Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laura said, crossing her arms defiantly.

  “The hell you don’t.” Simmons softened her tone. “Look, Laura, you’re young. I’ve been around longer than you have and I’ve seen it all. Getting involved with a married man, and a U.S. congressman, for that matter, is a recipe for disaster.”

  “Hal’s marriage is—”

  “Is what? On the rocks? Oh, God, come on, Laura, grow up. Hal Gannon is a handsome guy in a position of power. He’s got women all over this town salivating when they think they might have a shot at him. His marriage to Charlene isn’t going anywhere. He’s not about to walk away from her and the kids. He’s a guy who spends lonely time here in Washington and needs a sweetie to cuddle up to, stroke his male ego, and hear his tales of how Congress and all of D.C. are broken.”

  Laura began to cry, and Roseann put her arm around her. “You listen to me,” Roseann said. “Being an intern to a powerful member of the House is something to treasure. Break off whatever relationship you’re having with him, learn the ropes here, and take what you learn into your future life. But for Christ’s sake, Laura, use your God-given smarts.”

  Laura was tempted to ask whether Roseann was doing nothing more than venting her jealousy. Maybe she wanted to be Mrs. Harold Gannon and resented Laura for having usurped her. But she didn’t say anything as she stood, straightened her skirt, and joined the other interns sorting constituent requests.

  The next day in the office she exhibited a more positive and enthusiastic attitude. Gannon would be coming back to D.C. from Dallas the following day, the anticipation of which had buoyed her spirits. She avoided Roseann and was relieved when the chief of staff didn’t pursue another conversation. Roseann had no right prying into what was a personal matter. Who did she think she was? It crossed Laura’s mind more than once that if she told Hal about the conversation with Roseann, he might be prompted to fire her. It would serve her right, butting in where she didn’t belong and taking that phony big-sister approach.

  That afternoon she was enjoying a coffee break around a small staff dining table when she heard Roseann tell someone on the phone, “No, the congressman won’t be in today. He’s not feeling well and is working at his apartment.”

  That’s strange, Laura thought. ‘Working at his apartment’? He’s not due back until tomorrow.

  She excused herself, went into the hall, and pressed “Hal” on the speed dial of her cell phone. There was no answer. She tried again; the same result. She returned to the office and said she had to run an errand but would be back soon. She hailed a taxi on Independence Avenue and gave the driver Gannon’s address. Fifteen minutes later she stood in front of the building and looked up at Gannon’s apartment windows. She saw him pass by. Then a second figure was visible, a woman.

  She entered the vestibule and rang his buzzer. There was no response. She rang again, and again, holding the button longer each time. “I know you’re there, Hal,” she said to the empty space. “I saw you.”

  Again, the thumb on the buzzer, maintaining the pressure. Suddenly, his voice came through the intercom. “Who is it?” he asked testily.

  “It’s Laura.”

  “What do you want? I’m working.”

  “You said you were coming back tomorrow.”

  “I got back early. Look, Laura—”

  “Who are you working with?” She elongated the word to make her point.

  “Not now, I’m busy.”

  The sound of the elevator caught her attention. The lift came to a stop and the doors opened. A stunning brunette carrying an American Airlines tote bag emerged, quickly turned from Laura, and left the building.

  “Who are you?” Laura yelled after her.

  The woman didn’t stop. She walked briskly up the street, with Laura after her.

  “Who are you, damn it?”

  A taxi pulled up and the woman scrambled in, leaving Laura on the sidewalk, tears running down her face, trembling, fists clenched tightly.

  She returned to the vestibule and rang the apartment again.

  “Come up,” Gannon said angrily.

  Laura walked past him into the apartment and went to the bedroom, where the bed had been hastily made up. The aroma of perfume filled her nostrils. The robe he’d given her when she stayed over was tossed on a chair.

  Gannon stood in the doorway, arms folded.

  “Who was she?”

  “Who was who?” he said.

  “The woman who was here with you.”

  “Look, Laura. We’d better sit down and come to an understanding.”

  “I think I do understand, Hal.”

  “You’re upset. Why don’t you go home and relax. You’ve interrupted work I’m doing and—”

  She guffawed. “What do they call it, Hal, coitus interrupting or something like that?”

  “Get out, Laura!”

  “Not until you explain.”

  “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  “You don’t? How can you say that? We were going to be married.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, “you’ve really gone off the deep end, haven’t you.”

  She’d vacillated between crying, gasping for breath, rage, and abject sadness. Then, to her surprise, she experienced a surge of inner strength. She said, “The high and mighty Harold Gannon, U.S. congressman, family man, protector of the weak, champion of the middle class. You know what you really are, Hal? You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being and a man. Believe me, Hal, you’ve deceived the wrong person in Laura Bennett. When people know what you’ve done, the lies, the deceit—when people back in Tampa know, when my father knows—you’ll be lucky to spend the rest of your life rolling cigars in Ybor City.”

  She stormed from the apartment, her arms tightly holding her stomach to keep the pain in. Outdoors, she leaned against the building and kept shaking her head. A woman who was about to enter the building asked, “Are you all right, miss?”

