“I’d hate to have her father file a missing person report if it’s unnecessary. It could be embarrassing to her, and to her family. On the other hand…”
“It’s that other hand that I’m thinking about, Mac. I’ve got a feeling that Ms. Bennett hasn’t simply decided to skip town, maybe with some guy, and not call home. My gut tells me that something is wrong. And you know something? I may not be the brightest bulb in the drawer, but my gut never fails me.”
* * *
Mac called Lucas Bennett and told him of the visit Brixton and the detective had made to Laura’s apartment.
“Her roommate hasn’t seen or heard from Laura in days,” Mac said. “The detective feels that nothing can be done unless a missing person report is filed.”
“Are you suggesting that I do that?” Bennett asked.
Mac hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “I think it’s reached that point.”
“Can you give me the name and number of someone to contact, someone who’ll be discreet?”
“Call Zeke Borgeldt. He’s superintendent of detectives, a friend. Tell Zeke that we’re working together to find Laura.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lucas Bennett called Mac to say that he was on his way to Washington on the first available flight and would come directly from the airport to his office.
Mac had intended to leave early to attend an art auction with Annabel, but he canceled in order to be there when Bennett arrived. When Bennett walked in, a small suitcase in hand, Brixton was also in the office going over a deposition of a new client who Mac thought might benefit from the investigator’s services.
After introductions, Bennett said, “This is a nightmare.”
“I understand,” said Mac. “Did you call Zeke Borgeldt?”
“No. I decided to come here first. I haven’t even informed Grace of what I’m doing. I told her I was coming on a last-minute business deal. I wanted to get the lay of the land before making her worries worse. She’s frantic, Mac. I calmed her down a little by saying that while I was in D.C. I’d be checking into Laura’s whereabouts.”
“Have you been in touch with Congressman Gannon’s office?” Mac asked.
“No. You said you’d called and was told that Laura had taken a few days off.”
“Right. His chief of staff told me that. And when I ran into the congressman at a party, he said he wasn’t aware of Laura’s schedule. I have a suggestion. Now that you’re here, and we have Mr. Brixton, let’s start making calls. You have Gannon’s home number as well as his office?”
“Yes.”
“Try and get hold of him. If you do, explain what’s going on and tell him we need his help. In the meantime, Robert, you call area hospitals
and—”
“Hospitals?” Bennett said.
“To rule out that she’s had an accident and isn’t capable of speaking, and doesn’t have ID with her.”
Bennett nodded solemnly. “I’ve never felt helpless before,” he said.
“You aren’t,” said Mac.
“I feel as though I am. I’ve spent my adult life taking charge, solving problems, calling the shots, and here I am being told to do what’s obvious.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Mac said. “Here. Use this phone to try to reach Gannon. Robert will use the phone in his office.”
“I’ll get on it right away,” Brixton said.
“I’ll call Zeke Borgeldt at MPD on my other line,” Mac said. “When I get him, I’ll put you on.”
* * *
Bennett’s attempts to reach Hal Gannon at the office and at home failed. He was told that the congressman was away and wouldn’t be back for two days. The answering machine at the apartment gave out only a simple, “I’m not here. Leave a message after the beep.”
Mac Smith was more successful in connecting with Zeke Borgeldt. The top cop told Mac that a family member would have to physically file the missing person report.
“Will you be there for another hour?” Mac asked.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Borgeldt replied. “I’ll be waiting for you and Mr. Bennett.”
“I want to go to Laura’s apartment,” Bennett said after being told of Mac’s conversation with Borgeldt.
“I suggest you wait until you’ve filed the report, Luke. The police will dispatch a team and you can join up with them.”
“I have to call Grace. It’s not right that I’m doing this without her involvement.”
“Give her call,” Smith said. “I’ll check in on how Robert is doing.”
Brixton was in his office going down a list of hospitals and clinics in the D.C. area.
“Anything yet?” Smith asked.
“No. I have another three to call.”
“I’ll leave you alone, but finish up as quickly as possible. Bennett and I are going to MPD to file a report on Laura. I’d like you with us.”
“Whatever you say. Flo’s gone home. I’ll call and tell her I’ll be late.”
Bennett’s call to his wife, Grace, in Tampa was tougher than he’d anticipated. She became hysterical, and it took awhile for her to regain control.
“A missing person report?” she said through tears. “Where is she, Luke? Where can she be? What’s happened to her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“I’m coming to Washington.”
“No,” Bennett said. “Mac Smith has things under control. You stay close to the phone. Chances are she’ll surface, and the first place she’ll call is home.”
“I can’t just stay here, Luke.”
“You have to. I’ll get back to you in a few hours after we file the report. Trust me, Grace. We have to take this in stages, one step at a time.”
When he ended the call, Mac suggested, “It might be best if she’s here,” not adding that he’d come to the conclusion that a phone call to home from Laura was highly unlikely. His gut was in sync with Brixton’s. Something nasty had happened to Laura Bennett.
