As we walked out, we peeked into Lucinda’s office. She looked even worse off than Matt. She was completely bent over, her upper body resting on the desk. Her telephone headset was dangling, like an askew tiara on a beauty queen. She’d been on the phone all day, and the weary drudgery of reciting the plans for the wake and telling well-wishers to donate to Senator Langsford’s favorite charity had taken its toll. We both gave her a wave as we headed for the exit.
I daydreamed about becoming a chief of staff in the Senate one day in the future. Lucinda always had the senator’s ear and the enviable capacity to catapult an issue or concern to the top of his agenda. Observing Lucinda that evening, however, I realized that a great deal of responsibility came along with a job as important as hers. I needed a few more years under my belt before assuming that type of position.
We walked into the evening air, which was still a balmy 85 degrees. Thankfully, Lounge 201 was only a short block away. Any longer of a walk and we’d have to take off our suit jackets to withstand the oppressive humidity. I spent all year waiting for the summer, yet when it arrived in D.C., I joined in with the familiar cacophony of discord and complained incessantly about the horrible heat.
I took advantage of the short jaunt to query Meg about meeting Jeff Prentice tonight. “Can you tell me again why we agreed to join my least favorite lobbyist for drinks? It’s not like he can pay for us anymore, you know.”
Ethics laws had changed drastically in recent years. Lobbyists used to wine and dine congressional staff on a routine basis, often resulting in so-called “working” lunches, dinners, and happy hours. That fun had come to a halt, and now lobbyists could only host staff and members of Congress at “widely attended events” that involved no chairs or forks. It made little sense to most staff on Capitol Hill. As long as the meat was on a stick and no one could sit down, lobbyists could still buy us a drink. The moment our bottoms hit the seat and we picked up a utensil, the lobbyists put their credit cards away.
“Kit, even you admitted yesterday that if Senator Langsford’s death had something to do with Carter Power, Jeff Prentice was the best place to start digging.”
“Wait.” I thrust my arm out to make Meg stop in her tracks. “Let’s take a moment to come up with a game plan.”
She almost tripped when her body collided with my arm. Giggling, she said, “You sound like a high school basketball coach or something.”
Laughing with her, I realized it was the first time since Senator Langsford died that I had cracked a genuine smile. It felt good to relax for a moment.
“Let’s get serious. What do we need to get out of this conversation?”
Meg thought for a few seconds. “First, we should figure out who had a motive to kill Senator Langsford.”
“Good idea. Let’s go through the list.”
“There’s Vivian Langsford. We know she stood to inherit a lot of money from the senator’s life insurance.”
“That’s true. But I did learn this morning that she has an alibi. So we need to check that out.”
“Besides Vivian, there’s also Representative Jessop.”
“Definitely. He wants to become a United States Senator more than anything else, and the only way he could have a shot would be if Senator Langsford resigned or died.”
Who else was on the suspect list? “Consider Carter Power. The two people who might have wanted Senator Langsford out of the way are Senator Regan and Jeff Prentice. If Senator Langsford had voted the way he intended, Carter Power’s longstanding contract with the Pentagon would be history. That would mean hundreds of lost jobs in California, and doomsday for Senator Regan’s reelection campaign. It might also have cost Jeff Prentice his job, since he’s Carter Power’s main lobbyist in Washington.”
Meg agreed. “Carter Power could be the main motive for killing Senator Langsford. Don’t forget Trevor told us Vivian might also have been mixed up in Langsford’s position on Carter Power.”
I snapped my fingers. “I almost forgot about that. It gives her an additional motive besides the life insurance policy.”
“Is there anyone we’re missing?”
“I don’t want to rule anyone out—and I mean anyone—at this point. Let’s try to think creatively. Who else might have a motive to kill Senator Langsford?”
Meg said slowly, “I suppose any employee in our office. But I don’t like saying that out loud, do you? That would mean we’ve been working alongside a murderer.” Meg lowered her voice when she said the word “murderer,” as if it was a dirty word.
I cupped my chin in a deliberate pause, waiting for two staffers to pass us by on the sidewalk. Meddlesome eavesdroppers were ubiquitous in Washington. Saying something juicy too loudly at the wrong time meant casual comments could end up in a Washington Post article the next morning.
