Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  “Look,” she said, pointing to an open page on her desk. In The Post’s gossip section was a photograph of Hal and Charlene Gannon leaving Cafe Milano. His arm was around her and both smiled broadly. The caption read: “Beleaguered congressman Hal Gannon and wife, Charlene, enjoyed a dinner together at Cafe Milano. The rumors that the Florida congressman might have had an affair with his intern, Laura Bennett, a murder victim, prompted Gannon to say upon leaving the iconic restaurant in response to a question, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s not an ounce of truth to it and I resent the question.’”

  “Out on the town with his sweetie,” Brixton grumbled. “How nice.”

  “You really have it in for him, don’t you?” Flo said.

  “I don’t believe the guy, that’s all. I had an interesting few moments with his press aide after I left the meeting with Gannon’s chief of staff.

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “Just that he wants to talk to me about Laura Bennett.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “No, but I’m hoping that it concerns a relationship she might have had with the congressman. I gave him my card. If he calls, put him right through. Is Mac in?”

  “He has Mr. Bennett in with him. Mrs. Bennett has gone back to Tampa. By the way, that other private investigator is dropping by later.”

  “Which other private investigator?”

  She consulted a note on her desk. “Paul Wooster, from Tampa.”

  “Former private investigator. They lifted his Florida license.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Through my superior investigatory skill.”

  Brixton knocked on Smith’s door.

  Smith and Bennett sat on the couch with file folders on their laps.

  “I understand that Mrs. Bennett has gone home,” Brixton said.

  “She had to be persuaded,” Bennett replied. “I didn’t see any sense in her staying here and being subjected to the media circus. Her sister, Irene, and a brother from New York will be with her. We can’t make funeral arrangements for Laura because the medical examiner won’t release her body as long as it’s an ongoing homicide investigation.”

  “Have you spoken with Congressman Gannon again?” Brixton asked.

  “No, but I did see the photo in the paper this morning. Frankly, it sickened me, having dinner in a trendy restaurant with his wife, big smile and all. I’m afraid I might have been terribly wrong about Hal Gannon.”

  Brixton took Bennett’s comment as an opening to express his own thoughts about the congressman. After he had, Bennett got to his feet and paced the office. “To think that I championed him in his runs for Congress, entertained him and his wife countless times in our home. You know what he told me when we had dinner together? He said that Laura had come on to him, flirted with him, wanted to instigate an affair. I’d like to wring his neck.”

  Mac quickly jumped into the conversation. “Let’s put this in perspective,” he said. “These rumors about Congressman Gannon having had an inappropriate relationship with your daughter are just that—rumors. Other information about it has come from people who claim that Laura confided in them.”

  “Are you suggesting that Laura lied to her aunt and to her college friend?”

  “Of course not,” said Mac, taken aback by the vehemence in Bennett’s voice, yet understanding the emotional strain he was under. “But we don’t know for certain that Gannon and your daughter had an affair, and we certainly don’t know if Gannon has any information about, or had anything to do with, her murder.”

  “The thought of them being intimate is hard to take, Mac.”

  “I understand.” Mac turned to Brixton. “Anything new on your end, Robert?”

  Brixton decided on the spot to not mention his interview with Roseann Simmons or the overture made by Cody Watson. It would only feed Bennett’s anger, which would accomplish nothing at that stage. He was pleased when Bennett announced that he was due at police headquarters to give whatever additional information about Laura he could to the investigators.

  When he was gone, Brixton filled Smith in on his experience at Gannon’s office.

  “No idea what this Watson fellow wants to tell you?”

  “No, but he did say it was about Laura. Ms. Simmons is a tough cookie. I’m sure she runs that office with an iron fist. I also don’t believe that she knows nothing about Laura’s private life outside the office.”

  “What about this guy Caruso?” Smith asked.

  “I’m going to call him again.”

  “Good. I don’t want us focusing on Congressman Gannon to the exclusion of everyone else she might have had a relationship with, maybe even a stranger. It’s logical to look first at people close to her, but the answer doesn’t necessarily rest with them.”

  “Gotcha,” Brixton said.

  Doris interrupted to inform Mac that Mr. Wooster was there.

  “Ask him to wait a few minutes,” Mac told her. He said to Brixton, “This is the PI from Tampa I told you about. Did you come up with anything about him?”

  “I forgot to tell you. He’s not a licensed investigator anymore. Will Sayers checked on him for me. He works for some Republican fund-raising group in Tampa. Want me to leave?”

  “No, I’d like you to stay. I have no idea what he wants. He said something about being interested in Annabel’s gallery, and having some legal matter to discuss with me.”

  Doris showed Wooster into Mac’s office. The short, slender man wore a tight double-breasted blazer over a blue-and-white shirt and bright red tie. Smith introduced him to Brixton and they settled around a small round table. “What can I do for you?” Smith asked.

  Wooster glanced at Brixton as though asking why he was there.

  “Robert is a private investigator who works for me,” Smith said. “I thought you two could talk shop, but if you’d rather he leave, I’m sure that—”

  “No, no, no, that’s fine,” said Wooster. “I’ve read about you, Mr. Brixton. You’re helping investigate Laura Bennett’s death.”

