The Washington Lawyer

by Allan Topol

  He should be grateful to the ambassador for giving him a way to block the investigation. At the same time, he recognized he would be starting down a slippery slope of immorality and unethical conduct. Hell, he had already started down that path when he made the call to Gorton Sunday night, asking him to move Vanessa’s body. Having taken that step, he had to take this one.

  Martin thought about other famous Washington lawyers, such as Clark Clifford, Abe Fortas, and Burke Marshall—all revered for decades as he was, whose reputations and careers were destroyed by ethical lapses. He had to be very careful or he’d end up like them. But he had to do it.

  “Okay, I’ll meet with the secretary of state. I can’t promise you success. Jane can be unpredictable. But I will try and report back to you.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “If I succeed, you won’t need your two o’clock meeting with her.”

  The ambassador thanked Martin and left. When he was gone, before reaching for the phone to call Jane, Martin paused to contemplate what was happening.

  Had Jasper hired Han Shi to do his dirty work and kill Allison as Francis suggested? Was Han Shi moonlighting as a hired thug? Was that what the ambassador was trying to cover up? It seemed too farfetched. There had to be a better explanation, but Martin couldn’t think what it was. He had decided not to press the ambassador and he didn’t want to call Jasper.

  As he thought about it some more, it occurred to him that the Chinese might owe Jasper a favor, and Wes had called it in to help protect him from Allison’s snooping. If that was what was happening, Martin didn’t want to know about it.

  He’d do what the ambassador wanted because if he succeeded, it would help him. At least he hoped so.

  * * *

  “Excellent dinner Sunday evening,” Jane said, when they were alone in her spacious office in the state department. “All the wines were superb, but the ’90 Clos La Roche was ethereal. It may be the best wine I’ve ever drunk.”

  “Having seen your cellar, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “Yeah, but unfortunately, I’m stocked too heavily in Bordeaux. I like those wines, and many are outstanding, but there’s nothing like a fabulous aged Burgundy for an incredible soft, velvety taste.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “I never realized Francis played at Aspen. If she ever gives a performance, be sure to invite me.”

  “Will do.”

  They were seated at the small conference table in a corner of her office. Jane was sipping water. Martin had a cup of coffee. I’m drinking too much of this stuff, he thought, but he couldn’t cut back.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask you about the chief justice nomination,” Jane said. “I’m amazed you can do anything else.”

  “It is a tense time.”

  “I’d love you to get it. Well, anyhow, what’s on your mind this morning?”

  “I’m here at the request of the Chinese ambassador.

  “The Metro incident?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s this all about, Andrew?”

  Martin hated lying to her. Damn it, he had no choice.

  Calmly and coolly, he laid out the lover’s quarrel explanation, embellishing it with details he made up from Allison’s background to make it sound more believable.

  When he was finished, Jane was smiling. “Oh Andrew, that is so boring. I envisioned all sorts of exotic explanations. A fight between an archeology professor and a Chinese diplomat over terra cotta warriors. Or maybe valuable relics from the Ming Dynasty. When I was at Yale, the Italian government sought to recover a large number of antiquities. Wow, that was a nasty battle. Here I was imagining fascinating scenarios.”

  “Such as?” Martin held his breath, hoping she didn’t mention Vanessa.

  “Allison had stolen valuable artifacts from China during a trip there. She had smuggled them out in her luggage and now the Chinese were trying to recover them.”

  “That would be much more exciting.”

  “Someday, I’d like to meet Allison Boyd, the archeology professor. She must be one tough cookie.”

  I hope you never do, Martin thought.

  Jane paused to sip some water, then continued, “Tell your client, the Chinese ambassador, he can relax. For a lover’s quarrel, I’ll persuade the DC Police to back off. To close the investigation and treat it as an unfortunate accident. Besides, the dead party is a Chinese national in this country on a diplomatic passport. If they want to close it out, we shouldn’t object.”

