Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  “Does that happen often?”

  “No, of course not, just an occasional foul ball who’s away from home for the first time and drinks too much.” He flashed a smile. “You know what I mean.”

  “Feeling his oats.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Or her oats.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Was Ms. Bennett that sort of young woman, you know, away from home and—well, drinking too much?”

  “I really didn’t know her well enough to make such a judgment.”

  “Oh? I was told that you were very close to the Bennett family.”

  “I was. Yes, I am.”

  “Didn’t spend any time with their daughter?”

  “Yes, of course I did. No, she never struck me as being immature. Excuse me.”

  Brixton watched him disappear into the bedroom.

  “Did you work with Ms. Bennett?” Brixton asked Cody Watson.

  “I knew who she was,” Watson responded. “I mean, it’s not a big office, but the interns pretty much kept to themselves.”

  “Interns don’t work with press aides?”

  “Well, sometimes, but—”

  “You don’t have an intern working with you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, but it wasn’t Laura Bennett. More coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Gannon reemerged from the bedroom and made a show of checking his watch. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to end this conversation, Mr. Brixton. I think it’s good that Luke Bennett has hired you as a private investigator to help find out what’s happened to his daughter, but I’m sure the police will pick it up from this point forward. Luke Bennett has filed a missing person report with the MPD and they’re already on the case. I received a call earlier from a detective who wants to talk to me. I suppose they’ll go over the same ground that you’ve covered this morning. I just wish I had more to offer. The Bennett family and my family are close, very close, and I just pray that nothing bad has happened to Laura. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.”

  Tell me about it, Brixton thought as a vision of his daughter Janet being blown up in a café by a female terrorist, flooded his mind.

  “Anything else?” Gannon asked.

  “Not at the moment, but I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”

  As Brixton stood, a jolt of pain shot through his bad knee. “Ooh,” he said.

  “Are you all right?” Gannon asked.

  “A bum knee,” Brixton said, moving his right leg in circles. “It acts up sometimes.”

  “Maybe you ought to have it replaced,” Gannon said.

  “Yeah, maybe I should. Well, thanks again for your time, Congressman.”

  As Brixton walked to the door, he stopped, turned, and asked, “Was Ms. Bennett ever in this apartment.”

  “No,” Gannon said quickly. Then he added, “Well, maybe once, twice at the most, you know, to bring me something from the office that I’m working on. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious, that’s all. I don’t know much about congressional interns, how close they get to the men they’re interning for. I thought maybe you threw dinner parties for them, things like that.”

  “I don’t, and I can’t speak for other members of Congress.”

  Thanks again, Congressman. I’ll be in touch.”

  Cody Watson walked Brixton to the elevator.

  “Must keep you busy working for a congressman,” Brixton commented as they waited for the car.

  “Keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. I remember reading about you. You lost a daughter in that café bombing and—”

  “And I shot the congressman’s son, who was with the suicide bomber.”

  “Yes, I remember that. It was big news.”

  “Was it?”

  The doors opened.

  “Let me ask you a question,” Brixton said, using his hand to keep the doors from closing.

  Watson cocked his head.

  “How can an intern work in a congressman’s office every day and the congressman doesn’t know what she does, where she goes, who she sees?”

  Watson’s laugh was forced, and Brixton knew it. “He’s just too busy, that’s all,” Watson said. “Have a nice day.”

  “Yeah, you, too. Thanks for the coffee. By the way, I understand that The Post is running an article about Ms. Bennett’s disappearance.”

  “I’ve already read it in this morning’s edition. They got a few facts wrong, but it pretty much covers the story. I feel bad for the congressman. He was close to the family. He’s really broken up about this.”

  Congressman Gannon hadn’t looked “broken up” to Brixton, but he’d learned years ago not to be too quick to judge anyone’s reaction to bad news. He’d testified in murder cases where the prosecuting attorney pointed to a lack of emotion on the part of the accused as proof of guilt. But Brixton knew that everyone grieved differently. Some wailed in public. Others, stoic in the presence of others, broke down in private.