“I see your point. But we don’t have the luxury of eliminating anyone now. There may be more motives out there we need to uncover. I read in one of my mysteries that motive is the key to solving a crime. Motive will give us our possible suspects; then we’ll take it from there.”
“Can you tell me with a straight face we should consider Matt a suspect?” Meg put her hand on her hip and tilted her head at me.
“That’s a tough one. It’s unlikely he’s on our short list. But let’s not exclude anyone right now. For example, think about Lucinda. You and I don’t know if she’s got some crazy hidden motive to get Senator Langsford out of the way. Or even Kara! Maybe Mandy? Or could it be Trevor?” My voice was getting louder, as it usually did when I got excited. I thrust my finger into the air to emphasize my point. “We can leave no stone unturned!”
It was Meg’s turn to laugh. “You’ve made your point. We won’t discount anyone right now, but let’s focus on Jeff tonight. With any luck, he’s already had one martini and is ordering his second as we speak. Remember how drunk he got at the Carter Power holiday party?”
I had a flashback of Jeff Prentice swilling down alcoholic drinks and stumbling past me at the annual event. “I remember, although I wish I didn’t. This is a good environment to pump him for information. I have to admit, Meg, I didn’t know how you’d adapt to this gumshoe role, but you’ve been resourceful.”
My best friend blushed. “We’ve always made a great team, haven’t we?”
Now it was my turn to blush. I reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Yes, we have. And I’m sure we have a lot of adventures still in store. Aren’t you?”
“Definitely. Now let’s go inside, have a drink, and figure out if Jeff Prentice murdered our boss.”
Chapter 12
We walked down the short staircase to Lounge 201, which was the quintessential Capitol Hill basement bar. A below street level bar was appropriate for bottom-feeders. Although there were more sharks at this bar than the Great Barrier reef, I still liked the place. The décor was garishly seedy, complete with leopard print high-back chairs and dim lighting, but it wasn’t a bad place to hang out after a stressful workday. It was a Wednesday evening, meaning half-price martinis. That was always a popular night, which could make it difficult to find a seat. We arrived earlier than usual since we’d left the office right at six. Hopefully we wouldn’t be standing by the bar, straining to hear every other word from Jeff.
I let my eyes adjust to the dark. We were in luck. The full onslaught of Senate staff thirsting for cheap libations wouldn’t descend for another forty-five minutes. We had our pick of tables. I motioned for Meg to head to the corner of the lounge so we could maximize privacy with Jeff when he arrived.
We sat at the circular corner table and picked up the drink-special menu. I was ready to order, and I was sure Meg’s mind was made up as well. Regular customers knew the best deals each day of the week. With a mission to accomplish, tonight wasn’t the time to try out new drinks.
Our waitress came over to the table and asked us in a bored monotone if we had decided. I asked for the White Cosmopolitan, which was a deliciously crisp and refreshing substitute for the traditional.
Meg ordered a Jamaicatini, reminiscent of her recent Caribbean vacation with its rum and mango blend.
As we waited for our beverages and Jeff’s arrival, I reminded Meg we needed to extract as much information as possible from our guest. “I know it’s hard to pry you away on discounted martini night, but we should sip one drink only and try to get him to ’fess up.”
Meg strained to appear innocent as our cocktails arrived. “You don’t have to remind me why we’re here. I set this up, remember? I know we need to keep it under control tonight. But don’t we also need to loosen up and act like we’re having fun with Jeff? Otherwise, he’s never going to tell us anything.” Meg gave me a pouty look that made me think I was spoiling her evening.
I was about to tell Meg we could act like we were having fun without drinking Jeff under the table when I caught a glimpse of him entering the bar. Jeff certainly looked like a stereotypical defense lobbyist. He had short dark hair cut close—similar to a military-style trim, but suitable for a young professional. He was in his late thirties, I guessed. As he walked across the room, he took off his aviator style sunglasses and tucked them inside his suit pocket. He was certainly in shape, probably continuing the regimen he’d followed in the Army.
