about what the caller was saying. From listening to her end of the conversation, I could tell it was about Carter Power. She insisted she had tried to persuade the senator to support Carter Power, and she wasn’t having much luck. She was distressed by her failure.” He paused and stared at me. “Does that information suffice?”

  It did, and I thanked him. But a crucial piece of information was missing. “Do you know who the caller was?”

  “She never referred to the person by name, so it would be impossible to come to a conclusion.” He returned to his computer.

  Even though Trevor couldn’t identify the caller, what he’d told me was valuable. Vivian had known that the senator intended to deep-six Carter Power. Someone had been keeping her informed. She was also quite upset about Langsford’s position. Vivian didn’t seem distraught over her husband’s murder. Was that because it wasn’t news to her? Had she done it herself or colluded with someone to kill him before he voted against Carter Power later this week at the hearing?

  I shuddered as I considered the possibility of Vivian’s involvement in Senator Langsford’s death. All the dinners, receptions, and campaign events together flashed before me. Maybe Vivi
an had grown tired of her life as a senator’s wife. Perhaps she wanted to leave Washington altogether and live somewhere else. The possibilities were endless. But if that were the case, why not just divorce him? After all, the money was hers. Being divorced was no disgrace these days.

  All I knew was she had access to his office and the opportunity to put my memo in the garbage. Whoever had tossed the memo was trying to cover up something important—a motive for killing Senator Langsford.

  Chapter 7

  All of a sudden, I was ravenous. I turned to Meg. “I haven’t eaten anything all day, and I’m starving. What about you?”

  She smiled. “You know me. I can always eat.”

  That was an understatement. Meg was one of those enviable creatures who could consume whatever she wanted without consequences, including several drinks of choice at happy hour. Despite her seemingly endless indulgences, she remained slender. She rarely exercised and complained bitterly about it when she did. I, on the other hand, faced a constant struggle with the battle of the bulge. One bad week of overindulging, and I found myself with no alternative than to wake up at 6 a.m. for spinning class so my tailored suits still fit.

  “Why don’t we go to Union Station and get some lunch?” A huge food court resided inside the train station a few blocks away. It was an inexpensive dining option for hungry Senate staffers. I glanced at my watch. Two o’clock meant the lunch crowd would be long gone.

  With a pained look, Meg said, “Kit, do you remember what happened today? Not only was our boss murdered, but until the Capitol Police solve this case, you’re the prime suspect—at least as far as the media is concerned.”

  The picture Matt showed me online flashed before my eyes. By now, every blogger and newspaper under the sun had surely obtained it. Despite the best efforts of the police, a good Internet rumor doesn’t get quashed in a few hours.

  I sighed. “You’re right. A stroll down Second Street wouldn’t make much sense right now.” Was I trapped in this office? I imagined spending days upon days here and felt a newfound sympathy for Edward Snowden.

  Meg said, “Don’t worry. I think I can get away with venturing outside. I’ll buy us lunch; then we can sit in a smaller conference room and eat. You just sit at your desk and relax, okay?” She gently pushed me into my seat. “Don’t look at the Internet. Don’t turn on the television. Take a few minutes to unwind.”

  Meg was right. The tension had been building up all day, and now I had an enormous headache. Instead of my usual three or four doses of coffee, I’d barely finished one cup. “Meg, bring me a Coke Zero, will you? I need the buzz.”

  She whipped her head around. She was wearing large Jackie Onassis sunglasses and had pulled her blond bob into a ponytail. I was impressed. “I like the disguise. You look like Gwyneth Paltrow before her conscious uncoupling.” An avid consumer of Hollywood news, she smiled and sped out of the office.

  I should have listened to Meg’s advice and relaxed for a few moments. I did avoid the Internet and television, but my email inbox was a different story. Many of the messages were from people who lived in Massachusetts and wanted to know what would happen to the legislation or projects we’d been working on. Lucinda would give us instructions soon about how to reply, so I ignored them. Other emails were from numerous Senate friends and contacts. It was comforting to know that a cadre of colleagues didn’t believe I had killed Senator Langsford.

  I opened an email from my mother. My parents were retired and spent half the year traveling the world. It was impossible to keep track of them. They were currently on a wine-tasting trip in California. That was perfect. Computer-savvy, they used an iPhone to maintain contact when they hit the road, but wine tasting was a favorite activity. Shocking news would at least be received in a muted fashion, particularly if they had started touring the vineyards early in the day. The email confirmed my suspicions. They had heard about Langsford’s death, yet details about my status as a suspect had escaped them. There were more wineries to be visited, and the news hadn’t upset them too much.

  The train of thought involving my wine-mellowed parents led to another, less reassuring one. Doug’s parents would respond differently to today’s events. No one would describe their temperaments as mellow. With considerable resources at their disposal, Doug’s family surely knew the stories posted online fingered me as a suspect. They were undoubtedly mortified. Doug probably had spent the better part of the day on the phone with them in an attempt to control the damage.

  Meg reappeared at my desk, and we adjourned to an unoccupied conference room to eat our lunch. Usually, all three conference rooms in our Senate office were booked from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. by lobbyists, constituents, and other policy advocates who wanted precious minutes of Senator Langsford’s time. Today, the small conference room sat eerily vacant.