  * * *

  As Brixton slowly made his way to Smith’s office, he couldn’t shake what Gannon had said, that losing a child was every parent’s worst nightmare.

  “Tell me about it,” he muttered aloud.

  * * *

  He’d been lured back to Washington to join SITQUAL as a security agent, a civil service job. The mission was to provide protection for the more than 175 foreign embassies, residences, chanceries, and diplomatic missions in D.C.

  One day he arranged to meet his daughter Janet after work at an outdoor café near State to discuss a business she wanted to launch with a musician boyfriend. Janet Brixton was a free spirit who sometimes provided her father with sleepless nights, but she also mirrored his shoot-from-the-hip approach to life. Her lip ring and tattoos were anathema to him, but so was much of contemporary society. Little things tended to bother him, including young men who wore baseball caps backward. Didn’t they know that the visor was designed to shade the face? And today’s music bewildered him. An inveterate jazz lover, Brixton enjoyed quoting the great jazz saxophonist James Moody who, when asked what he thought of rock-and-roll, replied, “You really can’t play music while you’re jumping up and down.”

  Despite these misgivings, and a dozen others, Brixton adored his libertine daughter and would have thrown himself under a bus to save her.

  They were enjoying drinks and calamari when a young Arabic woman, accompanied into the café by a young American man who quickly left, detonated a powerful explosive that killed many, including Janet Brixton. Bloodied and in shock, Brixton had followed the young man, cornered him in an alley, and when he pulled out what appeared to be a weapon, Brixton fired, killing him instantly. Brixton’s target turned out to be the son of one of the House of Representatives’ most powerful members, Mississippi Congressman Walter Skaggs, and Brixton was the only person alive to remember seeing Skaggs’s son with the suicide bomber.

  Fueled by the need to avenge his daughter’s murder and to clear his name, he doggedly pursued the truth, which took him into the world of an Arab-American arms dealer and led him to a charismatic cult leader on the Hawaiian island of Maui, where Brixton was almost killed in his quest for justice. But in the end he managed to clear his name and put an end to a vicious ring of arms dealers providing weapons and explosives to terrorist organizations around the world.

  But clearing his name bought little solace. Janet was gone, the victim of a terrorist bomber, leaving a hole in his life too deep and wide to ever be filled.

  CHAPTER

  17

  HOUSE INTERN MISSING

  by Rebecca Paulson

  A missing person report has been filed with the MPD by the parents of Laura Bennett, an intern in the congressional office of Florida congressman Harold “Hal” Gannon. The report was filed by Ms. Bennett’s father, Tampa attorney Lucas Bennett, after Ms. Bennett fell out of contact over the past several days.

  The missing person report was filed in person at MPD head
quarters by Mr. Bennett. He was accompanied by well-known local attorney Mackensie Smith, and Robert Brixton, a Washington, D.C., private investigator.

  Congressman Gannon’s office released the following statement from the congressman just prior to this story being filed: “This is extremely upsetting, for me and for Ms. Bennett’s family. Her father and I have been friends for years, and I only pray that she will soon reappear safe and sound.”

  “He didn’t have anything to offer that could help determine where Laura might be?” Bennett said to Brixton.

  The Bennetts sat in Smith’s office after Brixton had returned from his conversation with Gannon. The morning paper was open to the story of Laura’s disappearance.

  “No,” Brixton said. “He pretty much said the same thing he said in the newspaper, that he hopes she turns up safe.”

  “What came out of your phone conversation with the congressman?” Mac asked Lucas Bennett.

  “Nothing more than what Mr. Brixton has just said.”

  “How about calling me Robert?” Brixton said to Bennett.

  “Yes, of course. Bob?”

  “I prefer Robert.”

  “All right, Robert.”

  “Are you and the congressman planning to get together?” Smith asked Bennett.