  “I think that’s right.”

  “You can tell the ambassador I’m canceling our two o’clock. We don’t have to waste our time on nonsense like this. All of us have too much to do.”

  Martin started toward the door. As he did, Jane said, “Did you know the twin sister of Allison Boyd died in Anguilla about a week ago?”

  Martin tried to act natural, though he felt tension and moisture forming under his arms.

  “I heard that.”

  “Odd, isn’t it?”

  “I learned long ago that life is full of coincidences.”

  “I guess so. See you soon, Andrew. And good luck with the Supreme Court.”

  * * *

  When Allison woke up, she found a note from Paul on the kitchen table. “I went shopping for clothes for you. Help yourself to breakfast.”

  She scarfed down some cereal, then grabbed a cup of coffee and began reading Vanessa’s diaries, starting with the most recent.

  After an hour, Allison was feeling sick to her stomach. She knew Vanessa had been no virgin, but my God, she had slept with so many different men that Allison’s head was spinning. Except for Paul and a finance man, Jim Conway, a few months before she began dating Paul, all of them were congressmen or senators. In her diary, Vanessa didn’t give them names or physical descriptions. Simply referred to them as Congressman A or Senator B. At the time the most recent diary had broken off, Vanessa was dating Senator Q. Perhaps he was the man she went with to Anguilla.

  Vanessa described in detail what they did on their dates and in bed together and the gifts they gave her. She discussed the likelihood they would marry her, and if they were married, the possibility of their leaving their wives for her. It gave Allison a sad and sordid picture of Vanessa.

  Allison came to the realization that she had failed in her effort to pull Vanessa away from her self-destructive way of life. The old Vanessa, influenced by the modeling career Mother had pushed her into, had reasserted itself. She couldn’t escape, in spite of Allison’s influence. In the end, this led to her death. Sadly, Allison thought, as she flipped through the diary, Vanessa could not have been saved.

  Allison heard the front door open and Paul shout, “I’m home.” She closed and put away the diaries.

  Paul bounded into the kitchen with two shopping bags filled with funky clothes, as promised. There were walking shoes, as well as sunglasses, and a large brimmed hat to cover her face until the beauty salon went to work on her.

  That occurred half an hour later. When Allison was finished and she studied herself in the mirror, she was convinced she looked so much like Vanessa that even Mother would have thought her daughter had returned to life.

  It occurred to Allison that maybe Paul, who had been so much in love with Vanessa, was trying to recreate her, like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo. He was being so nice to her that she didn’t share the thought with him.

  From the beauty salon, they returned to his house.

  “Now let’s figure out whom Vanessa went with to Anguilla,” Paul said.

  “He has to be a member of Congress.”

  “What do you base that on?”

  “Vanessa’s diaries. When you were shopping, I went through them. She dated a number of members of Congress. But she didn’t mention any names. She just referred to them as Congressman A or Senator B.”

  “I should read the diaries. I might be able to figure out who they are.”

  Allison shoo
k her head. “Vanessa didn’t include descriptions of them. And I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Allison didn’t want to hurt him. She hoped he wouldn’t press her.

  But he continued.

  “When you said she was dating those guys in Congress, you mean she was fucking them.”

  “C’mon Paul. Leave it alone.”

  “Was she doing them while she and I were going together?”

  “Paul, believe me, the diaries won’t help.”

  Paul looked as if he’d been kicked in the teeth. She couldn’t blame him. “So, I guess that means yes. Hey, no big surprise. Once when Vanessa came over she insisted on showering immediately. I was suspicious and now I understand.”

  Anxious to move away from the diaries, Allison reached into her bag and took out the notes she had made when she had been with Mary Pat at Hibernia in Anguilla. With careful emphasis on each word, she read Mary Pat’s description. “Is there any way we can use this?”

  “I have an idea,” Paul exclaimed, now snapping out of it.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “I can get pictures of all the members of Congress. With this description, we should be able to narrow it down to a reasonable number. Then forward pictures of those to Mary Pat for an ID.”