* * *
Bennett called the JW Marriott hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue and reserved a room. A few minutes later, he, Mac Smith, and Robert Brixton stopped there for Bennett to check in and leave his bag before going to the Henry J. Daly Building on Indiana Avenue, the Washington MPD headquarters, in the neighborhood known as Judiciary Square. The building had been named for Henry “Hank” Daly, a twenty-eight-year veteran homicide sergeant, who was gunned down inside it in 1994 by Bennie Lee Lawson Jr. A deranged criminal, Lawson carried an assault handgun into the building and killed Daly and two FBI agents.
Smith, Bennett, and Brixton were directed to Zeke Borgeldt’s office, where they were told to wait in the anteroom while Borgeldt finished a meeting. Ten minutes later, the door opened and Borgeldt escorted a young man and woman from his office. They were Washington Post reporters who’d interviewed the superintendent of detectives about the recent discovery of the body in Rock Creek Park.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Borgeldt said.
“We appreciate you seeing us last minute,” Smith said. “This is Lucas Bennett, my attorney friend from Tampa. You know Robert Brixton.”
“The infamous Robert Brixton,” Borgeldt said lightly, shaking Brixton’s hand.
“Good to see you again,” said Brixton.
Borgeldt noticed that the reporters were lingering by the door.
“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“No, thanks, Superintendent,” the young woman said. “We’re leaving.”
Once in Borgeldt’s office, Bennett took the lead and gave Borgeldt a capsule account of Laura’s disappearance. The superintendent listened closely and made notes.
“Do you have a recent photo of your daughter, Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes. I’ve brought two with me.” He handed them to Borgeldt.
“I’ll assemble a team to go to the apartment, Mr. Bennett, and we’ll broadcast the missing person alert.”
“I’d like to do this as quietly as possible,” Bennett
said.
“We certainly won’t hold a press conference about it,” Borgeldt said, “but there’s really no way to ensure privacy in these matters.”
“I understand,” said Bennett.
“Why don’t you settle in the waiting room,” Borgeldt said, “while I put things in motion.”
“We’ll want to accompany whoever you send,” Smith said.
“Of course. Give me a few minutes.”
As Smith, Bennett and, Brixton waited, the two reporters who’d met with Borgeldt had settled in the empty MPD newsroom where press briefings were held.
“That was Mackensie Smith,” the man said. “He used to teach at GW, but he’s back in private practice.”
“I recognized him,” his female colleague said. “Who was the man he was with?”
“Lucas Bennett? A lawyer from Tampa? At least that’s what I heard Smith tell the superintendent.”
“I also recognized the third guy,” she said. “Robert Brixton. His picture was all over the papers when he lost a daughter in that terrorist café bombing and shot the congressman’s son.”
“Right, right. Robert Brixton. Wonder what they’re doing here.”
She called the paper and asked that a search be done on Lucas Bennett. Ten minutes later, an updated bio on Bennett was e-mailed to her phone. It ended with a note about his daughter, Laura Bennett, interning in the office of U.S. Congressman Harold Gannon.
“So why are these Tampa lawyers Bennett, Mackensie Smith, and Brixton meeting with Superintendent Borgeldt?” he mused. “I wonder if it has to do with the daughter.”
She laughed. “Congressman Gannon,” she said. “The House’s resident Don Juan.”
He laughed, too. “One of many. Let’s make a couple of calls and see what we can find out.”
Borgeldt rejoined Mac and the others in the waiting room.
“I’m sending two detectives to the apartment. Why don’t you drive there and wait for them to arrive. One is Detective Gibbs. You were with him earlier, Brixton.”
Ten minutes after Mac had parked his car at the curb in front of Laura Bennett’s apartment building, the detectives arrived. Along with Detective Gibbs was a lanky older man with thinning hair whose clothing hung loosely on his slender frame. His name was Lars Light.
Gibbs rang the buzzer. No answer.
“Try it again,” Light said.
Still no answer.
Light leaned close to the bank of buzzers. “I’ll try the super.”
“What?” a man’s voice said through the intercom.
“Police,” Light said. “We need access to an apartment.”
“What?”
“We’re police,” he repeated, louder this time. “We need to get into one of your apartments.”
“Police?”
Light looked at the others and shook his head.
“Yes,” he shouted, his mouth inches from the microphone. “Police!”
“One minute.”
The super, with a shaved bullet head and wearing a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of hearing aids, arrived carrying a large ring filled with keys. “What apartment?”
Lucas Bennett gave him the number.
“You all police?” the super asked.
“Right,” Light said, “we’re all police.” He showed him his badge.
The super opened the inside door and led them into the elevator. He fumbled to find the right key for the apartment. When he did, he opened the door and stepped aside. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “Drugs? They seem like nice girls.”
Brixton cast a glance at Bennett before saying, “No, no drugs. Thanks. We’ll lock up when we leave.”
The detectives took in the living room and looked into the kitchen.
“Her bedroom’s down the hall,” Gibbs said.
The room looked the same as when Brixton had last been there. The suitcases hadn’t been moved, and the laptop was in the same spot on the makeshift desk. Light sat and turned it on. Bennett opened the closet door and peered at the clothing. “Damn,” he muttered.