  “Hal was vague about that. He’s been away on business and has a lot of catching up to do at the office. We agreed to make contact later.”

  Brixton didn’t express what his visceral reaction to Congressman Gannon had been during their morning meeting. The congressman came off to him as cool and calculating, his smile practiced and available at a moment’s notice, all surface, a quarter inch deep. A politician. The question Brixton had asked Gannon as he was leaving about whether Laura had spent time in the apartment was prompted by what her roommate, Reis Ethridge, had said about their personal relationship. Gannon’s answer that she’d been there only a few times to deliver papers rang false to Brixton, nothing specific, just a feeling. And here he was claiming to be too busy at work to get together with his friend and the father of a missing daughter who happened to be his intern.

  Hell of a guy.

  Did the Bennetts know of the rumors that Gannon and Laura were involved in a relationship that had nothing to do with her duties as an intern? Brixton wondered. If they did, it hadn’t come up yet that morning.

  “What are the police doing?” Grace Bennett asked.

  “They’ve been given information about Laura, along with names of people to question,” Mac replied. “There’s her roommate, Ms. Ethridge, names of restaurants she frequented based on the receipts found in her apartment, people she might have met at the health club she belonged to, other interns in Gannon’s office. Her small phone book was found in the apartment. Names and numbers in it are being checked out.”

  “I wish you hadn’t given them the photo of Laura that you did,” Grace said.

  “Why?” her husband asked.

  “She looks—well, she looks slutty in that outfit.”

  “I gave them other pictures, too,” he said.

  “I just don’t like her to come off as cheap,” Grace said. “If there’s any truth to what Irene told me, I’ll—”

  “What was that?” Brixton asked, breaking a sudden silence.

  “Robert is aware of the rumor about Laura and Congressman Gannon being involved in a more personal relationship,” Mac said.

  “Where did you hear it?” Luke Bennett asked.

  Brixton shrugged. “Her roommate mentioned something about it,” he said, “and Mac has filled me in.”

  “It’s that widespread?” Grace said. “Oh, my God, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Still just a rumor,” Mac said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until we have something tangible.”

  “But if it is true,” Grace said, “it could be the reason Laura is missing.” Her face and voice turned hard. “Will the police challenge Hal about it? I know that he’s a U.S. congressman and all, but—”

  “Let’s give them time to touch all the bases,” Mac said.

  “But do the police know?” Grace pressed.

  Mac looked to Brixton, who replied, “One of the detectives who came with me to your daughter’s apartment is aware of the rumor, Mrs. Bennett.”

  “I didn’t ask Hal about it when we spoke,” her husband said.

  “If it’s true, Hal will only lie,” Grace said, struggling to maintain her composure.

  “Did your daughter ever say anything to you to indicate that she might be involved in a—well, in a close relationship with the congressman?” Brixton asked the father.

  “Not to me, but—”

  “My sister,” Grace said, interrupting her husband. She told Brixton what Irene had revealed to her.

  Smith’s assistant, Doris, interrupted the meeting to say that a reporter from The Washington Post and someone from WTOP radio had called for Mac.

  “I don’t want to speak with the media,” Mac told her. “Get their contact info and tell them I’ll get back to them later.” He said to the Bennetts, “I suggest that you maintain a no-comment stance with the press.”

  But as he said it, he knew that if Laura was to be found it would mean using the press to keep her disappearance in the spotlight. “We may need them,” he added, “but not for the moment.”

  Bennett stood and paced the office. “Mac,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve been incredibly helpful, and Grace and I appreciate it, but I think it’s time that we make it official. We’ll need legal representation and want you to be our attorney in this matter.”

  “Of course,” Mac said. “May I suggest that you also hire Robert as your investigator.”

  “If Robert agrees.”

  “Count me in,” Brixton said.

  “Why do we need a private investigator?” Grace asked. “Don’t you think that the police will do their job?”