  “Right,” Brixton confirmed.

  “I can’t believe what’s happened to that poor young woman,” Wooster said. “When I met you and your lovely wife, Mr. Smith, she was missing, and we all hoped and prayed that she would be found safe.”

  Mac waited a beat before asking, “Are you here to discuss Ms. Bennett’s death?”

  “That wasn’t my intention, but it seems that’s all anybody is talking about these days. Actually, I just wanted to follow up on the brief conversation we had at Celia St. Claire’s party.”

  “About Congressman Gannon?”

  “That, and to learn more about your wife’s art gallery. I’ve done some reading about pre-Columbian art since we met. It’s a fascinating subject.”

  “It certainly is,” said Mac. “My wife isn’t here. I suggest that you stop in her gallery—it’s on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown—and I’m sure she’ll be happy to show you around and answer any questions you might have.”

  “I’ll do that,” Wooster said. “I’ll make a point of it. Is there anything new in the investigation of Ms. Bennett’s murder?”

  Smith and Brixton looked at each other before Mac said, “You said you had a legal question, Mr. Wooster. I’m running short on time. Robert can leave and you can run this legal question past me. Otherwise—”

  “Oh, my petty little legal query can wait,” Wooster said.

  “Why don’t you run, Mac,” Brixton suggested. “I’d enjoy talking some more with Mr. Wooster. We can compare war stories.”

  “Good idea,” Mac said, standing. “Nice seeing you again, Mr. Wooster. Wish I had more time.”

  With Smith gone from the office, Brixton said, “How about we grab a cup of coffee or a drink?”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Wooster said.

  “In fact, let’s make it lunch,” Brixton suggested.

  Ten minutes later they were settled at the bar at Tune Inn, an unpretentious dive
bar and restaurant known for its beer-batter burgers and large drinks.

  “Interesting place,” Wooster said as he surveyed the restaurant’s interior.

  “‘Interesting,’ like when you go backstage to see a friend who’s been in a play and you say it was interesting because you don’t want to say how lousy it was?”

  Wooster laughed. “No, I mean interesting like, ah—well, interesting. You come here often?”

  “My favorite pickup line. I come whenever I feel like taking in a thousand calories at a clip.”

  A draft beer for Brixton, a glass of red wine for Wooster.

  “So, tell me about being a private eye in Tampa, Florida.”

  “No different than being one here in Washington, D.C.”

  “Yeah, except I’m involved with the murder of a congressional intern. You ever been involved in a murder case?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have. I also know something about you from previous years.”

  “You Google me?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry about the daughter you lost in that terrorist bombing.”

  “Thanks. Let’s level with each other. What’s your real reason for wanting to see Mac Smith?”

  “Cut to the chase?”

  Brixton nodded.

  “That works two ways.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’m interested in the investigation into Ms. Bennett’s murder and how it relates to Congressman Harold Gannon.”

  “Interested personally or professionally?”

  “Professionally. You see, Mr. Brixton—”

  “It’s Robert. I’ll call you Paul.”

  “Good. It’s already working two ways. Have you Googled me?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I know that you lost your Florida PI license and that you work for a Republican fund-raising outfit.”

  Wooster tasted his wine. “Not bad,” he proclaimed. “Yes, I lost my license. I was set up.”

  Being set up wasn’t anything new to Brixton.

  “I’ve been working for Pete Solon’s election committee.”

  “The Republican after Gannon’s congressional seat.”

  “One and the same.”

  “Mac Smith told me that when he and his wife met you at that party, you said that you were a big Gannon fan. How does that square with working for his opponent.”

  “It’s a paycheck.”

  “That I understand,” said Brixton.

  “I don’t care about politics and politicians,” Wooster said. “It’s true that before I got involved in Solon’s campaign I liked Gannon, appreciated his willingness to reach across the aisle, as they say. But as far as I’m concerned, every politician is corrupt. You see that recent poll that has members of Congress lower in the public’s estimation than hemorrhoids?”

  “No argument from me. But how does this jibe with Laura Bennett’s murder?”

  “I’ve been asking around Washington about Gannon’s extracurricular sex life.”

  “He evidently has one.”

  “Big-time.”

  “You come up with anything that directly links him to Laura Bennett, proves that they had an affair?” Brixton asked.

  “Good testimony.”

  “Testimony?”

  “A very credible woman who had a fling with the congressman.”

  “She is?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t reveal her identity. But she’s no bimbo. She’s on the board of a major arts group here in D.C.”

  “But how does that link up Gannon and Laura Bennett?”

  “She knows that Gannon and his intern had an affair.”

  Brixton sighed and took a drink.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Wooster. “It’s all hearsay.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. It also occurs to me that you and this Solon guy you’re working for have a lot to gain by pegging Gannon as Laura Bennett’s murderer.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean that I’d—we’d—concoct something in order to do that. Think about it, Robert. Just being able to prove that Gannon is a womanizer and adulterer and world-class hypocrite would be enough to see him lose reelection. Adding murder to that list would be icing on the cake.”