Like many in the defense world, Jeff was a veteran. Those who served in the military could speak the language of endless acronyms that permeated defense policymaking circles in Washington. DARPA, ICAF, SAC-D, RTP, MLA, SOCOM. The abbreviations constituted a private language only a select few spoke fluently. Furthermore, veterans carried with them an air of unassailable legitimacy that helped them gain instant credibility with congressional offices of both parties.
Jeff had these advantages working in his favor, yet I still didn’t trust him. Since I worked on all issues before the Appropriations Committee for Senator Langsford, I had solid relationships with lobbyists all over town. A day never went by that I didn’t meet with or talk to a registered lobbyist. After four years of happy hours, meet-and-greets, and calorie-laden receptions, I could size up a lobbyist quickly and determine whether I trusted him or her. I had spent a considerable number of hours in the past six months with Jeff when Senator Langsford had begun to waver on the Carter Power contract. The whole time, my faith in him never grew stronger. If anything, I questioned his motives more. That was why I’d cringed when Meg suggested we meet him for drinks. He wasn’t my favorite lobbyist, and I doubted I was his favorite congressional staffer.
Jeff finally spotted us in the corner and made a beeline to the table. He smiled widely as he approached, almost like he’d just won reelection in a landslide. “How are two of my favorite ladies of Capitol Hill today?”
His affable demeanor threw me off. For months I had become accustomed to Jeff’s morose attitude as we negotiated regarding Carter Power. Langsford’s death might explain the change in his outlook. He’d been down in the dumps when he thought Carter Power might lose its contract and preferred standing. Now that Langsford was dead, there was a good chance Carter Power would be offered another lucrative contract, and that meant Jeff stood to collect a big bonus.
Jeff must have realized his super-friendly greeting was inappropriate for the occasion. He took one look at our blank faces before backpedaling. “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened to Langsford. You know I loved the guy. It’s such a shame to see a talented senator die in a horrible way.”
He paused, and when we didn’t respond, kept talking. “I guess the police don’t have many leads, or if they do, they’re not being made public.” He looked at both of us. Jeff wanted information from this meeting, perhaps to find out how much we knew about the murder. Our objective was to give him little, while trying to get him to give us as many details as possible.
Before Meg could respond, I said, “We understand the police are chasing down several leads and may be close to an arrest.” Meg gave me a questioning look, but I kicked her under the table so she would stay quiet. Baiting Jeff to see if he’d squirm at the prospect that the police were zeroing in on a suspect seemed like a smart way to start the interrogation.
He seemed alarmed at my white lie, but it was hard to tell if he was confused or simply surprised. “That’s news to me. I stopped by your office a few minutes ago to chat with Lucinda, and she didn’t think the police were far along at all.”
He shrugged and motioned for our waitress to take his order. Jeff gave her a thousand watt smile, his eyes wavering between her face and fitted blouse. “I know it’s half-price martini night, but I’m in the mood for a nice red wine. Do you have any Pinot Noir from Oregon?”
The cocktail waitress made a funny face. This wasn’t a place for a wine connoisseur. “We have six red wines on our menu, and we do have a Pinot Noir, but I think it’s from California.”
Jeff sighed. “That will have to do. I’ll take a glass.”
I raised my eyebrows. As long as I knew him, Jeff drank whatever was on special, usually not drifting too far from the Budweiser or Coors category. I glanced at the menu and confirmed, as I suspected, that the Pinot Noir was the most expensive wine on the menu.
I couldn’t resist asking about his selection. “So Jeff, have you been watching Sideways lately on cable, or what? I’ve never seen you order wine before, especially a nice wine.”
Jeff’s face clouded over, almost as though he’d been caught doing something naughty. I was willing to bet he had seen Sideways lately and had picked up the Pinot Noir reference, but I wasn’t going to push it. It was more intriguing that this former cheapskate’s palate had drifted from domestic tap beer to a $14 per glass wine.
He grimaced. “I’ve spent time in California recently with Senator Regan, and we toured some vineyards. I guess you could say I’ve been bitten by the wine bug.”
