Stabbing in the Senate

by Colleen J. Shogan

  O’Halloran continued, “We found a blond hair in Senator Langsford’s office. At first, I thought that made blondie here,” he pointed at Meg, “the prime suspect. It made sense, since you,” he pointed at me, “found the body. I figured you two were in cahoots for an unknown reason and had devised a way to cover for each other.” He stuffed the rest of his doughnut into his mouth and ran his stubby fingers through his hair. Now there was a streak of powder in his hair that made him look almost distinguished.

  I didn’t like the direction this was going. While he was swallowing, I interrupted. “I thought the timing cast doubt on that, since Senator Langsford was killed before I entered the building.”

  He took a big gulp. “That’s right … when we thought you were the murderer. But with the blond hair, we naturally assumed that she,” he motioned toward Meg, “was the actual killer. Maybe you were just an accomplice to throw us off the trail.”

  Now it was Meg’s turn to interrupt. “That doesn’t make any sense.” She got up from her seat at the table and put her hands on her hips. “Why would Kit and I want to kill our boss? We loved Senator Langsford. You can ask anyone!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all before. It was a regular love fest in Senator Langsford’s office, apparently. Your boss Matt told me all about how you saved Langsford’s hide four years ago when he was running for reelection. My answer to that is that four years is a long time ago. Maybe you two weren’t real happy with the direction the office was taking. Lyndon wasn’t quite as liberal as he used to be when you pounded the pavement for him, right? So your reputations as Capitol Hill staffers were taking a nosedive. Quitting might be messy, but if Langsford suddenly died, you both got a chance to start over. Sounds plausible to me. Nothing shocks me when politicos are involved in this city. You’re all out for numero uno.”

  “How would I have gotten in?” said Meg. “You certainly won’t find me on the video surveillance entering the building before the murder.”

  “How did the killer get in?” he replied. “He or she wasn’t on video surveillance either. We’ve examined the footage from earlier that morning, and it hasn’t yielded any plausible suspects.”

  O’Halloran’s attention shifted. He eyed the vestiges of my breakfast, which included a piece of rye toast and half a strip of bacon. Clearly, the doughnut hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. I ignored his hard stare at my plate. “Did you track us down so you could get a DNA sample from Meg to match her hair to what you found on the scene? Even if it was a match, Meg has been in that office at least ten times in the past month. She could have easily shed a hair or two during a meeting with Senator Langsford.”

  O’Halloran put a hand up to silence me. “That won’t be necessary. Like I said before, you both got carried away. I’m asking everyone in Langsford’s office about it. At first, I did think it might have been a case of the dynamic duo,” he gestured toward us, “killing their dear boss. But then we had some preliminary tests done on the hair, and it’s synthetic.”

  Meg had a confused look on her face. “So it was from a wig. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Good job, junior detective. The hair is from a wig. So unless Blondie here is faking it, I think she’s in the clear.”

  Meg reached up and gave her bob a quick tug. “Nope, I’m afraid this is all natural. No hairpieces for me.”

  O’Halloran sighed. “I didn’t think so. It’s a good clue, but I’m back to square one. We’re combing through Senator Langsford’s appointments in the last seventy-two hours of his life, and no one who was in that office wore a wig. The cleaning staff vacuumed in there every other day, so going back three days is generous. I don’t get it. There just isn’t anyone who met with Senator Langsford who could have shed that hair.” He paused, perhaps for effect. “That leads me to believe the artificial blond hair might have come from the last person to see him alive, which would have been his killer.”

  O’Halloran’s reasoning sounded on the mark to me. Kara kept tight control on access to Senator Langsford’s office. She sat immediately outside, and no one got inside who didn’t have a legitimate appointment with the senator. I asked, “I assume you talked to Kara about this. She knew the senator’s schedule backward and forward.”

  “I might not be a fancy Capitol Hill staffer like yourself, but I’ve worked here for years, and I know how a congressional office works. Of course I talked to the scheduler. She pulled all the records for me, and we went over them together. There was no one on his appointment schedule who could have been wearing a blond wig. Since Kara leaves with the senator each evening, there’s no chance a late night visitor might have made an appearance without her knowledge.”

