But the meeting hadn’t provided any tangible evidence of the affair, and unless those with tales to tell were willing to go to the police and give a sworn statement, the word “alleged” prevailed. There was Laura’s college chum, Millie Sparks, who’d been told about the affair. Paul Wooster had pointed to an unnamed woman as having been intimate with the congressman and also cited an unnamed airline flight attendant. Laura had spoken of the relationship with Grace Bennett’s sister, Irene. And now Gannon’s press aide was alleging—there was that word again, “alleging”—that he knew of the relationship between his boss and the murdered intern.
“If you change your mind about making a statement to the police,” Brixton said, “let me know. I’m working with a top attorney, Mackensie Smith, who I’m sure will do everything he can to protect your interests.”
“Like find me another job on the Hill?”
“Sounds to me that you aren’t long for that job anyway, Mr. Watson. But it’s your call.”
Brixton motioned for the check.
“I’ll think about going to the police,” Watson said. “If I decide to, I’ll let you know first.”
“It’s a deal,” Brixton said as Watson got up, shook hands, and left.
CHAPTER
28
The following morning at ten, Brixton met with Mac Smith in his law office. Brixton had called Smith at his Watergate apartment the minute he arrived home from his meeting with Cody Watson and replayed for him what had been discussed. Now they went over again what Brixton had said on the phone the night before.
“Watson left it that if he decided to talk to the police, he’d contact me first.”
“We can’t depend upon him to do that,” Smith said. “I’ve had a slew of phone calls this morning, including one from Zeke Borgeldt. They’ve interviewed Grace Bennett’s sister, Irene, about what Laura had told her of her fling with Gannon. He wants the names of others we’ve uncovered who know something about it.”
“I hate to sell them out, Mac. They came forward willingly with the understanding that their names wouldn’t be involved.”
“But this has gone beyond protecting these people. Millie Sparks and now Cody Watson have to be urged to give voluntary statements to the authorities. There’s also Paul Wooster, who told you about the woman here in D.C. and some anonymous airline flight attendant. Luke Bennett wants Gannon to take a lie detector test. If these individuals, who have information about the affair, no matter how tangential, tell their stories to the police, it will give the MPD the ammunition to pressure Gannon. On top of that, we are guilty of withholding information.”
“You’re right, I know, Mac. Want me to call Watson?”
“No. Call Millie Sparks, explain the situation to her, and see if she’ll agree to accompany you to headquarters to give her statement. If she declines, tell her that I’ll come with her, too. She might feel more comfortable having an attorney present. I’ll call Wooster to see if he’ll give me the name of the woman here in D.C. and the flight attendant.”
The phone continued to ring during their conversation.
“The press,” Smith grunted. “It’s a national story now. There’s been a half dozen calls from media this morning. Doris has been fielding them. Go call Ms. Sparks and let me know how you do.”
Millie Sparks was not happy with Brixton’s call, but when he explained that she wasn’t in any trouble, was helping a murder investigation of her college friend, and would have the Bennett attorney, Mackensie Smith, with her, she agreed to provide a sworn statement to the police.
Mac’s call to Paul Wooster didn’t go that easily.
“Brixton told you about our conversation?” he barked into the phone. “What I told him was off-the-record, strictly confidential.”
“That may be, Mr. Wooster, but there’s no confidentiality clause in the law for conversations between private investigators. More important, this is a homicide investigation. If you have any information that might be useful to the authorities in their investigation, you have an obligation to come forward.”
“Let them subpoena me.”
“Which I’m sure they’ll be delighted to do. But here’s what I don’t understand. Robert Brixton tells me that you work for the Republican who is trying to take Congressman Gannon’s seat in the House of Representatives away from him. If the information you have is legitimate, it will taint Congressman Gannon and help your guy.”
“That may be true,” Wooster said, “but I sort of promised the woman I talked with that her name wouldn’t be made known.”
“Sort of promised?”
“It was understood.”
“I’m sure she’d understand that there’s a murder of a young woman to be solved. She didn’t have any problem telling her tale to you.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“It doesn’t do any good for you to be sitting on it. Tell you what. Give me her name. When I contact her I won’t mention where I got it.”
“She’ll know.”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Wooster. I’m sure you’re not the only person she confided in. She’s probably told a dozen friends. Word gets around, like the rumor that Congressman Gannon had a number of affairs. But it’s your decision.”
There was a long pause on Wooster’s end. Finally he said, “Her name is Rachel Montgomery. She’s involved with the Washington Opera, on the board, something like that. Satisfied?”
“Appreciative. What about the flight attendant?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea who she is. I wish I knew.”
“Thanks,” Smith said. “The Bennett family appreciates your candor.”
Brixton and Smith compared notes after their respective phone calls.
“Millie Sparks says she’ll do it,” Brixton said.
“The woman Wooster talked to is Rachel Montgomery. She’s involved in some capacity with the Washington Opera. Get hold of her.”
“Shall do.”