  Laura looked at her through wet eyes.

  “Yes, I’m all right,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  THE DISAPPEARANCE

  CHAPTER

  8

  Gannon went through a series of emotions after Laura left the apartment, her fury wafting in the hallway like strong cologne. Fear was one of them, but that was quickly replaced by anger so intense that it physically shook him. Guilt? No. But disgust with himself for having initiated the affair with a twenty-two-year-old dreamer. “She’s nuts,” he told himself over and over. “She’s mentally unbalanced. Marry her? What does she do, live in a fantasy world?”

  A constant companion and complication to his jumbled feelings was Laura’s father, Lucas Bennett.

  Bennett was a powerful friend, but Gannon knew that the silver-haired, physically imposing attorney, a well-connected member of Tampa’s elite, would turn on him if he knew that he’d seduced his daughter. Had he seduced her? Hell, no! She’d been the seducer.

  Maybe once her anger had abated, she’d chalk it up to an experience and not follow through on her threats to expose the affair. That thought gave Gannon a modicum of comfort, but it lasted only seconds. He’d have to get hold of her, talk to her, make her see that it was just a fling, a rite of passage. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t been a virgin. She knew what she was getting into. He hadn’t even intended for them to end up in bed. He was being kind taking her to dinner, listening to her complaints about her roommate, counseling, stroking—he’d been a surrogate father. How dare she threaten him?

  He was deep into these thoughts when he received a call from Joe Selesky, his Tampa campaign manager.

  “How are things?” Selesky asked.

  “They’ve been better.”

  “Yeah, well, we have to talk, Hal.”

  “About what?”

  “About you and the campaign. I’m flying to D.C. in the morning. Meet me for lunch at that place in Alexandria, Indigo Landing.”

  “I don’t know if I ca
n, Joe. I have a committee meeting and—”

  “Screw your committee meeting. Twelve noon. Be there!”

  * * *

  Gannon canceled a date he’d made that night with the VP of a small Maryland bank with whom he’d had an on-again, off-again affair, a situation with which she seemed perfectly comfortable. He stayed in the apartment, jumping each time the phone rang. He’d decided to give Laura plenty of room to cool off before he called her, although the temptation to dial her cell phone was at times almost overwhelming.

  He slept fitfully.

  The following morning, after spending a few hours closeted in his office—“I don’t want to be disturbed,” he told Roseann and others—he left the District and drove his red Mercedes convertible across the Fourteenth Street Bridge, took the exit for Reagan National Airport, and continued south on the George Washington Memorial Parkway to Alexandria, where he parked in a lot near the restaurant. He passed through the dining room to the outdoor deck to see Selesky at a table as far removed from others as possible, a stein of beer in front of him. Selesky was a short, bull-necked man in his late thirties with a shaved head, fuzz on his upper lip that passed for a mustache, and a ruddy complexion, a major player and fund-raiser in Florida Democratic politics who’d managed Gannon’s last three runs for reelection. Joe Selesky was known as a take-no-prisoners political manager, as well as for having an amazing capacity for drinking beer and never showing its effects.

  A waitress asked if Gannon wanted a drink.

  “Just water,” he said.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” were Selesky’s first words.

  Gannon forced a laugh. “Not even a ‘Hello, Hal, good to see you, how’ve you been?’”

  “I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

  “Maybe you could be more specific,” said Gannon. He knew how important Selesky was to his political career. At the same time he disliked him personally.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Hal. Word’s been getting back to Tampa.”

  “Word? What word?”

  “About your overactive libido.”

  Gannon guffawed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Laugh all you want, buddy, but that doesn’t blow it away. Besides, it’s not just rumor. I know that you’ve been sleeping with women other than your wife.”

  “Really? How do you know?”

  “I’ve been told by those who know, that’s how. There are people who have a lot riding on you getting elected to another term, and maybe a run for the Senate one day. They don’t want to see you blow it because you can’t keep your pants zippered.”

  “My House seat is secure and you know it.”

  “In a pig’s ass it is. Pete’s Solon’s got a lot of friends, plenty of backers. He’s putting together a great team, and the money is rolling in.”

  “He’s a Republican, for Christ’s sake. The Fourteenth is solid Democrat,” Gannon said.

  “Not like it used to be, Congressman. You won your last run because you had plenty of Republican crossover voters because—” He shook his head. “Because they’re family values voters. They saw you as a straight arrow who shared their views and sided with the House Republicans on issues dear to their hearts. But you know how that works. Some of your Democrat backers are now grousing about how many times you have sided with the Republican bloc.”

  Gannon started to deflect that argument when Selesky held up his hand. “Yeah, I know, Harold Gannon, Mr. Bipartisan. It’s not playing the way it used to, Hal. The House is as divided as it can get. The Tea Party whackos want you out no matter how comfy you might be with the Republican leadership. I’m telling you, and you’d better listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let’s start with the stewardess.”

  “What stewardess? Stewardess? They’re called flight attendants.”

  “Call ’em what you want, Hal. She flies on planes—when she isn’t shacked up with the handsome congressman from Tampa.”

