Irene sighed. “I promised Laura that I wouldn’t tell you.”
“For God’s sake, Irene, what is it?”
“When Laura was here she told me that she was—well, she said that she was in love with the congressman she was interning for, Congressman Gannon.”
“In love with him?”
Irene’s soft laugh was meant to comfort. “You know how young women are, Grace. They fall in love with everyone and anyone, especially someone with high visibility. Maybe ‘love’ is the wrong word. Infatuation is more like it.”
“What did she say, Irene? Infatuated with him? In love with him?”
Irene sensed a rising anger in her sister’s voice and said, “I really don’t think it means anything. Young women of her age go through a series of crushes on older, successful men. I have a few young female clients who—”
“She told you this and you didn’t call to tell me?” Grace interrupted, pleased that she hadn’t said the first thing that came to mind: Can the psychobabble!
“She swore me to secrecy, Grace. Besides, I dismissed it as a starstruck young woman having fantasies. I see it all the time in my practice. I told her that she should make sure that it stays just that, a pleasant fantasy, and that if she had any thoughts about turning it into reality, she should think twice.”
Grace’s voice was now ice-cold. “Did she, Irene, turn it into reality?”
“It’s just a fling, Grace. She’s twenty-two years old and extremely independent. When I told her that she was asking for trouble getting involved with an older man, and a married one, to boot, she got her back up, said that she was old enough to make decisions. I left it at that. She’s very bright, Grace. She’ll make the right decisions in her life.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
“I didn’t see any reason to.”
“Luke will be furious.”
“He doesn’t have to know, Grace. I’m sure nothing came of it and—”
“Nothing came of it? She’s missing, Irene. Missing! If Hal had anything to do with it, I’ll—”
“Why don’t you talk to him? And Grace, I resent you attacking me. You’re way off base.”
“I’m not attacking you, Irene. I’m—” Her steely voice melted into sobs again.
“If there’s anything I can do.”
“I have to go,” Grace said.
“I’m sorry about Laura,” Irene said. “I’m sure she’s all right. You’ll stay in touch?”
“Yes, I will. Thank you for the information.”
She flew first-class to Washington. Her seatmate was a chatty young man who insisted on telling her of his career plans once he graduated from college. “My dad has plenty of connections in Washington,” he’d said, among other things. Grace did her best to ignore him without being rude. Her mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Laura involved romantically with Hal Gannon? Preposterous!
Had it been just an infatuation, or had Laura and Gannon actually entered into a romantic relationship?
A sexual one? Each time she pondered that, she waved it away mentally. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Luke had reserved a car service to bring him to the airport to meet her plane. They embraced but limited their conversation until the driver was no longer privy to what they said. Inside the suite at the Marriott, she broke down, and her husband did his best to comfort her. Once her emotions were under control, he brought her up-to-date on what had transpired over the past twenty-four hours.
“And Mac Smith says that there’s been no progress in finding her?” she asked him.
“No. They’re analyzing what’s on her laptop, tracking down where she might have been recently, people she spent time with, anything to come up with a clue to her whereabouts.”
“What do the police think happened to her?”
“They’re not in the business of speculating, Grace. The superintendent of detectives—a guy named Borgeldt—is a friend of Mac’s. He’s personally taken charge of the investigation. Everything possible is being done to trace Laura’s recent activities.”
Room service delivering their dinner interrupted the conversation. When the server was gone, Grace asked, “Have you spoken with Hal Gannon?”
“No. I’ve tried, but they say he’s out of town for a few days.”
“You have to get hold of him, Luke. He’s the reason she came to Washington in the first place. He must know something.”
“I’ll try his home number again.”
He reached the answering machine and swore as he slammed down the receiver.
“Call Charlene in Tampa,” she suggested.
Gannon’s wife answered.
“Charlene, it’s Luke Bennett.”
“Hello, Luke. How are you?”
“Not well, Charlene. Does Hal happen to be there?”
“No. He’s in Washington.”
“No, he’s not. There’s been no answer at his apartment, and his office says he’s away. I thought he might be home with you.”
“I haven’t spoken to Hal in a few days, Luke. Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there is. Grace and I are in Washington. I’m calling from there. Our daughter, Laura, has gone missing.”
“Oh, my goodness. How could that be?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. It’s important that I speak with Hal.”
“If I hear from him, I’ll have him call you right away. You’re in Washington?”
He gave her the number of the hotel, their room, and cell phone number.
“Thanks, Charlene,” Bennett said.
“How’s Grace holding up?”
“As you can imagine, this is a traumatic time for us.”
“I imagine. If there’s anything I can do, I—”
“Just have Hal call me. Thank you very much.”
“She doesn’t know where Hal is?” Grace said after Lucas had hung up.
“No.”
Grace’s expression said that she was grappling with something weighty.
“What are you thinking?” Bennett asked.
“I spoke with Irene this morning.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. Laura had dinner with her one night.”
“Sure. I remember you telling me about it.”
“She told me something that I think you should know, Luke.”
