Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  “Can we get together?”

  “Sure. You name the place and time.”

  “Tonight, eight o’clock, the bar and lounge at the Lombardy hotel on Pennsylvania Ave.”

  Brixton rejoined Mac and the others. Smith had just given a statement to the reporter regarding a new reward that Luke Bennett was offering for information leading to the apprehension and conviction of his daughter’s murderer.

  “I spoke with Superintendent Borgeldt this morning,” Paulson said. “He couldn’t say much because of the ongoing nature of the investigation, but when I asked whether Congressman Gannon was a person of interest, he didn’t deny it.”

  “Did you bring up the rumors that the congressman and Laura Bennett might have had an affair?” Brixton asked.

  All eyes went to Luke Bennett for a reaction.

  “If those rumors are true,” Bennett said, “Hal Gannon has to be at the top of the suspect list.”

  “He’s on the top of my list,” Brixton threw out.

  Now all eyes turned to him.

  “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Brixton said.

  “Robert—Mr. Brixton—is working with Mac Smith and has been digging into whether Congressman Gannon might know something about Laura’s disappearance and death,” Bennett told the reporter.

  Paulson scribbled notes furiously and motioned for the photographer to get shots of Brixton and Smith.

  “Let’s not have any misunderstanding,” Smith said. “The police are in charge of the investigation, but Robert is using his background as a private investigator to seek information that could prove valuable to them. If Congressman Gannon is ruled out as a person of interest, then Robert has done both the MPD and the Bennett family a service.”

  “Is that what you’re doing, Mr. Brixton, trying to rule out Congressman Gannon?” Paulson asked.

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  The interview ended at six. After Paulson and her photographer had left, and Bennett had also departed, Brixton told Smith about his scheduled meeting with Gannon’s press aide, Cody Watson.

  “No idea what he wants to say,” Mac said flatly.

  “Just that it’s about Laura Bennett.”

  “I was a little uneasy during the interview, Robert.”

  “About what?”

  “About you. I know how fixated you are on the congressman, but unless—and until—you come up with a piece of hard evidence, I think it best to temper your comments about him.”

  “You’re right, Mac. Sorry. Will you and Annabel be home this evening?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I’ll give you a call after I meet with Watson.”

  It was a lovely evening, cooler than previous days, and with a gentle breeze. Brixton and Flo drove to Pennsylvania Avenue between Twentieth and Twenty-first Streets where they found a legal parking space just a short walk to the Hotel Lombardy, a charming landmark boutique hotel across from a small manicured park.

  They sat on one of the park’s benches. Brixton leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “This is the most relaxed I’ve seen you all day,” Flo commented.

  “Makes me think that when this business with Laura Bennett is over, we should get away, maybe take a cruise someplace, do nothing but lay back and smell those roses.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  He came forward. “Of course I mean it. Hey, you know me. My word is gold.”

  She pressed against him and said, “Maybe we should leave Washington and settle in a place without so much tension, you know, like a Caribbean island or somewhere in the desert, Arizona or New Mexico.”

  “We’d get bored,” he said.

  “Getting bored is appealing,” she said.

  “Everything’s appealing compared to Washington. Know what I think?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think that Gannon knows what happened to Laura, and unless I can prove it he’s going to slide right by and get away with it.”

  “Members of Congress get away with things every day.”

  “Yeah, I know, but wouldn’t it be nice if this congressman didn’t? Let’s grab something to eat.”

  “In the hotel?”

  “Yeah. I understand the restaurant and café are good.”

  “I shouldn’t be there when Watson walks in.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll introduce you as my partner in the agency. If it looks like he’s about to bail, you can leave, take the car, and I’ll grab a cab when we’re finished.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  Brixton’s immediate impression of the hushed, sedate bar in the hotel was that it would be the perfect rendezvous for a mole reporting to his handler. He and Flo were the only two customers, at least for the moment. They took a small table in a secluded nook, and over drinks and snacks discussed the meeting that would soon take place between Brixton and Cody Watson.

  “I have an idea,” Brixton said. “I know what he looks like. When he comes in, I’ll go to him and shake his hand. You snap off a picture or two of us with your cell phone.”

  “Why?”

  “So I have some proof that we met. Just be sure to do it fast so he doesn’t see you, and make sure your flash is off.”

  “Is there enough light in here?” she asked.

  “Probably. That’s a fancy phone you have. Anyway, let’s give it a shot.”

  “And then what do I do?”

  “It probably is best if you split. I’ll tell him that you’re my date, say good-bye to you, kiss you on the cheek, and you take off. I’ll see you at home.”

  “I liked it better when you said I’d be your business partner.”

  They lingered over desert and second drinks until, at a few minutes before eight, Watson came through the door. Brixton waved and got to his feet. As he approached Watson, his hand outstretched, a large, heavyset middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a ponytail also entered the room. He excused himself and skirted Watson as he went to the bar and took a stool.

  “Right on time,” Brixton said.

  Watson shook the hand and looked nervously about.

  “I had dinner with a date,” Brixton said, indicating Flo. “She’s just leaving. Let me say good-bye. We can take the same table, nice and quiet.”