  I stood alongside Meg. “Thanks for the information, Detective O’Halloran. We’ll let you know if we come across a blond wig.”

  He shrugged. “I can use all the help I can get. It’s the best lead we’ve got. So far, it hasn’t led me anywhere concrete, though.” He gave us a mini salute and headed out of the cafeteria.

  Meg and I looked at each other. “It’s a valuable piece of information. I don’t know how it fits into our theories about who might have killed Senator Langsford, but we need to keep it in mind as we gather more clues.”

  Meg sniggered. “Well, I guess we know what you’re looking for in Jessop’s office. Keep your eye out for a blond wig!”

  Chapter 15

  Washington, D.C., a city with approximately five million people residing in its metropolitan area, was no Mayberry. But despite its considerable size, Washington boasted several attributes consistent with a small town. The most significant was the swiftness with which gossip spread. When I started working on Capitol Hill, I had no conception of this phenomenon. Innocently enough, I’d have a conversation one evening at a happy hour, assuming naïvely that what was discussed would be held in confidence. By lunch the next day, I would hear remnants of that conversation quoted back to me, sometimes with new information sprinkled in to increase the juiciness of the story. After this happened a few times, I realized D.C. was no place to share secrets. Sooner or later, people divulged information they possessed in exchange for other information that would further their own causes. It was a dog-eat-dog world inside the Beltway, and getting mauled once or twice was par for the course. Luck of the draw determined whether those rookie mistakes were fatal. Capitol Hill was riddled with stories of staffers who had shown great promise but made a dumb error early in their careers and ended up blacklisted or fired.

  Given my rough and tumble political education, I shouldn’t have been concerned when Mandy gleefully recounted my conversation with Jeff Prentice from last night. After all, she was the communications director, and the press folks had the worst reputation for gossiping and sharing prized intelligence. In fact, their jobs routinely depended on their ability to push valuable tidbits out and gain insight into the plans of politicians. Press was a competitive game, and idle chitchat turned into valuable currency.

  Mandy waited until I had settled into my cubicle before sauntering over. She had a self-satisfied smirk on her face, and if I had been more astute, I would have guessed she was on the hunt. Mandy rarely sought me out for conversation, unless it was to deliver a “gotcha” moment like this.

  “I heard you had a great time at happy hour last night,” she drawled. In spite of myself, I admired her black pinstripe suit, complemented by a white fitted blouse adorned with an elaborate frilled collar. Even though it was incredibly stylish, if I had tried to pull it off, I would have looked like Elizabeth the Virgin Queen. Mandy was a Barney’s mannequin come to life.

  “I had a few drinks with Meg.” Play it cool and don’t take the bait. I returned to my computer screen.

  She stared at me with her steely dark eyes. “And with Jeff Prentice.”

  I turned back toward Mandy. “Yes, Jeff was there, too.” Sometimes feigned boredom would discourage an annoying interrogator. Mandy was more persistent than our most skilled CIA operatives at Guan
tanamo Bay, so I should have known I wasn’t going to be let off easy.

  “I heard from a source that you pumped Jeff for information about Senator Langsford’s murder.”

  I sighed loudly. This was headed in a bad direction. “Actually, I wanted to have a drink with Jeff before we lost touch.”

  Suddenly I realized I could turn the tables on Mandy and see what she knew. “I found out he’s going to be your coworker in Senator Regan’s office. I suppose you already knew that, though.”

  Mandy made a face. “Of course I knew that. Jeff and I are hardly strangers.” Mandy was the kind of woman who liked to kiss and tell.

  I leaned toward her and put on my friendliest smile. “No, I didn’t know you and Jeff were acquainted. Just how close are you two these days?”

  Mandy seemed torn between wanting to divulge the intimacy of her relationship with a hottie and telling me to mind my own damn business. She opted for a combination of both.