Mac Smith went to him. “Is something missing?” he asked.
“No. I don’t know. It’s just that seeing her clothing and knowing that she might be in trouble is tough to swallow.”
Mac patted him on the back and they went to a corner of the room.
“She’s neat,” Detective Light commented. “Bed’s made.”
“Yes, she is,” her father agreed.
“I wish the roommate was here,” Brixton said.
“Your daughter a hiker, Mr. Bennett?” Light asked.
“Yes. She enjoys the outdoors. Why do you ask?”
“She accessed material about Rock Creek Park on her computer, maps, stuff about the mansion. She ride horses?”
“She has,” Bennett confirmed.
“There’s details here about horseback riding in the park.”
“Rock Creek Park?” Brixton said. He was about to mention the recent discovery of another female victim there but caught himself after glancing at Bennett, who sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“We’ll take the laptop,” Detective Light said. “Let’s pack up these papers, too.”
“She was always on the computer,” Bennett said, “and on her iPad, like everyone her age.”
“I don’t see an iPad,” Gibbs said.
“We’ll check the rest of the apartment,” said Light. “We’ll leave a card and a note for the roommate to call us.”
Smith invited Bennett to his apartment for dinner, but the attorney begged off. “I need time alone to sort this out, Mac,” he said. “I want to call Grace and have her join me. You were right in suggesting that. Please give my best to Annabel, and I can’t thank you and Mr. Brixton enough for what you’ve done.”
“We’ll all be thankful when Laura shows up safe and sound,” Mac said, as he dropped Bennett at the hotel. “Superintendent Borgeldt said he’d run whatever they come up with through me. We’ll stay in close touch.”
Mac left Brixton off in front of his apartment building. “What’s your take?” he asked.
“My take? Not good, Mac. See you in the morning.”
And at the Watergate where Annabel was eager to hear what had happened, Mac told his wife, “I think Luke Bennett had better brace himself for bad news, Annie.”
CHAPTER
14
Grace Bennett prepared to fly to Washington. She’d gone through a roller-coaster of emotions since speaking with her husband about Laura’s disappearance and the plan to have MPD file a missing person report. It had been sleepless night for the usually well-rested and physically fit woman who applied her knowledge of how the human body worked to her patients at Tampa General Hospital.
She’d called her supervisor at the hospital to say that she needed a few days off.
“Everything okay?” her boss asked.
She was desperate to share her grief but overcame the urge. “Everything is fine,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Luke is in Washington on business and wants me to join him. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Travel safe, Grace. Enjoy the time off. You deserve it. We’ll cover for you with your patients.”
She began to cry the minute she hung up the phone.
“Damn it!” she said aloud. “Get hold of yourself.”
She was packed hours before the car service arrived to take her to Tampa International Airport and decided to call her sister, Irene, in suburban Maryland. Laura had recently gone to Irene’s house for dinner and reported back that she had the feeling that her aunt was analyzing her every move and word.
“That’s because she’s a shrink, sweetheart.”
“I know,” Laura had said, “but it’s—it’s creepy.”
They both had a good laugh over it. “I’m just glad that you had a nice home-cooked meal,” Grace had said.
“Barbequed ribs, potatoes, and some sort of bread stuffing. It was like getti
ng an injection of cholesterol.”
“Fast for a day,” her mother had said.
“Fat chance,” Laura had said, and they laughed again before ending the call.
Grace and Irene had never been especially close, although there wasn’t open hostility between them. Their lives had taken distinctly different paths.
Grace Bennett knew to not comment on her sister’s lifestyle, which included overeating and a lack of physical exercise. Irene was a licensed psychologist with a private practice, which she operated from a wing of her home. Her husband had launched a variety of small businesses, all of which failed for one reason or another, and he currently worked as a manager in a Target store. It had been two years since Grace and Irene had seen each other, their relationship limited to phone calls every few weeks and the requisite holiday cards. The tradition of getting together for Thanksgiving and Christmas had fallen by the wayside.
On this day, Grace felt a compelling need to speak with Irene.
“Irene, it’s Grace. Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all. A client just left and I don’t have another until late this afternoon. How are you?”
“I’m—” She began to cry.
“Grace, what’s wrong? Is Lukas okay? Laura?”
“Oh, God, Irene I—no, things aren’t okay. I’m about to leave for Washington.”
“To visit Laura? Is she ill?”
“She’s—she’s missing.”
“Missing? What do you mean missing?”
Grace explained about Lucas having gone to D.C. and his filing a missing person report. “We haven’t heard from her in days. It’s uncharacteristic of her to not stay in touch. I’m so fearful that something horrible has happened.”
“What about her roommate?” Irene asked. “When Laura came here for dinner, she complained that they weren’t getting along.”
“I don’t know about that, Irene. Maybe Luke has contacted her. I’ll know more after I get there.”
A silence between them ensued before Irene said, “There’s something that you should probably know, Grace. I wouldn’t mention it except for what you’ve just told me.”
“What?”
Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder Page 11
