As soon as I opened the door, Clarence greeted me with several “woofs,” punctuated with sloppy doggie kisses. Clarence was a needy dog, although perhaps that’s redundant. Doug worked at home part of the time, so Clarence was spoiled. He craved constant petting, admiration, rubbing, and feeding. Unless he was asleep, Clarence wanted attention, thanks to his origins as an adopted beagle rescue pup. We didn’t mind. Clarence called the shots in our household.
I bent down to massage Clarence’s floppy ears. His sparkling brown eyes glistened appreciatively, and he nuzzled my neck briefly with his wet nose. Clarence had a healthy appetite. Like most dogs, he was “food motivated.” In short, he was obsessed with dog treats. Clarence must not have figured out that Doug and I discussed his food consumption, because Clarence always pounced on me when I came home, thinking I could be duped into serving him more treats or even a second dinner.
Tonight wasn’t the time to argue with Clarence about his obsession. I walked over to the drawer where we kept his treats—complete with a child safety lock so Clarence couldn’t help himself. After giving him a biscuit, I leaned down to rub his neck and he snuck in a quick lick. That was the best part about having a dog. Even if the entire country thought I was a murderer, Clarence would remain devoted, especially if the treats kept flowing.
Doug came down the hallway with a book in his hand. Apparently, the fact that his live-in girlfriend was a murder suspect hadn’t stopped him from continuing his research. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. Doug should wear a t-shirt with the tagline “I’m a Professor” on it. He looked and acted the part perfectly.
“Tough day, huh?” He smiled and gave me a half hug.
I shrugged. “I’ve definitely had better. Where do you want me to begin?”
“Before you start, I think you need a drink,” Doug proposed.
“That’s the best suggestion anyone has made all day.”
He uncorked a bottle of Virginia Riesling and grabbed two glasses from our vast collection. Like my parents, I enjoyed wine tasting, particularly in the surrounding countryside only a few hours from Washington, D.C.
I briefly sniffed my wine before settling into an overstuffed armchair, detecting a nose of aromatic peaches with hints of floral. I took a long drink.
Doug settled next to me on the sofa and stretched out, bringing the bottle of wine with him. “Now that you have the proper liquid refreshment, why don’t you tell me how you ended up as the prime murder suspect of a prominent United States Senator?”
I recounted the day’s events to Doug, with more details than during our frantic conversation earlier on the phone. He silently sipped his wine and poured me another glass. Like Meg, Doug was a good listener. He had calmed down considerably since our chat this morning. He didn’t interrupt me as I told my story and avoided peppering me with questions.
I sat back on the sofa and rubbed my temples. Massaging my shoulders and neck, Doug said, “Kit, it’s terrible what happened, but I think you’re in the clear. You don’t have a motive, and who would kill someone and stagger out of his office with the murder weapon? The police know that, and I’m sure they’ll find the killer soon.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have much faith that the police will solve the murder easily. The killer is someone who knew Senator Langsford and had a personal motive for wanting him dead. It’s going to take the police several days to develop a list of suspects. He had a lot of friends, enemies, and acquaintances. It’s almost impossible for outsiders to understand the inner workings of a political circle. By the time they agree on a pool of suspects, the killer might already have covered his tracks.”
“You might be right, but there’s nothing you can do about it, is there? You’re going to have to sit tight and provide the police with as much information as possible. Maybe that will help them solve the crime.”
I poured myself a little more of the wine, which was making me bolder. “I’ll help the police as much as I’m asked, but I don’t think I should rely on them to solve this case.”
Doug stared at me, bewildered. As much as Meg was adventurous, Doug was cautious. It must be the New England blue blood that ran through his veins. I liked to push the envelope; Doug played it safe. It was classic yin and yang. Doug’s restraint was also one of the reasons why I sought out Meg. My best friend brought out the crazy side of me Doug tried to suppress.
“I’m not sure what you mean. Do you want my parents to hire a private detective to clear your name? I can call Father and see what he thinks, although I’m certain he’s going to want us to steer clear of drawing more attention to your involvement in the murder.”