  While listening to what Wooster was saying, Brixton’s mind was working on a parallel channel. The Tampa PI seemed straightforward enough. He wasn’t trying to put a spin on why he was digging into Gannon’s background, and the fact that he was reluctant to reveal the name of the woman who claimed an affair with the congressman was a point in his favor. Still …

  They ordered—a burger and fries for Brixton, a salad for Wooster.

  “I’d hate to see your arteries,” Wooster quipped.

  “I doubt if you ever will,” said Brixton.

  “I showed you mine,” Wooster said. “I mentioned the woman who slept with Gannon. What do you have?”

  “No doubt that Gannon has been sleeping around. I interviewed a young woman who Laura Bennett confided in.”

  “Who is she?”

  Brixton laughed. “Her name stays with me the way your lady’s name stays with you.”

  “Maybe we should agree to be more forthcoming, Robert.”

  “Depends. What do you want out of it?”

  “Information I can bring back to my employer, information that proves that Hal Gannon is what the rumors say he is, a cad.”

  “A nice old-fashioned word,” Brixton said.

  “And what do you want out of it?” Wooster asked.

  “Proof that Gannon killed Laura Bennett.”

  “You’re convinced that he did?”

  “I think that he did, and I’m out to prove it.”

  “If you succeed, you help me and my client.”

  “Which is not why I’m doing it, but if that’s how it ends up, so be it.”

  “Then we’re on the same page, after the same thing,” Wooster said. “By the way, there’s also an airline flight attendant alleged to have shared the congressman’s bed.”

  “Know who she is?”

  “No, but I’m working on it.”

  “Let me know how you make out.”

  “I’ll do that. Eat your burger before it gets cold.”

  “Eat your salad before it gets warm. I think we have a lot more to talk about.”

  CHAPTER

  27

  Upon returning to his office, Brixton was told by Mac Smith that an interview had been granted to the Post’s Rebecca Paulson, the reporter heading up the paper’s coverage of the Laura Bennett murder.

  “What brought that about?” Brixton asked.

  “Luke feels that the more press coverage, the better the chances that Laura’s killer will be caught. He’s pressing the MPD to ask Gannon to take a lie detector test and wants the media to help put the pressure on him.”

  “You agree with him?” Brixton asked.

  “Not my call, Robert. The interview will take place at five today, here in my office. The reporter has asked that you and I be present to answer some questions. Luke will be heading back to Tampa after the interview. He needs to be with Grace and get out from under all the scrutiny here. You comfortable with being in on the interview?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “It’s important that whatever we say, we not step on anybody’s toes over at MPD.”

  “No problem.”

  “How was your get-together with Wooster?”

  “It went okay. He claims to have met a woman here in D.C. who had an affair with Gannon.”

  “Another one?”

  “Gannon ought to do ads for Viagra. Anyway, Wooster would only say that she’s on the board of some arts agency. Oh, and he also says there’s an airline flight attendant who was cozy with the congressman.”

  Smith shook his head. “Sounds like Gannon has an insatiable appetite for the opposite sex. What’s Wooster’s story?”

  “Strictly professional where Gannon is concerned. The guy who’s after Gannon’s seat in the H
ouse comes up a big winner if they can show Gannon as a liar and hypocrite. Like Wooster says, if Gannon ends up involved in Laura Bennett’s murder, that’s icing on the cake.”

  “If that turns out to be true, Gannon loses more than just his seat in Congress.”

  Luke Bennett walked in at four thirty rolling his suitcase. “I’ll head for the airport right after the interview,” he said. “Any news?”

  “No,” Smith said. “Robert and I will sit in on the interview as the reporter requested, but we’ll withhold comments unless directly asked.”

  Bennett said to Brixton, “Based upon what you’ve said about Hal Gannon, maybe you should tell the reporter your feelings.”

  “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate, Luke,” Smith said. “Robert’s view isn’t backed up by known facts.”

  “The only fact that matters to me is that Hal Gannon is a liar, and Lord knows what else.”

  A few minutes later, Rebecca Paulson arrived, along with a photographer. After some discussion about where in the office the interview should take place, they settled on pulling a low table in front of the couch. Bennett sat with the reporter, with Smith and Brixton taking chairs to either side.

  “First of all, I’m so sorry for the loss of your daughter,” Paulson said as she opened a steno pad and uncapped a pen. “I realize how difficult this is for you, and I really appreciate you giving me an opportunity to ask some questions.”

  The photographer’s strobe light flashed a few times, causing Bennett to blink.

  “Hold off, John, until we’re into the interview,” Paulson suggested.

  As the questioning commenced, Smith and Brixton were impressed with Paulson’s professional demeanor. She put Bennett at ease almost immediately, and he gave a series of full, thoughtful answers. She was in the midst of getting background information on how Laura decided to become an intern in Congressman Gannon’s office when the door opened and Flo stuck her head in. She held a hand up to her ear to indicate to Brixton that he had a phone call.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and joined her in the reception area.

  “Cody Watson is on the phone,” Flo told him. “I wouldn’t have barged in, but you said to put him right through.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Mr. Watson, Brixton here.”