  For a moment Brixton thought that Watson might change his mind and leave. But he didn’t as Brixton returned to the table, took Flo’s hand, kissed her lightly on the lips, and said in a voice loud enough for Watson to hear, “Sorry, hon, but business is business.”

  “That’s okay,” she said sweetly, returning the kiss. As she passed Watson, she said over her shoulder, “Call me when you get a chance.”

  “Shall do,” Brixton said.

  Watson came to the table, hesitated, and took the seat vacated by Flo.

  “What are you drinking?” Brixton asked.

  “A Rob Roy,” Watson said.

  “Nice drink,” said Brixton. He ordered a martini. “So, I’m glad we have this chance to meet. We didn’t have much time to talk at the congressman’s apartment.”

  “I couldn’t talk there anyway.”

  “I understand.”

  Brixton took in Watson. He was nicely dressed in a foppish sort of way, his yellow bow tie long and floppy, his double-breasted blazer festooned with large gold buttons on the wrists. He hadn’t noticed when he’d first met him that his mousy-brown hair was lank and parted in the middle, an old-fashioned look. He also noted that his perfectly manicured fingernails were covered with clear gloss. Brixton had never had a manicure and was distrustful of men who did and who used nail polish. Just one of the private investigator’s many quirks.

  Brixton raised his glass. “Here’s to meeting you.”

  Their attention went to the door, where a couple entered and were shown to a table in the opposite corner.

  “Maybe we ought to have our talk before the place fills up,” Brixton suggested.

&nb
sp; “A good idea,” Watson said. “Is there anything new in the investigation of Laura’s death?”

  “Not a hell of a lot, I’m afraid. The police have a special unit assigned to the case, and I’ve been following what leads I come up with. What about you, Mr. Watson? You said that you wanted to speak to me about Laura.”

  Watson had appeared nervous when he entered the room, and it hadn’t abated. His blue eyes behind his glasses darted back and forth as though searching for a safe spot to land.

  “I couldn’t believe when I heard that Laura had disappeared, and then to learn that she’d been murdered,” Watson said. “It was surreal, something out of a bad movie.”

  “It sure was for her folks.”

  “I keep thinking about her. She was a really nice young woman, always laughing, ready to pitch in whenever you needed something. She was also—well, I think she was a little naïve.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, not very worldly, I suppose, is a better way to put it. She was someone who could easily be taken advantage of.”

  “And was she?”

  “Taken advantage of?” He nodded and sipped his drink.

  Brixton sipped, too. As he did, he glanced at the bar where the heavyset man was looking at them. Aware of Brixton’s interest, he turned, motioned for the bartender, and said, “Check.”

  Brixton returned his attention to Watson as the man at the bar paid and left.

  “You know that I had a meeting with Ms. Simmons,” Brixton said.

  “Did she have anything to say that helped in your investigation?”

  “No, but I didn’t expect some startling piece of information to come out of it. How long have you worked for Congressman Gannon?”

  “Three years.”

  “You have a little bit of a southern accent. You from Tampa?”

  “I’m originally from Georgia. I moved to Tampa to work for a newspaper and wrote some pieces that Hal liked. When his press aide left, he offered me the job.”

  “That’s a pretty big jump, isn’t it, from being a newspaper reporter to being a U.S. congressman’s spokesman?”

  “Not as big as you think. While I try to get media attention for things Hal does as a congressman that are positive, I also have to keep other aspects of his life out of the media.”

  Brixton debated before asking, “Like screwing interns?”

  Brixton’s directness hit Watson like a punch. A burst of air came from his lips, and he drummed his fingertips on the table.

  “Look,” said Brixton, “I know that the congressman’s alleged relationship with Laura Bennett is just that, alleged. But I’m convinced that it’s true, and if so he had every motive to keep her from spreading the word about their affair. I don’t give a damn what becomes of the congressman, whether he keeps his seat in Congress or not. But Laura Bennett’s parents deserve closure on this. If that means the congressman submitting to a lie detector test, so be it. If he has nothing to hide or lie about, he should welcome the chance to clear his name.”

  “He’d fail,” was Watson’s terse response.

  “Fail a lie detector test?”

  “Yes. He had an affair with Laura, but she wasn’t the only one.” He managed a wry smile. “I thought I’d be working with a congressman who was doing great things for the country. Don’t get me wrong. Hal has done some good things for the American people. But lately my only job seems to be covering up for him and his women.”

  “Does one of those women sit on the board of an arts agency here in D.C.? Is there an airline flight attendant, too?”

  “You know about them.”

  “I’m surprised all of D.C. doesn’t know. There’re plenty of rumors about it, and I imagine it doesn’t stop with those two.”

  “It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Watson said, his voice tinged with sadness.

  “How many women the congressman had bedded? No, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is Laura Bennett. How did their affair start?”

  Watson was less nervous now, maybe the effect of the drink. He shrugged, sipped, and finished what was in his glass. Brixton suggested another round, which Watson agreed to.

  “How did their affair start? I don’t know.”

  “Soon after she started working as an intern?”