I chuckled. “No, I definitely don’t want your parents to hire a detective.” I hesitated for a second, searching for the right words to make our plan sound less foolish than it was. “Meg and I think we might be able to put our heads together and follow up on some leads.”
Now it was Doug’s turn to laugh. “ ‘Follow up on some leads’? Do I need to remind you that you’re a Senate staffer, not Lord Peter Wimsey … or maybe Harriet Vane? Should I also remind you that you’re soon to be unemployed, once Senator Langsford’s replacement is named? How are you going to solve a crime … perhaps between interviews for a new job?”
Now it was my turn to ratchet up the emotions. “Doug, there isn’t going to be another job for me on Capitol Hill unless I clear my name, and do it quickly. So I think it might be a good investment of my time to solve this murder.” Hearing the last sentence come out of my mouth shocked me. Was I really serious about investigating Senator Langsford’s death?
Doug’s expression grew solemn. “You’ve already made up your mind. All I can say is you’d better be careful. If someone was angry enough to murder a sitting United States Senator as he sat in his office, that person won’t be intimidated by a young Miss Marple and her trusted sidekick. If you poke around, you’re going to bring attention to yourself, especially if the murderer is part of the ‘inner circle,’ or whatever you call it.”
While I was sure Doug had heard from his father today about “damage control” and his family’s need for me to distance myself from the murder investigation, that wasn’t the main reason he wanted me to mind my own business. There was a murderer on the loose, and if my hunch was correct, the perpetrator was someone familiar. He or she would be watching my behavior and actions closely. As much as I wanted to find the person who killed Senator Langsford, I didn’t want to become the next victim.
I smiled tightly. “Point taken. I’ll be careful. Besides, Meg and I are just going to do some surface stuff. We won’t dig deep enough to alert the killer. So I wouldn’t worry about us risking our lives.”
Doug put his arm around me. “I’m sure you’re correct. Besides, it will give you something to do at work for the next couple of days before the office closes. You might as well make it interesting.”
If only we had known how wrong our predictions would turn out to be ….
Chapter 8
That night I fell into an unsettled sleep. In my dreams, I was clutching the model helicopter that killed Langsford and running toward the exit of the Senate office building. People noticed I had the weapon and a crowd surrounded me. When I broke free and tried to escape, I couldn’t open the heavy door. The mob grew bigger and louder behind me. I finally woke up, perspiring and wondering what had happened. The realization that it was just a nightmare ignited pangs of both relief and sadness.
Morning arrived too early. My less than stellar night’s sleep provided a legitimate excuse to skip my usual morning jog. A nice relaxing breakfast at home was the better option. No reason to beat my colleagues to the office today. First, my boss was dead. Second, I had arrived to work early yesterday, and look what had happened?
Doug’s soft, rhythmic snores indicated he was none the worse for wear. His relatively blasé attitude yesterday evening hadn’t shocked me. Doug had a knack for blocking out the rest of the world
when he was working on a project, and he’d started his latest research masterpiece a few weeks ago when the semester ended. Since he was a professor, he devised his own schedule in the summertime. That didn’t mean he frolicked at the condominium’s pool. Quite the opposite. Doug was the quintessential academic, with his absentminded approach to life, but he was also a hard charger who didn’t blow off the time between classes. Furthermore, he didn’t write about American history for financial security or the accolades. He had plenty of money that came to him annually as part of his trust fund. Doug was an intellectual purist, motivated by an infatuation with knowledge. He published his dissertation on the great Virginia dynasty of presidents soon after leaving graduate school. Immediately following that groundbreaking work came a book on the first Supreme Court. I envied Doug and the ease with which he forged a successful career path. Only since I started working for Congress in the policy world had I felt fulfilled.
Stifling a yawn, I ambled down the hallway of our spacious condo. My career plan was in jeopardy, given I might not have a job in the near future. Even if another position miraculously presented itself, I would miss working for Senator Langsford. Constant headaches came with the job, but they were eventually resolved, leaving Meg and me to share a good laugh.