Mac’s private line lit up.
“What’s up, Annie?” Smith asked.
“Do you have the TV on?”
“No. Why?”
“There was just a brief item about a murder, Congressman Gannon’s press aide, Cody Watson.”
CHAPTER
29
“I can’t believe it,” Brixton muttered. “I was with the guy only last night.”
“Did he say anything to indicate that his life might be in danger?” Smith asked.
“No, nothing.”
“Annabel says that the TV report indicated only that he was found in his apartment, the victim of an assault. Did he say he was going directly home after meeting with you?”
“No. That never came up.”
“Ms. Sparks is on the phone,” Flo announced.
“When can we set up a time for her to give a statement to the police?” Brixton asked Mac.
“I’ll call Zeke Borgeldt now,” Smith answered. A minute later he interrupted Brixton’s conversation with Millie. “Can she be at my office at five?” he asked.
Brixton relayed the question to her and nodded to Smith.
“Have you contacted Rachel Montgomery?” Smith asked after they’d returned to his office.
“I’ll get on it right away,” Brixton said, and headed back to his suite. Flo joined him.
“Hey,” Brixton said, “did the picture you took last night come out?”
“I never even looked,” she said. “I managed to get off two.”
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and scrolled to the shots she’d taken at the Hotel Lombardy. Although the photos had been taken in dim light, the figures were clear enough to be identifiable, including the second shot that included the heavyset man who’d come into the restaurant on Watson’s heels.
“Good job,” Brixton said, tapping her rear end as she turned to leave.
He pulled up the home phone number for Rachel Montgomery and the number of the Washington Opera’s offices. He tried the office first and reached her. Afte
r introducing himself, he said, “Ms. Montgomery, I have information that you and Congressman Hal Gannon had once been engaged in a close relationship.”
“You say you work for the Bennett family?’
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. You’re aware of course that Congressman Gannon’s intern, Laura Bennett, was murdered.”
“Of course. But why are you calling me?”
“Because the police need all the help they can get to solve Ms. Bennett’s murder. The fact that you and the congressman had an affair and—”
“I can’t talk to you here at the office.”
“Tell me where to call,” he said.
“I’ll call you back. Give me your number.”
“Okay, but don’t disappoint me. It’ll be better for you to voluntarily give a statement than for the authorities to subpoena you. I’ll be here for the next fifteen minutes.”
She called back five minutes later. She was obviously on the street; Brixton heard traffic sounds.
“I don’t want to be made to look like a fool,” she said.
“No reason for you to be,” Brixton replied.
“Who told you about Hal and me?”
“It doesn’t matter. Rumors about his affairs are all over town.”
“It won’t be in the papers, will it?”
“If it is, it won’t come from me. The Bennetts’ lawyer’s office at six tonight?” Brixton suggested, counting on whoever was there from the MPD to take Millie Sparks’s five o’clock statement would be happy to take another.
“All right,” she said.
He gave her the address and confirmed her promise that she’d show up.
When he returned to Mac’s office, the attorney had the TV on.
“Anything new on Watson?” Brixton asked.
“Gannon was just on. They waylaid him coming out of his apartment with his wife.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Nothing unusual, how shocked he was to hear about his press aide, characterized him as an outstanding young man, hopes his killer will be brought to justice quickly. Reporters brought up the fact that both his intern and his press aide have now been murdered.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He said that someone is obviously out to get him through members of his staff. After that he cut off further questioning.”
“His wife was with him?”
“Right.”
“Standing by her man. Why do women do that when their man is a dirtball like Gannon?”
“You’ll have to ask her, Robert. While I was on the phone with Borgeldt, I asked about the guy you spoke to, Caruso, who’d dated Laura. Borgeldt says that they interviewed him. He said that he’s an arrogant young guy and although they have no reason to suspect him of her disappearance and murder, they’re not ruling him out. Oh, I also told him that you were with Watson last night. He wants to talk to you. You might be the last person to have seen him alive.”
“Which probably tosses me into the suspect pool.”
“Nonsense. But if you want, I’ll come with you.”
“Not necessary, Mac. I’m happy to oblige the superintendent. What I’d like to do is see where Watson was killed.”
“I’ll ask Borgeldt to arrange that,” said Smith. “And while you’re there, you can fill Borgeldt and his people in on what Watson told you about Gannon’s affair with Laura Bennett.”
“How many more testimonies do they need to know that the rumors of an affair are true?” Brixton grumbled as he headed out.
* * *
When Brixton arrived at police headquarters, Borgeldt was out of the office. But Detectives Gibbs and Morey took Brixton into an interview room, where he told them of his meeting with Cody Watson and the press aide’s claim that he knew of an affair between the congressman and his intern.
“I wonder if the congressman knew that his trusted aide was selling him out?” Morey said.
Brixton further explained Watson’s reasons for telling tales of the congressman’s life, his disgust with Gannon’s posturing as a devoted family man, and the fact that Watson’s sexual orientation had been demeaned by his boss.