  “It seems that way. I noticed that she flirted with Hal right after she arrived, nothing overt or distasteful, but I picked up on it. I really didn’t have much interaction with Laura. Roseann had her working on constituent requests and problems. That’s where most interns get their feet wet.”

  “What about Ms. Simmons? Did she pick up on the flirtation, too?”

  “Sure.” He snorted. “Roseann picks up on everything. She runs the office like a mother hen, all-seeing, like a matron in a sorority house.”

  “She doesn’t look matronly to me,” Brixton said.

  “No, she doesn’t, does she? She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “A beautiful woman running an office for an inveterate woman chaser. Did the congressman ever hit on her? Did they ever have an affair?”

  “Not that I know of. Roseann is a strange woman, Mr. Brixton. She’s very rich, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  Her father was a big-time mover and shaker in Tampa, owned half the farmland on the Gulf Coast, auto dealerships, anything that generated money. When he died, he left everything to his only daughter, Roseann.”

  “She talks about this?”

  “No. You’d never hear it from her. I ran across the story when I was working in Tampa for the newspaper. People I talked to said her father was a ruthless guy, left bodies buried all over Florida. Roseann disappeared from Tampa before I got there, came to D.C., where she went to work for another member of the House.”

  “Interesting story,” Brixton said. “The obvious question is why, if she’s so rich, does she work for anybody?”

  “You’ll have to ask her, only don’t expect an answer. Her background is strictly off-limits. You don’t go there.”

  “She never married?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “On N Street in Georgetown, a really fancy Federal-style house. Number three thousand. Got to be worth millions. No one from the office has ever been invited to visit, except the congressman, of course. She hosts fund-raising parties for him there but strictly off-limits to staff.”

  “A real mystery lady.”

  “A tough mystery lady,” Watson added.

  “You said you think that Ms. Simmons was aware of the flirtation between Laura Bennett and the congressman. Did she ever say anything about it?”

  “Not to me, but there were plenty of subtle clues. It was obvious—at least it was to me—that Roseann didn’t like Laura.”

  “Because she flirted with the congressman?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. She never expressed it in so many words.”

  “You hungry?” Brixton asked.

  “I had dinner before I came here.”

  “Let me ask you this. You work for Congressman Gannon, a pretty important job. What you’re telling me could play a role in his losing his seat in Congress, and you losing your job. Why are you doing it?”

  Watson’s pause was long and meaningful. It was obvious to Brixton that he was having trouble deciding whether to answer the question, and how to phrase it. Finally he said, “I’m gay, Mr. Brixton.”

  That possibility had crossed Brixton’s mind.

  “So?” Brixton said, not adding what he was also thinking, that maybe Congressman Gannon was interested in women and men. Had Watson and his boss had an affair that went sour?

  “Let me explain,” Watson said.

  “Please do.”

  “When Hal hired me, he didn’t know that I was gay. I’d stayed in the closet while working as a reporter in Tampa and after coming here to Washington to work for him. There’s a lot to be admired about Hal. He’s signed on to some important legislat
ion that benefits a lot of people. He can be kind, too, to certain people. Things were okay as long as I played the game and helped him cover up his affairs.” He face turned hard. “You ever meet his wife, Charlene?”

  “No.”

  “She’s a terrific lady, really classy. He’s got great kids, too. But he’s got this need to prove that he’s macho, a stud.”

  Where was this leading? Brixton wondered. Was Watson about to reveal that Congressman Harold Gannon was a bisexual who bedded women to cover up his homosexual tendencies?

  Wrong.

  “I got tired of covering for Hal,” Watson explained. “I resented how he used Charlene to perpetuate his image as a devoted family man. It disgusted me.”

  “Why didn’t you quit?” Brixton asked.

  “Because it’s a good job otherwise. Hal is generous. The benefits are top-notch like they are for anyone who works on the Hill. Hal knew how I’d covered for him and he tossed some money my way, not a lot, but enough to make leaving difficult.”

  “So what’s changed?” Brixton asked.

  “Me,” Watson said. “I developed a relationship with a fellow I met here in D.C. He works for another congressman. I don’t know how, but Hal got wind of our relationship and reamed me out, told me that he couldn’t have a fag working for him—that’s what he said, called me a fag, a sissy-boy. He told me to find another job.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. My partner—his name is Roy—told me to stand my ground with Hal and not let him push me out because I’m gay. I took that stance, and Hal backed off, not because he’d changed his view of my sexual orientation but because of what I knew about his own extracurricular sex life.”

  “And here you are telling me about it,” said Brixton.

  “Only because of Laura Bennett’s murder. I think that Hal killed her to keep their affair quiet.”

  “Got anything to back that up?”

  “No.”

  “I appreciate you coming forward like this, Mr. Watson. Would you be willing to tell the police the same things you’ve told me?”

  “I’d rather not. That’s why I’ve contacted you instead of the police. As you’ve said, I have nothing to substantiate what I’m claiming. But I thought you ought to know.”

  Brixton appreciated Watson coming forward as he had. His reasons for doing so were irrelevant. What was important was that he’d added another witness to Gannon having had a sexual relationship with Laura Bennett.