I hustled Clarence outside for a brief morning walk. Upon our return, he raced into the kitchen, sat obediently at my feet, and licked my legs. Then he emitted a muted growl. Clarence typically started his shenanigans with a low decibel rumble. Ignoring him resulted in a gradual increase of volume. Scratching his ears would placate him momentarily while I made coffee.
Doug’s parents had bought us a top-of-the-line espresso machine. We were lucky to live in a condo with enough counter space; the machine consumed an entire corner of our open kitchen. Normally I would have chafed at such an extravagant gift, but I craved coffee in the morning, and nothing beat a large dose of top-quality espresso. As I ground the coffee, Clarence gave me a reminder growl. He was still trying to be polite, but he was losing patience. I didn’t have much time.
I wanted to toast my bagel, yet if I delayed much longer, Clarence would wake Doug with a full beagle howl. I left the espresso to brew and undid the lock on Clarence’s food cabinet. He wiggled his butt in excitement as I poured the kibble into his bowl.
With Clarence momentarily satisfied, I popped my bagel into the toaster and steamed my milk for a monster triple-shot latte. Glancing toward our condo’s mammoth ceiling-to-floor window, I saw more clouds than sun. It might be safe to enjoy breakfast on the balcony without suffering unbearable heat. Just as I was about to head outside, I heard Doug enter the kitchen.
“I’m surprised you’re up this early,” I said. “Aren’t you on your summer schedule?”
He gave me a half smile. “Actually, I had a horrible night’s sleep. I kept dreaming you were running away with a bloody helicopter in your hand.”
I almost dropped my latte. They said people who lived together too long started to look like each other. I wondered if cohabitants also started to have the same dreams.
“Funny you should say that. I dreamt the same thing.”
“Wow. Wonder why?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. I looked at my watch. The prospect of a serene balcony breakfast had gone by the wayside. It was time to gulp my bagel, shower and dress, and depart for work.
As I moved toward the bathroom, Doug asked, “Hey, where are you going in such a rush? Don’t you want to make me a latte?” He grinned.
“No time for love, Dr. Jones. Got to get to it.” Doug appreciated my movie quotes. They were appropriately placed and usually downright funny.
“What are you going to do at work today, anyway?”
Doug must have either conveniently forgotten our conversation from the night before or concluded I’d been tipsy, deranged, or both. I could remind him my main goal was to figure out who killed Lyndon Langsford, or I could let him think I’d given up on that adventure. Honesty is not always the best policy.
I chose my words carefully. “There will be a lot of loose ends to tie up in the office today. I want to make sure I’m as useful as possible.”
He must not have noticed the vagueness of my words, because his only response was an uninterested nod. He already had his iPad fired up and was scanning the morning edition of the Washington Post. I used his distraction to my advantage, and in an effort to avoid further questioning, I made a dash for the shower. A few minutes later, I headed out the door for the day. I waved him a breezy air kiss and locked the door behind me.
It was time to get to work. That is, it was time to figure out who had killed Senator Langsford.
Chapter 9
The trip into work was uneventful, although I worried every Metro rider was staring at me. I fought back a wave of paranoia. According to Doug’s iPad email debrief, the morning newspapers had reported that Senator Langsford’s body had been “discovered by a longtime staffer.” Reports also stated, “Police questioned the aide, who has been released at this time.” It was far from a complete exoneration, but it might be enough to keep the press hounds at bay. No thanks to press secretary extraordinaire, Mandy Lippman. Without Matt’s intervention, she wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help.
I stopped by the downstairs café in the adjacent Dirksen Senate office building before heading upstairs to work. I was about to put my usual allotment of skim milk and sugar substitute into my second morning coffee when I almost collided with a familiar rival. Jerking my head to look up from my drink, I found myself face to face with Representative Jordan Jessop.