The waitress approached with his glass of wine, which Jeff carefully swirled, then sniffed deeply. That exchange led me to two conclusions. First, Jeff had either come into money recently or thought he was going to see an increase in salary soon, thereby explaining the expensive change in taste. Second, he had spent a considerable amount of time with Regan in California. Senator Regan didn’t seem the type of politician who would just invite a lobbyist to tour the local vineyards. There had to be another reason why Regan had gotten so chummy with Jeff Prentice lately.
With the waitress lingering at our table, Meg ordered us another round of drinks. She was getting antsy. I’d have to incorporate her into the conversation soon or she’d end up finishing her second drink way too quickly. Two martinis in rapid succession had the potential to send the evening into an intoxicated tailspin.
Jeff carefully studied his Pinot, raising the glass into the air and scrutinizing it from different angles. I took the opportunity to text Meg, using my BlackBerry underneath the table. Only the Senate maintained a contract with BlackBerry; the rest of Washington, D.C., and the world used more sophisticated smartphones. The sole advantage of the antiquated BlackBerry was the built-in keyboard, which made it easy to type messages without mistakes.
I typed, “Ask him Y he spent time w/ RGN in CA.” I hoped she understood my shorthand. She was usually adept in deciphering my shortcuts in texts. Her BlackBerry buzzed a second later, and she discreetly glanced at it underneath the table. I’d let Meg take the lead on the next round of questioning.
Meg took a big sip of her second martini and batted her eyelashes at Jeff. Oh boy. I had requested the full treatment when I gave Meg the green light to take the reins.
She smiled at Jeff and subtly licked her upper lip. “I like your new interest in wines. Tell me more about what you’ve seen in California.” She patted his hand with her carefully manicured nails. He edged slightly closer to her.
Meg let Jeff prattle on about several wineries he’d toured in California. Affirming my Sideways hypothesis, he explained he’d started liking Merlot but had moved on to Pinot Noir once he had “refined his palate” and “trained his nose” to appreciate the “full arsenal of scents” from various grapes. Jeff had clearly pi
cked up the appropriate vocabulary during his winery tour with Senator Regan.
Once she had lured him in, Meg asked, “So tell me again why you were visiting Senator Regan in California? Was it business? Or pleasure?” She emphasized the word “pleasure,” which sent a variety of subliminal messages to Jeff.
Her flirting must have achieved the desired effect, because Jeff didn’t hesitate in answering. “Oh, it was business, although I certainly had a lot of fun.”
Meg smiled again at him and took a seductive sip of her martini. “I see. Were you on business from Carter Power, then?”
Jeff paused for a second, presumably realizing the conversation was veering in directions he hadn’t anticipated. With a smirk, he leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I suppose it can’t hurt to let the cat out of the bag now.”
Meg giggled, which I could tell was fake, but I bet Jeff couldn’t. “Please, let the cat out of the bag. After all, you’re among friends and we’re all sharing secrets, right?”
He nodded. “Sure. I mean, it can’t hurt, and you guys don’t even work for Senator Langsford anymore, do you?” He gave a short laugh.
We both responded with tight, forced smiles. He didn’t seem to notice our tense reactions. Meg chimed in, “Right, we’re barely even Hill staff anymore. Right, Kit?”
“Yep. I imagine we’ll have to turn in our Senate identification badges any day now.”
Jeff leaned forward again. “Well, I went to California to visit Senator Regan because we were discussing Carter Power business officially. We did talk about the contract renewal when I was out there. But just between us, Senator Regan wanted to talk with me about coming on board to work on his legislative staff when he’s reelected. He wants to shake things up and bring in some people with real world experience, if you know what I mean. So we used the visits to get to know each other better and talk about my job prospects in his office after the election in November.”
The pending offer of employment gave Jeff a substantial incentive to ensure Senator Regan’s reelection. And Regan’s reelection was directly tied to the renewal of Carter Power’s contract. No contract, no reelection, no job for Jeff. I also noticed that Jeff said “when” Senator Regan was reelected, not “if.” Was that confidence warranted, or had Jeff acted to guarantee his prospective boss’s victory?
Stabbing in the Senate Page 9