  “I like it.”

  “Right off the bat, we can eliminate the women, the non-Caucasians, and lots of the others.”

  “How do we get all their pictures?”

  “Easy. I’m hooked up to my computer at the office. Same Internet access. I go online with a legislative service. I can pull up pictures and backgrounds of all the senators and House members.”

  “Great.”

  Paul rushed into the den. With Allison looking over his shoulder, he booted up the computer. Minutes later, the printer began spitting out five hundred thirty-five pages. On each, in the upper left hand corner, was a color picture. In the text below there were physical descriptions, bios, and committee assignments.

  Paul split the pile in half and handed one to Allison. After only the first cut, they had reduced the possibles to seven—two senators and five congressmen.

  For two of those, Paul knew staffers well enough to find out where their bosses had been Veteran’s Day weekend. Hal was someone he played tennis with from time to time. And Bruce had been a law school classmate he saw at alumni functions and lunched with periodically. He asked each of them in an offhand way, where their bosses had been on Veteran’s Day in an otherwise general conversation. Both had been in Washington. “Okay. We’re down to five.”

  Paul restudied those. “Two,” he said, “are too old and feeble to make a jaunt like that. And I doubt Vanessa would climb into bed with them. So that leaves us Congressman Wayne Pelston, upstate New York, Senator Dave Wolcott, North Carolina, and Senator Wesley Jasper, Colorado. Both Wolcott and Jasper are on Vanessa’s Senate Armed Services Committee. Jasper is the chairman.”

  “Paul, you’re fantastic.” She felt as if they were almost there.

  She watched him pick up Jasper’s sheet and stare at it. His hand was shaking. What’s going on, she wondered. “Time to call Mary Pat,” Allison said.

  With Paul listening, she took out her cell and called. “Hi, this is Allison Boyd. I spoke with you two days ago about my sister who drowned in Anguilla … I’m back in Washington … Yes, I got back without any problem. And thanks so much for the clothes. I’ll return them to you. Now I have a favor to ask. I’d like to e-mail you photos of three men who might have been with Vanessa. Would you let me know if one of these is the guy? … Thanks so much. What’s your e-mail address? I’ll have them to you in a couple of minutes.”

  Paul scanned the three bio sheets. Then he typed a cover note. “Here are the three. Were any of these men with my sister, Vanessa, at your restaurant last weekend? Thanks for your help. Best regards, Allison.” He hit the send button.

  While they waited for a reply, Paul paced around the room, looking anxious as hell. “What’s with him?” Allison asked herself.

  “Could you please stop pacing? You’re driving me crazy.”

  He sat down, staring at the computer. Five minutes later, Mary Pat’s reply appeared on the screen. “It’s Senator Wesley Jasper from Colorado.”

  Before Allison said a word, Paul replied by e-mail. “Are you certain?”

  In an instant came Mary Pat’s response: “Quite certain.”

  “Thank her,” Allison said.

  Paul typed that and hit the send button.

  “Oh, Paul. We have our man. And it makes sense. He was the chairman of her committee.”

  “I guess so,” he said glumly.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  He hesitated for a minute. Then he said, “Jasper is a good friend of Andrew Martin’s. I wish it were someone else.”

  “Listen, Paul, You’ve been so great to help identify that scumbag Jasper. Now I’d like you to stay out of this. I can’t let you do anything to endanger your job.”

  “Don’t worry about that. What are you planning to do now?”

  “I’m going to confront Senator Jasper face-to-face in a public place—probably in a restaurant.”

  “Why? What do you hope to accomplish?”

  “I want to find out what happened to Vanessa in her last days? And how she died?”

  “You really think he’ll tell you?”

  “I’ll threaten to go to his wife. And the Washington Post.”

  “If he tells you, will you still go to his wife and the paper?”