  “Not that it concerns you,” she snapped, “but Jeff and I are in an exclusive relationship. So you’d better tell your best friend to keep her wandering hands off him.”

  Mandy must have good sources. Jeff wouldn’t have told her Meg had put the moves on him. As a press secretary, Mandy had informants everywhere. Someone at Lounge 201 must have seen Meg’s aggressive flirtation with Jeff.

  In a breezy voice, I said, “I wouldn’t worry about Meg. She’s not interested in Jeff.”

  I returned to staring at my computer, satisfied I had extracted enough information from Mandy for the time being. I decided not to tell her that Jeff had denied having a girlfriend. He must have omitted that part of the conversation when he recounted last night’s conversation to Mandy. Her conception of an “exclusive relationship” was obviously much different than his, but she’d have to figure that out on her own.

  Mandy huffed. My comment could be construed as a dig directed at her pedestrian taste in men. I hadn’t meant it that way, although now I realized that’s how it sounded. I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

  Apparently, Mandy wasn’t finished with our conversation. “I also heard you were fishing for information about Senator Regan.”

  “Not really. Jeff told us about his new position with Senator Regan, and we talked a bit about Carter Power and his work with Senator Langsford.”

  Mandy eyed me suspiciously. “That’s not the story I heard. Were you trying to point the finger at Senator Regan for Langsford’s murder?”

  She had my full attention. “Mandy, I never came close to accusing Senator Regan or anyone else.” That much was true. There had been no blatant indictments on my part.

  Mandy glared. “You’d better be careful poking around. Some people might take it the wrong way. It’s not my problem the police haven’t cleared you as a suspect. I start my new job as Senator Regan’s press secretary next week, and if you’re trying to cast guilt on him, it’ll be my business to put an end to it.” She thumped her chest for emphasis.

  Her last comment struck me as hilarious. The idea of skinny Mandy defending Senator Regan, who was probably twice her size, seemed utterly ridiculous, and I stifled a laugh. Mandy could tell I wasn’t taking her seriously.

  Since she was clearly annoyed with me, maybe I could catch her off guard. “If that’s the case, then you won’t mind telling me if Senator Regan has an alibi for Tuesday morning, say between the hours of six and eight in the morning?” I looked innocently at Mandy.

  Her face contorted in anger. “You certainly have a lot of guts accusing a sitting United States Senator of murder.” She put her hands on her hips. “Senator Langsford always sang your praises, and I could never figure out what he saw in you. I guess it was the fact you worked for him during the reelection campaign. He must have felt some sort of puppy-dog loyalty to you. I never thought you had the discretion to succeed in politics. Now I know I’m right. I’m betting that after your recent media blitz, you’ll never work in the Senate again.”

  I decided to press on. People made a lot of mistakes when they were furious and unable to control their emotions. “That might be true, Mandy. But you still haven’t told me if Senator Regan had an alibi for the murder. Are you trying to avoid my question? I would think Senator Regan’s future press secretary would be able to answer it.”

  Her skin had an unhealthy flush that told me I had pushed her last nerve. Calling into doubt her insider knowledge about Regan had done it. “Of course I can answer that question. He told the police the truth. He was with his wife on Tuesday morning. Will that shut you up?”

  It was painful, but at least now I knew the identity of Regan’s alibi. In mystery novels a spouse was never considered a reliable alibi. I would deal with his flimsy defense if we found other clues that led us to believe Regan was our killer.

  Satisfied I had gotten what I needed from Mandy and even more than I’d bargained for, I said, “Yes, that’ll shut me up. I’m more than happy to return to my work now. Thanks, Mandy.” I gave her my sweetest, most angelic smile.

  As she walked away, she called out, “Don’t be late tomorrow for the memorial service. It’s all hands on deck to make sure the VIPs are treated well and everything goes smoothly.”

  I hadn’t paid attention to the details for tomorrow’s event. “Wait, Mandy. How am I supposed to know where to show up and when?”