CHAPTER
15
While Grace Bennett recounted for her husband what her sister had told her about Laura and Hal Gannon, Mac Smith was with Annabel at her Georgetown art gallery admiring two pieces she’d recently purchased, a five-inch-tall solid terra-cotta woman, which Annabel dated back to the Maya culture of 700–900, and a jar in the form of a face, also terra-cotta and dating from a slightly later period.
“You’ve bought from this doctor before,” Mac commented.
“After vetting him carefully,” Annabel answered. “He’s an avid collector who’s getting on in years and wants to pare down his collection. What do you think of them?”
Mac smiled. All he knew about pre-Columbian art was what his wife had taught him since opening the gallery fifteen years ago. They were not objects that he would be drawn to naturally, but their provenance and age couldn’t be dismissed.
“I think they’re wonderful,” he said, not adding that he hoped she could sell them at a profit over what she’d paid the doctor. He also didn’t express his wish that his wife not fall too much in love with them—as she had with other pieces in the gallery—and decide that she couldn’t part with them. The gallery was, after all, a business.
“Ready to leave?” he asked. “Let’s grab a quick bite and head home.”
As she prepared to close up, his cell phone sounded.
“Mac, it’s Luke Bennett.”
“Hello, Luke. Nothing to report yet. As we agreed, my investigator, Robert Brixton, plans to spend time digging up information. He’s between assignments right now.”
“Relationship?”
“I think they were sleeping together.”
Mac immediately thought of what Fred Mayer had said about Gannon’s reputation as a womanizer, but he didn’t mention it. Instead, he questioned Bennett about the source of this allegation. Bennett told him about Grace’s conversation with her sister.
“Sure it’s not a young woman’s fantasy?” Mac said.
“Grace doesn’t think so, at least not based on what Irene said. I’ve been trying to reach Gannon, without success. I called his wife in Tampa. She hasn’t heard from him in a few days. Damn it, Mac, if it’s true, it could mean that—”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Luke. I’m sure that Gannon will be back in Washington any day now.”
“Grace wants me to tell the police about Gannon.”
“That may become inevitable, Luke, but it’s premature. Here’s what I suggest. I’ll have Robert Brixton try and reach the congressman, ask for some time with him, get a sense of what he might know. Brixton has a good antenna.”
“Why would Gannon speak to a private investigator?”
“Because talking to a private investigator is better for the congressman than having detectives arrive at his office. Right now Laura’s disappearance hasn’t become public, although it’s only conjecture how long that will be true. If the congressman brushes Brixton off, we can alert the police about a possible romantic affair between Gannon and Laura. In the meantime, I suggest that you and Grace get some rest. Come by my office first thing in the morning, say eight?”
Mac and Annabel had just pulled up to the curb in front of DISH drinks in the River Inn, not far from the Watergate, when his cell rang again.
“Mackensie Smith?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Rebecca Paulson. I’m a reporter at The Washington Post. Got a minute?”
“Actually, I don’t. My wife and I are about to have dinner.”
“Sorry to call on your cell, Mr. Smith. I’ll make it brief. I’ve come to learn that your client, an attorney from Tampa, Florida, Lucas Bennett, is in town because his daughter, Laura Bennett, who worked as an intern for Florida congressman Harold Gannon, is missing, and that a missing person report has been filed. I’d like your comment on it,” she rattled off.
“Ah, Ms.—”
“Paulson. Rebecca.”
“I don’t know where you get your information, Ms. Paulson.”
“But you did accompany him to see Superintendent Borgeldt at MPD. Besides, I know from a good source that a missing person report has been filed.”
A cop with a big mouth, Mac mused.
“Is Mr. Bennett with you?”
“No, he’s not, and I have nothing more to say.”
“Would you be good enough to tell me how to reach Mr. Bennett?”
“Thank you for the call, Ms. Paulson. Have a wonderful evening.”
“What was that all about?” Annabel asked as they entered the restaurant, a popular spot with theatergoers at the nearby Kennedy Center.
“So much for Laura’s disappearance being kept quiet. It was a reporter from The Post. They’ve latched on to the story.”
“Inevitable.”
They’d just been served their usual steak frites when Mac’s phone sounded again. It was Brixton.
“Mac, sorry to bother you, but you’ll want to know that I got hold of Congressman Gannon, reached him at home. He’d just walked in. He said he knew that there was a question of where Laura Bennett was because he was told by his office, but claims he knows nothing about it.”
“The Post is about to break the story, Robert, probably in tomorrow’s edition. Did he agree to speak with you?”
Brixton laughed. “Yeah, he did. He balked at first, but I told him that the police were involved and it would be better to talk to me first. He didn’t agree until I mentioned that you’re representing Laura’s father. He said he’d met you and knows your reputation, and that he’s a close friend of Mr. Bennett. Anyway, I’m going to his apartment first thing in the morning.”
“I’m impressed, Robert. He’ll want to know how to get in touch with Bennett. Here’s the hotel number.”