  “All right, so I know this flight attendant. We’re friends, close friends, that’s all.”

  “And she has close friends.”

  “Sure.”

  “And you think she doesn’t tell her close friends about sleeping with you? One thing I never thought about you was that you’re naïve. She tells her close friends, and they pass the word, and pretty soon the whole freakin’ airline knows about it.”

  Gannon drank water and waved away the waitress. “We’re not ready to order yet.”

  Now Selesky leaned across the table. “An intern, for God’s sake?”

  Gannon sat back as though punched.

  “Yeah, an intern, Lucas Bennett’s daughter, no less. Tell me about it, Hal.”

  “Wait a minute, Joe. Where are you getting this information?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that it came from people who have a lot to lose if you fall on your face this time around.”

  Gannon looked as though he was trying to find a blackboard with what he needed to say written on it.

  “When did you hear about Laura, about the intern?”

  “A week, maybe two weeks ago. It doesn’t matter. That’s why I’m here, Hal.” He lowered his voice even farther. “Laura Bennett’s father is one of your biggest backers. If he hears that you seduced his daughter, he’ll not only drop you like a hot coal, he’ll go after your hide.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Gannon said. “She’s basically out of the office, out of my life. She’s probably getting ready to go back to Tampa.”

  “To tell her father?”

  “Have you decided yet?” the waitress asked, pointing to the unopened menus.

  “Sorry,” Selesky said to her, “something’s come up. I have to catch a plane. I’ll take a check for the beer.”

  Gannon also elected to skip lunch, and they left together.

  “Remember what I said, Hal,” Selesky said as he waved down a taxi.

  “What?”

  “This is about to blow up in your face. Oh, in case I haven’t mentioned her, there’s that woman who sits on the board of the National Opera.”

  “Hey, you want a taxi or what?” the cabdriver yelled through his open window.

  “In a minute,” Selesky said. “Look, Hal, Pete Solon’s people have already hired a guy named Wooster to dig up dirt on you here in D.C. He’s a private detective. We’ve hired our own PI to keep tabs on Wooster—and on you. Everybody’s scrounging around looking for dirt on Congressman Harold Gannon. Lay low, Hal. Mend your fences. The alternative is to go back to Tampa as a former congressman, see if you can get your wife and kids to forgive you, and try putting your law practice back together. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  Selesky scrambled into the cab’s backseat. “Reagan National,” he told the driver.

  Gannon watched the taxi pull away.

  Selesky hadn’t pulled any punches. If things were as bad as he’d said, something had to be done.

  He got in his car and pushed the key for Laura’s cell phone. Dead. Nothing. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Bitch!” he yelled. “Bitch!”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Brixton finished up conducting background checks on potential government employees. The steady stream of income was welcomed but he found the assignment deadly dull. The men and women who’d applied for the jobs were dull, too, and Brixton knew that unless he had the good fortune to uncover a serial killer or child molester among them, they would all pass muster and become paid members of the D.C. bureaucracy—which would probably lead his employer to think that he hadn’t dug deeply enough. Surely one of the candidates for employment had shaved strokes off his golf score, or drank milk straight from the container.

  He was sitting in Mac Smith’s law office when the attorney took a call.

  “Lucas?” Smith said. “This is a pleasant surprise. It’s been awhile.”

/>   Brixton left and went to where Flo was watering a variety of potted plants she’d recently purchased to brighten up the office.

  “Looks like a botanical garden,” Brixton commented.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Flo said. “They add color to the place. And they smell so good, too.”

  “What if a client is allergic to them?” Brixton asked.

  “Then he’ll have to find another private detective. You finished the interviews?”

  “Yeah. Borrrring.”

  “Luuuucrative,” she said. “Mac have anything for you?”

  “We just started to talk when he got a call from somebody named Lucas. I’ll give him time to finish.”

  * * *

  “I hear you’re back trying cases,” Lucas Bennett said to Mac.

  “Word gets around, huh? Yeah, I enjoyed teaching, but today’s crop of fledgling lawyers lacks something, Lucas. I don’t know what it is, maybe not having a true intellectual love of the law, too interested in how much money they’ll make when they pass the bar. Then again, maybe I’m getting too old to understand them.”

  “What are you fifty, fifty-one?” Bennett asked.

  “Fifty-two,” Smith said, and laughed. “But you didn’t call to hear my complaints about the state of jurisprudence. What’s up with you? You still Tampa’s leading attorney?”

  “Things are good, Mac. You remember my daughter, Laura?”

  “I certainly do, but it’s been a long time since I saw her. A beautiful young woman, and smart, too, as I recall.”

  “She’s both those things, Mac. I thought you might have heard from her.”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “Not necessarily. She went to Washington to work as an intern for Congressman Gannon in the House.”

  “Really? She’s interested in a career in government service?”

  This time Bennett laughed. “God, I hope not. No, she wanted a taste of D.C. and how things work there before she gets on with her life, you know, gets married, has kids. I was all for it. Hal Gannon has been a friend for a number of years, and I’ve been an active supporter of his from his first run at the seat. Laura volunteered on his last campaign.”