  Mandy didn’t even turn around to answer me. She kept walking and yelled over her shoulder, “If you watched my video blog, you’d know what was going on, Kit. I shouldn’t have to tell everyone twice. I’m looking forward to working in an office where people actually listen to what I have to say!”

  I muttered, “Goodbye and good riddance.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard someone say, “Now, now. Play nice in the sandbox.”

  I looked up to confirm the identity of the speaker. “Hello, Trevor. I almost forgot you were there.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s been that way for the past four years.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “It’s too bad we’re only getting chummy now, when it looks as though we’re out of jobs.”

  “My dear Kit, the only reason we’ve become friendly is because we’re no longer going to be working with each other.”

  Trevor was right. I hadn’t paid much attention to him in four years. If our boss hadn’t been murdered, that détente would never have happened. Trevor and I had come together in the face of tragedy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “Well, better late than never, I guess.” What else was I supposed to say?

  Trevor wasn’t one for small talk. “Have you made any progress in your discreet inquiries?” He peered over his glasses. Though twenty years younger, he gave me a look that reminded me of my college philosophy professor when I confessed I didn’t have the faintest understanding of Heidegger or any other dead, famous white guy we’d read during the semester.

  “Yes and no. There’s no shortage of suspects, but I’m not close to figuring out who killed Senator Langsford.”

  “Sometimes it’s darkest before the dawn.”

  “You’re right. My boyfriend always says that when he’s completely frustrated with whatever history book he’s currently writing, he’s close to finishing it.”

  “Charming. What’s your next plan of action?”

  I hesitated. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Trevor too much? I didn’t think he was a credible suspect, since he had no obvious motive, but my intuition told me that being a blabbermouth might not be the best idea, either. On the other hand, Trevor was smart, and I could benefit from talking to a colleague who had something on the ball. I loved Meg, and she’d been invaluable in securing information from Jeff Prentice and other relevant male interlocutors. That said, I wasn’t sure she qualified as the next Dr. Watson, or even Trixie Belden.

  I took a deep breath and decided to tell Trevor about our plans to infiltrate Representative Jessop’s office. I had to face facts. If I wanted to figure out who killed Senator Langsford, I needed to work w
ith the cards dealt me. Trevor had many obnoxious faults. He possessed the social graces of Attila the Hun, but every conversation we’d had since Langsford’s murder had proven informative. Also, I privately wondered if Meg’s extreme dislike of Trevor had biased me. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy, just socially awkward in an annoying way, like Anthony Michael Hall in a John Hughes movie.

  I recounted to Trevor our plot to gain access to Jessop’s office by using Meg’s “close friendship” with Kyle to divert attention. If Trevor thought this was a crazy plan, he didn’t let on. His demeanor was impenetrable. That’s why he had the reputation of being such a valuable Capitol Hill staffer. He never let anyone see his cards.

  I started to wrap up. “Even if this works, I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for in Jessop’s office. It’s kind of a wild goose chase.” I laughed nervously, then fell silent, signaling to Trevor that I was finished talking.

  He fixed an unyielding stare on me again, and I shifted nervously in my seat. A normal person understood that a pause in conversation meant I was finished speaking, and would respond. Instead, he let me sit there uncomfortably for several seconds. Finally he said, “Are you finished?”

  I nodded. How did Trevor have the ability to make me feel like such a dope? His superiority complex knocked me off my game.

  He leaned back in his chair before he started to speak. Although Trevor wasn’t a hunk in the classic sense, he might have an appeal for a refined segment of Washington women. He’d be a catch among those who liked power-hungry, self-confident, upwardly mobile policy wonks. I wasn’t sure if that was a category a single woman could check off at eHarmony or Match. As I took another look at him, I concluded that he would be a desirable commodity in the Beltway dating market.

  Trevor’s reply shocked me back to the present. “This might be the craziest harebrained scheme that’s ever graced my ears,” he said. He picked up his pencil and started to fiddle with it. I’d seen him do that when he was working on something that puzzled him. “But I have to say, if you can pull it off, you should go for it.”