“It was a piece a cake, Mac. I did my best Columbo impression, you know, told him that I knew how busy he was and what a great reputation he had, hemmed and hawed, even said ‘shucks’ once, I think. He comes off like a nice guy, said he’ll do anything to help.”
Robert Brixton saying something positive about an elected official? was Mac’s unstated thought.
When they ended the conversation, Mac told Annabel about Brixton seeing Gannon in the morning and wondered how the police would respond to it. “Now that they’re officially involved, they might get their nose out of joint having a private investigator make the first contact.”
“Robert is representing you, and you’re representing Luke Bennett,” she said.
“I suppose you’re right, Annie. I’ll be eager to see what Robert comes up with.”
Over coffee and a shared piece of key lime cheesecake with raspberry sauce, Mac called Luke Bennett to tell him of Brixton’s plan to meet with Gannon.
“I’ll go with him,” was Bennett’s first response.
“Better if Robert goes by himself,” Mac said. “I gave him your hotel number. I’m sure Gannon will call you after their meeting.”
Bennett didn’t sound pleased, but he acquiesced.
“If Gannon had anything to do with Laura’s disappearance, I’ll—”
Mac understood the frustration he must be feeling. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Luke. See you at my office at eight.”
THE SEARCH
CHAPTER
16
Brixton arrived at Gannon’s apartment in Adams Morgan at eight thirty the following morning. He was buzzed into the foyer and rode the elevator to Gannon’s floor, where a young man dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, and red tie waited in an open doorway.
“Mr. Brixton? he asked.
“Right.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Cody Watson, Congressman Gannon’s press aide. The congressman is on a call but he’ll be finished shortly. Come in. Coffee? We have pastries straight from Firehook Bakery on Dupont Circle, juice, too.”
Brixton hadn’t expected to see anyone other than the congressman, or to receive such a warm welcome. He followed Watson inside and looked around the living room. “Nice place,” he said.
“Unfortunately, the congressman doesn’t get to use it very often, only when Congress is in session. Sit down, Mr. Brixton. Cream? Sugar?”
“Straight black,” Brixton said, perusing a platter of Danish pastries. He passed them up and took a chair by the window.
Watson placed a steaming-hot black coffee on a table next to Brixton. He’d just taken his first tentative sip when the bedroom door opened and Gannon entered the living room. He went directly to Brixton and shook his hand, a smile on his tanned face. Brixton placed the cup back on the table and tried to stand, but Gannon maintained his grip and said, “No, sit please. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I see that Cody has taken good care of you.”
“Yeah, he has, Congressman. Thanks for finding the time to see me this morning.”
“I just wish there was a different reason for our getting together. I can’t believe that Laura is missing. Let’s hope she’s simply gone off someplace and will surface safe and sound.”
“That’s what her folks are hoping for, too. Oh, her father and mother are staying at the Marriott. Here’s the phone number and—”
“I know. I just got off the phone with Luke Bennett. He called twenty minutes ago. He and his wife, Grace, are in town hoping to get some word about their daughter. Do you have anything to report?”
“Afraid not. You know that I’m here because Mackensie Smith, an attorney and a friend of Mr. Bennett, aske
d me to contact you.”
“I’m aware of that. I asked Luke—Mr. Bennett about it, and he assures me that we’re all playing on the same team, Mr. Smith, you, the Bennetts, and of course me.”
Brixton wondered whether Bennett had said anything to Gannon about the rumor that his daughter might have been sleeping with him, but from the congressman’s upbeat manner he doubted the subject had been raised.
Gannon took a chair so close to Brixton that their knees touched. “Now,” he said, “let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. I know that you’re a private investigator working on Luke Bennett’s behalf. What have you uncovered so far?”
“Nothing, sir. The reason I’m here is to see what you have to offer in the way of help.”
Gannon looked at his press aide, who sat on the couch holding a steno pad and pen.
“Me?” Gannon said. “What can I possibly do?” Before Brixton had a chance to respond, Gannon added, “Of course, I’ll do anything in my power to find that wonderful young woman.”
Wonderful young woman? Brixton mused. Wonderful as an intern, or in bed?
“When was the last time you saw Ms. Bennett?” Brixton asked, taking out his own notepad and pen.
“Many days ago.”
“At the office?”
Gannon thought before saying, “Yes, I believe that’s where I last saw her.”
“Did she seem normal to you?”
“Normal?”
“You know, did she seem upset about something, act uptight, look like or say anything that might be weighing on her mind?”
“No, although I must say that I really don’t spend much time with the interns working in my office. They’re busy with their responsibilities and so am I. My chief of staff, Roseann Simmons, pretty much does all the supervision of interns.”
“I’d like to speak with her,” said Brixton.
“That’s easily arranged.”
Brixton wrote her name in his pad and asked, “I don‘t suppose you know much about Ms. Bennett’s life outside the office, men she might have been dating, favorite places she liked to visit, that sort of thing.”
“You’re right, Mr. Brixton. What my interns—what all interns in Washington—do on their time off is pretty much their own business, unless, of course, they get themselves into trouble.”
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