  “The police will pull out all the stops, Grace,” Mac said, “but this isn’t the only case on their plate. Robert will have access to some people that the police won’t. Besides, he’ll be working directly for you.”

  “All right,” she said.

  “Good,” Mac said. “Now let’s get to work finding out what’s happened to your daughter.”

  “I’d like to speak with Laura’s roommate,” her mother said.

  “Let’s see if we can arrange that,” Smith said.

  To Brixton: “You’ve met her twice, Robert. Why don’t you see if you can get hold of her and set up a meeting with Luke and Grace.”

  “I’ve got to stay available for when Hal Gannon calls,” Luke Bennett said.

  “Let’s play that by ear,” Mac said. “Robert, go back to the hotel with the Bennetts and try to reach Laura’s roommate from there.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Brixton. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  While the meeting was taking place in Mac’s office, the Washington MPD was in the process of putting together a task force to search for Laura Bennett. Zeke Borgeldt had assembled a team of detectives, including Jay Gibbs.

  “According to Brixton, the roommate hinted that Ms. Bennett might be involved with Congressman Gannon,” Gibbs told his boss.

  “Involved? How?”

  “She said that the congressman was Ms. Bennett’s ‘boyfriend.’”

  “Any confirmation on that?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Other detectives assigned to the squad filtered into the meeting room.

  “We’ve got a missing person,” Borgeldt said, “daughter of a prominent lawyer from Tampa, Florida. Name’s Laura Bennett.” He handed out photos of her that he’d had duplicated, including an artist’s sketch of what she would look like with a different hairdo. Accompanying the pictures was a sheet of particulars, her height, weight, age, and other facts. “You’ve read about it in today’s paper,” Borgeldt said.

  “The twenty-two-year-old in Rock Creek Park?” Borgeldt was ask
ed.

  “Negative on that. We have a tentative ID on her. Ms. Bennett came here from Tampa to intern for Florida congressman Harold Gannon.”

  “There’s talk about him,” a detective said. “They say he’s a real stud.”

  “I’ve heard that,” said Borgeldt. “I have a call in to his office. I’ll talk to him myself. We checked e-mails. Nothing between her and the congressman. We’ve gone over her laptop, too. She downloaded lots of material about hiking in Rock Creek Park, so we’ll start there. A dozen recruits will hook up with you in an hour to start searching the park, focusing on the area around the Klingle Mansion. I want some of you to canvas the restaurants on this sheet. They’re places she evidently liked to hang out. Jason, I want you to spend time at the gym where she had a temporary membership, see if you can come up with anybody who got close to her, dated her, had a run-in with her.” He said to Jay Gibbs and Jack Morey, “Here are names from her address book. Check ’em out.”

  “Any theories?” Morey asked.

  “The usual,” said Borgeldt. “She’s either skipped town of her own accord and for her own reasons, committed suicide in some inaccessible place, is wandering around with amnesia, or hooked up with the wrong guy. Let’s get moving. We’ve got a congressman involved, which means the press will be all over it.”

  The team of recruits and their handlers fanned out around the Klingle Mansion, a Pennsylvania Dutch–style home on Linnaean Hill, built by the horticulturist Joshua Pierce in 1823, who provided the first ornamental plantings to the White House. Located just north of the National Zoo on a hill overlooking a tract of posh homes near a wooded area, it functioned as the administrative center for the park. They searched the nearby woods and areas covered with heavy brush to no avail. Sweaty and disgruntled at the end of the day, they called it quits. If Laura Bennett was somewhere in Rock Creek Park, she wasn’t in close proximity to the mansion. They would return the next day and concentrate on those areas of the park in which the two recent female victims had been discovered.

  Their activity in the park attracted the attention of the press. Rebecca Paulson and her colleague from The Post were dispatched and attempted to interview the detectives in charge, but were rebuffed. The local CNN TV station sent a crew, which returned with footage of the search but no comment from the searchers.