Jessop didn’t look like a member of Congress. He was vertically challenged, although he probably had a few inches on James Madison, our nation’s shortest U.S. president at 5’4.” Some factoids were assimilated by osmosis while one dated a historian. Unlike most politicians, who plastered permanent smiles on their faces, Jessop usually wore a scowl. He wasn’t a slight man. Today he was dressed in a summer suit that failed to flatter his chubby build. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and he looked as though he’d already run the Boston Marathon. Instead, he’d walked over to the Senate from the House office buildings, about fifteen minutes away.
Jessop’s appearance didn’t give me pause. After all, Washington was known as “Hollywood for ugly people,” so physically unattractive people were par for the course. This was supposed to be a town that ran on smarts and savvy. Jessop had been Langsford’s rival in his most recent Senate election. Working for Senator Langford’s campaign, my sole focus for six months had been to defeat him and the values he espoused.
There was no escaping this encounter; I had almost doused Jessop with my coffee. I immediately put a smile on my face. “Hello, Congressman Jessop. I’m Kit Marshall from Senator Langsford’s office.” I extended my hand for a polite shake.
His stare identified me as a bug ripe for extermination. No doubt Jessop remembered I had worked for Langsford during the Senate campaign and held it against me. At the congressional delegation meetings Langsford hosted, he’d always looked at me with extra distaste. Meg insisted I had imagined this hostility, but his present reaction to me confirmed his revulsion was authentic.
He ignored my hand. “Yes, I certainly remember you. I flew in last night, and I’m heading over to your office in a minute to pay my condolences to Vivian and the others. It’s a tragedy, yet the work for our state must continue.” Jessop gave me a knowing glance.
I tensed at Jessop’s obvious delight over having my boss out of the way. “Of course, of course. I’m headed to the office now. Do you need any assistance in finding your way around the Senate complex, Representative Jessop?” I put a slight emphasis on the “Representative” to remind him he was a House member and not a senator.
“No, no. I certainly know my way around the Senate, for the all the years I’ve been on the Hill. I imagine I’ll become much more familiar with your office in coming days.”
I looked at him curiously. Jessop was tossing something back at me, and
I was slow on the uptake.
He didn’t wait for my response. “As you know, our great state has recently elected a governor of my political party. Therefore, it’s altogether likely,” he paused for dramatic effect as he drew in his large belly and puffed out his squat chest, “that I will be named as Senator Langsford’s successor. I’ll return home tonight to await the announcement.”
I couldn’t conceal my audible gasp. I had been so overwhelmed with the murder of Senator Langsford and the investigation swirling around me, it had slipped my mind that Jessop might be Langsford’s successor. Jessop was certainly correct. He would be the leading candidate to serve the remainder of Senator Langsford’s term.
I smiled meekly at Jessop, wishing I had shown more humility in our earlier exchange. Still, he wouldn’t be hiring me, so I couldn’t resist a small dig. “I wish you the best of luck, Congressman. Of course, right now, I’m only focused on grieving for Senator Langsford and hoping his killer is brought to justice.”
Jessop’s face immediately turned bright red. “Yes, of course. We must focus on finding out who committed this horrible crime. That’s what I’ve been saying to every reporter who asked me for a comment.”
I nodded curtly and returned to fixing my coffee. Stirring my drink, I realized I had just spoken with a prime suspect. What better motive for murder than a United States Senate seat? Jessop had almost made the big leap from the House to the Senate, yet Langsford was more congenial and friendly. An all-around better politician. There was no way Jessop would have beaten Langsford in a head-to-head rematch. Challengers typically got one shot for a Senate seat. After a candidate lost to a sitting senator, the state political party usually nominated someone else the next time around. The only way Jessop could move to the Senate would be if Langsford were removed. He would have to die, resign, or decide not to run for another term. Langsford was ethically pure, so it was unlikely he would ever resign due to a scandal. He’d recently come into his own with his “independent” streak and had gained substantial support across parties in the state for his unconventional policy positions. His reelection wasn’t guaranteed, but the outlook was positive for another term. The only way Jessop could make his way to the Senate would be if Lyndon Langsford died. His wish had been granted, but by whom?
Stabbing in the Senate Page 6