  Nibbling on low-fat chicken tacos, my lunchtime staple, I watched with envy as Meg unwrapped her chorizo and cheese monstrosity, accompanied by a large side order of chips with guacamole. Some people had all the luck.

  Meg took a big bite. After swallowing, she asked, “What are you doing tomorrow night after work?”

  “Nothing much, except trying to avoid a murder charge.”

  “So clever! Well, I ran into Jeff Prentice on the way to Union Station. He wants to meet us for drinks tomorrow night at Lounge 201. I told him we’d be there.”

  Lounge 201 was a trendy bar near the Senate office buildings. Various happy hour specials made it a convenient watering hole for staff. Darkly lit with tiny tables, it was a good place to socialize and enjoy a cocktail, or two … or three. Since Lounge 201 boasted a wide selection of martinis, I didn’t refuse invites often. Yet an evening with Prentice wasn’t high on my “to do” list.

  “After the conversation I had with Senator Regan today, I’m not sure I’m up for a night on the town with Jeff Prentice.” After all, Jeff was Carter Power’s chief lobbyist. I wasn’t his favorite person these days.

  “Kit, do you want to find out who killed Senator Langsford?”

  “Of course I do. Then I can return to my life of anonymity.”

  She nodded. “That’s right. We can leave this up to the police, who will take a week to figure out who the likely suspects are, then God knows how long to solve the case.” She paused. “If they ever solve it. In the meantime, you’re the one person ever mentioned as a suspect. It’s Gary Condit all over again.”

  “Did they ever figure out who killed Chandra Levy?”

  “Yes, seven years later, and it wasn’t the good congressman. Doesn’t mean his reputation ever recovered.”

  “But if the police can’t solve the murder of the senator,” I said, “how are we going to do it? Last time I checked, your college major was English, not criminology.”

  “Kit, think about what we do for a living. We make observations and reach conclusions. Sure, it’s about political issues, but it’s basically the same thing. We just have to use our smarts.” She tapped her head. “And if we do that, we’ll figure this out. Besides, don’t you read a mystery novel a week? You should be an expert.”

  I winced at her mention of my favorite pastime. My Kindle bill rivaled Meg’s monthly makeup expenditure. We both had our vices. Of course I had already decided to try my hand at sleuthing with regard to this case. However, reading about murder was one thing; solving a real crime didn’t necessarily follow. I was also somewhat sensitive about my love of popular murder mysteries. While the rest of the Washington elite attended the opera, the symphony, and independent documentary films I had never heard of, I preferred the company of Carl Hiaasen, Janet Evanovich, and Dame Agatha.

  “I’m glad you have such confidence in my sleuthing abilities. What’s with this ‘we,’ anyway? You hate mysteries.” Meg didn’t share my love of crime novels. Her major pastimes were dating cute guys who worked on Capitol Hill and reading trendy fashion magazines.

  Meg’s expression turned serious. “I’m surprised at you, Kit. Did you think I could just
stand by and watch your career go down the toilet because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Of course I’m going to help clear your name.”

  I had to fight back a tear. It had been a stressful day, and Meg’s words tugged at my heart. Knowing Meg had my back made me feel a hundred percent better.

  I gave Meg a quick hug. She grinned at me. “Should I text Jeff and let him know we’re on for tomorrow night?”

  “You bet. I have a hunch Senator Langsford’s death is somehow related to Carter Power, and Jeff Prentice is ground zero.”

  We finished our lunch quickly and returned to our desks. After the morning’s drama, the afternoon’s deluge of calls and messages filled our time with a comforting bustle. Lucinda assigned all staff to answer the phones, since the office switchboard was lit up with calls offering condolences and inquiring about the senator’s murder. We took message after message and dutifully provided the office mailing address for those who wanted to send sympathy cards to Mrs. Langsford.

  At quitting time, I worried about the press corps, still holding vigil outside the office. But Matt came up with a brilliant idea. Instead of leaving our office through the regular entrance, I exited through the upstairs door of our two-floor suite, the one Senator Langsford had called his “secret exit.” He used it when he wanted to avoid reporters, who usually camped outside our main office doors after a controversial vote. The exit was a few steps from a bank of elevators, which whisked him down to the parking garage. My departure was more complicated because I needed to leave Hart through the lobby. Much to my surprise, I left without fanfare. Keeping my head down, I walked through the building’s lobby then jetted behind the long shadows of the Calder statue. I was outside in fewer than ten seconds.

  Riding home on the Metro was no problem. D.C. social mores forbid eye contact on the subway. No one so much as glanced in my direction. Before I knew it, I was headed toward our condo building. At 7 p.m., it was still light out, yet the heat of the day had dissipated. Normally, I loved this time of year. If I arrived home at a decent hour, I liked to sit on the balcony, pour myself a glass of wine, and read a mystery novel. After dealing with constituents and other Capitol Hill staffers all day, I relished a few quiet minutes by myself. Usually Doug was buried in a book or his research and didn’t mind my brief seclusion. There wasn’t going to be much “quiet time” tonight.