“Did Watson live alone?” Brixton asked.
“No, he had a roommate,” Morey said.
“Gay?” Brixton asked.
“We don’t know,” Gibbs replied. “He was out of town. He works for a computer-consulting firm. He’s just arrived back. There’s another team working the Watson case, but we’re coordinating with them because of the Laura Bennett murder. We’re heading over there once we finish up here with you.
“Zeke said you’re to have access to the crime scene,” Gibbs said. “He must be a fan of yours.”
“He’s a fan of Mac Smith,” Brixton said. Let’s go.”
* * *
Cody Watson lived on the second floor of a well-maintained row house in the Capitol Hill area. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung across the entrance, and a uniformed officer stood guard to keep gawkers, and the media that had descended on the scene, at bay. When Brixton and the other detectives arrived, the tenants of the downstairs apartment were outside complaining about their loss of access. The officer, who’d been on the receiving end of their complaints, referred them to one of two detectives who’d been at the scene since the murder had been discovered.
“We’ll try to finish our crime scene investigation by evening,” he told the tenants, “and you’ll be able to return to your home, but there’ll be an officer outside the building all night.”
That seemed to placate the tenants, a young couple, who’d been questioned about whether they’d heard anything the previous night that would indicate a struggle. They’d heard nothing. When asked about Cody Watson and his roommate, they’d said only that he and his roommate had been quiet neighbors. They were aware of Watson’s job as press aide to Congressman Gannon because he occasionally appeared on TV, but other than that they knew little about him.
Gibbs, Morey, and Brixton were allowed to pass the perimeter tape and went up the stairs to the victim’s apartment, where a tech was dusting for fingerprints and a police photographer snapped shots of the living room in which the body had been found. The second detective assigned to the investigation greeted them.
“He died here in the living room?” Gibbs asked.
“Yup,” was the answer. “Right there.” He pointed the crude outline of a body created by strips of red tape.
“Fully dressed?”
“Yup.”
“Blue blazer. Yellow bow tie?” Brixton asked.
The detective looked at him curiously.
“I was with him last night,” Brixton explained. “That’s what he was wearing.”
“How did the attacker get in?” Morey asked.
“Lock wasn’t broken. The vic must have let him in.”
“Can we see his bedroom?” Gibbs asked.
The detective led the way down a long, narrow hall lined with modern art prints to a room at the rear of the apartment. Brixton noted how immaculate it was, nothing out of place, no clothing draped over chairs, the bed made, a circular Oriental rug perfectly centered on the floor. One wall contained framed photographs of Watson with recognizable members of Congress and local media types, perks of his job. Another wall held photos of a more personal nature, Watson running the rapids in an unidentified place, about to go up in a hot-air balloon, and a series of framed pictures of Watson with what Brixton assumed were family members at various celebratory gatherings.
“The victim worked for Congressman Gannon,” Brixton said, “and met with me to say that the intern who was murdered, Laura Bennett, had been having an affair with the congressman. I’d like to take a look at his desk.”
“I don’t know, I—”
“It’s okay,” said Gibbs. “He’s working private for the intern’s family. We’re working with him. Superintendent Borgeldt has cleared him.”
“Techs will be taking the laptop and other stuff from the desk.”
“I won’t disturb anything,” Brixton assured him. “Just want to look.”
He didn’t wait for further protestations before sitting at the desk and taking in what was on it. He had no idea what he was looking for, except that maybe there was something that provided proof of what Watson had alleged, that his boss was bedding down his intern. He was tired of rumors and allegations and hearsay. He wanted—needed—something tangible. There was nothing overtly visible, and he realized that he was just going through the motions.
“The neighbors didn’t see anyone who shouldn’t have been here last night?” Gibbs asked the detective on duty.
“We talked to the downstairs neighbors. Nothing from them. They’d gone out to dinner, came home, and watched a movie before going to bed.”
“He told me last night when we met that he had a partner, a boyfriend. I think he said his name was Roy.”
“He’s already been here,” the detective on the scene said. “He’s down at headquarters being questioned.”
Brixton wandered downstairs to the street. He kept replaying in his mind the conversation he’d had with Watson last night, trying to come up with something the press aide said that would have bearing on his murder, but came up empty. But one thought kept intruding. He’d been obsessed with the theory that Laura Bennett had been killed because of the affair she’d had with Hal Gannon. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, another person associated with the congressman who’d known of the affair was dead, the second victim of a vicious blow to the head.
It looked like Watson had admitted his attacker, which pointed to their having known each other. Watson’s roommate was ruled out; he wasn’t even in town when the murder occurred. Watson’s new friend, Roy, was always a possibility—a homosexual partnership gone awry? Had Watson been in contact with Roy after leaving the Lombardy?
No, Brixton decided as he stood on the sidewalk and wished he still smoked. Watson’s death had to be linked to Laura Bennett’s, and her affair with Gannon was undoubtedly at the root of it.
Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder Page 21