  “I don’t know. But Paul, I can go on now by myself. I can’t put you at risk. And Jasper’s relationship with Martin does that.”

  “No. We’re in this together,” he said emphatically.

  She didn’t want to hurt Paul’s career, but he wasn’t accepting that. So she changed her approach. “I’m not sure you have anything to add.”

  “You’ll need a witness when you confront Jasper to avoid ending up with a he said/she said.”

  “I have to do this alone.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Tell you what. If you want to help, come along and wait outside the restaurant. Hide across the street or in an adjoining doorway. If you see any hostile looking Chinese people approach, call me on my cell and let me know.”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  She recalled the sound of bones breaking in the nose and face of one of her assailants on the loading dock. She expected him to be trying to find her. “Oh, and one of them may have a bandage on his nose. He’s angry and dangerous.”

  “The guy you hit with your bag?”

  “Yeah. How do I get Jasper’s office number?”

  “Once Martin asked me to deal with him. I kept it.”

  Paul punched keys on his computer, printed out a page, and handed to her. “All of his contact info.”

  She called his office and said to his secretary. “I want to talk to Senator Jasper. Tell him that Vanessa Boyd asked me to call.”

  Seconds later, she heard, “This is Senator Jasper, who’s calling?”

  In a calm, clear voice, she responded. “Vanessa Boyd asked me to give you something.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Meet me at noon at Bistro Francais in Georgetown. A booth in the back.”

  Allison hung up.

  Paul said to her, “You think he’ll show?”

  “Damn right. He sounded scared to death.”

  * * *

  As Allison left Paul on M Street and walked into Bistro Francais she wondered what the hell she was getting into.

  Don’t lose your courage, she told herself, shrugging off fear. She owed it to Vanessa to find out what happened. And she owed it to herself. Then she had to punish Jasper. He shouldn’t get away with it.

  Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, she thought. She better let him talk. Start with an open mind.

  Allison walked past the bar and the wooden tables in the front of the bistro to the booths in the back. The restaurant was nea
rly empty. Dinner was their main business.

  She spotted Jasper in a booth in the rear, his back to the wall. With determined steps, she headed that way. Across the room, she saw two elderly, gray-haired women eating salad.

  “Senator Jasper,” Allison said.

  He stood up and looked at her with a petrified expression. “My God. You startled me. You look just like Vanessa.”

  “I’m Allison, Vanessa’s twin.”

  “What did Vanessa give you to pass along to me?”

  “Sit down, Senator. We have to talk.”

  Despite her intent to let him talk first, she was about to unload, but Jasper preempted her. “I knew your sister professionally at the Senate Armed Services Committee. We all liked her. I, of course, learned about her death, and I’m very sorry.”

  Astounding, Allison thought. He learned about her death.

  “I believe you knew her a little more than professionally.” Allison forced herself not to raise her voice.

  “No, you’re mistaken. Whoever told you … ”

  “Senator, I have an eyewitness who saw you with Vanessa last weekend in Anguilla.”

  “That’s not possible. Last weekend I was in Colorado.”

  “Her name’s Mary Pat, the proprietor of the Hibernia. You ate there with my sister Saturday evening. You had the duck and ordered two expensive bottles of wine, a white and a red Corton. You sat along the wall. At the end of the dinner, you told Mary Pat to tell her husband in the kitchen how much you enjoyed the duck. Is that enough for you?”

  Allison, even in the dim light, could see the color draining from Jasper’s face. He leaned forward and whispered, “What do you want? How much?”

  “You’re contemptible.”

  “Well then, what do you want?”

  “First, to know what happened to my sister. All the details.”

  Jasper sat back up, seeming to recover.

  “I wasn’t with your sister. I already told you that.”

  “Give up, Senator. If not, I’ll go to your wife with the e-mails I have from Mary Pat. Your wife knows you weren’t in Colorado. After I talk to her, I’m going to the Washington Post. Then the Denver Times. I won’t stop until I ruin your life.”