by Mike Doogan
Doyle stopped talking and looked around the table.
“That’s it?” Cocoa said. “What happened?”
“What happened is that she sent him an e-mail a couple of days later saying she had some information that might help him get his civil unions bill passed, that she’d give it to him at their next meeting. Their usual meeting place was a hotel room out by the airport. But she didn’t keep the appointment,” Doyle said. “So Hope went to her apartment, didn’t find her there, and returned to the Capitol to look for her. And found her dead.”
Silence reigned for several minutes.
“Did Senator Hope say what he planned to do about the pregnancy?” Mrs. Foster asked. Kane could tell from her voice that she had been harboring something for Hope.
“You mean, might it have been a motive for killing her?” Doyle asked. “No. He said he had decided to do the honorable thing and marry her. I don’t know how much luck I’d have selling that to a jury, but I believed him.”
Kane watched Mrs. Foster’s face for a moment without learning anything more.
“So does he think she honey-trapped him?” he asked Doyle. “Do you?”
“He said he wasn’t sure, that she seemed sincere about everything,” Doyle said. “But, really…”
Kane let the silence stretch out.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.” He paused, then said, “Did he have any idea what the new information might be?”
“No,” Doyle said, “but if it was something on Potter, that might have been a motive for murder all by itself.”
“Maybe,” Kane said, “but everyone around here keeps telling me people don’t murder for political reasons.”
“And they do blackmail and kidnap?” Doyle said, his voice squeaking like he’d suddenly remembered it was supposed to. “That’s a pretty fine line.”
Kane nodded.
“You’re right,” he said. “It is.”
He got to his feet, wincing as the stitches in his thigh pulled.
“I think I’ll go talk with Samantha,” he said. “Maybe she knows something, maybe she doesn’t. But the only other thing to do is sweat Potter, and I don’t like my chances of getting in to see him, let alone get the truth out of him, without something to hold over his head.”
He reached down, picked up his coffee cup, and drained it.
“Ready to go, Cocoa?” he asked.
As the two of them headed for the door, Mrs. Foster said, “I think Winthrop and I will return to Anchorage. With those men in custody, I don’t see why we should stay.”
Sure, Kane thought. What sort of threat is a double murderer? But at least you won’t have to see Hope if he ever gets out.
“You’ll keep me informed?” she went on.
Kane nodded.
“I will,” he said. “Have a good trip.”
Cocoa opened the door and Kane limped through it.
“Keep your guard up,” Winthrop said.
Good advice, Kane thought. Damn good advice.
33
Politics makes strange bedfellows.
CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER
The day had turned fine, with all the blue skies and sunshine and hundred-proof air that spring could provide. Ice won’t be a problem again until next year, Kane thought. Cocoa pulled up in his cab and Kane got in.
“Let’s go see Samantha,” he said.
Samantha lived in what was called the Highlands, a hilly area of single-family homes just north of downtown. With Cocoa driving, the trip took five minutes. She lived in an apartment at the top of a big, white place with green trim, up a long set of white steps that ran beside the structure.
“Great,” Kane said, starting up the stairs, swinging his bad leg behind him at each step.
“Jeez, you look just like Chester,” Cocoa said from behind him. “You know, the guy on the old TV show?”
Kane saved his breath for climbing. The staircase creaked and groaned with each step.
She gets plenty of warning of visitors, Kane thought.
When he got to the top, Samantha was standing in a bathrobe in the open door. Behind her was a small kitchen. A young woman wearing a large football jersey sat at the tiny table, drinking coffee.
“Mr. Kane,” she said as he reached the landing, “what are you doing here?”
Kane stood for a moment catching his breath.
“I’m investigating the White Rose Murder,” he said, “and I was hoping you could give me a little information.”
“Her name was Melinda, not Rose,” Samantha said. “She was a real person, not some sort of character in a sensational story.”
“Sorry,” Kane said. “I know better. Anyway, I have some questions and I’m not sure you want your friend”—he inclined his head toward the woman at the table—“to hear them or not.”
Samantha looked at the woman, who glanced up from her coffee cup and smiled, then back at Kane.
“What makes you think I’ll answer questions?” she asked. “You don’t have any standing to compel me.”
“I have reason to believe that you have information material to a murder investigation,” Kane said. “You can talk to me, or I’ll be back here within the hour with a police officer and you can talk to him.”
“Reason to believe,” she said. “What reason to believe?”
She stood looking at Kane for a moment, then snapped her fingers.
“Dylan told you, didn’t he?” she said. “The little weasel.”
She looked at Kane some more, then shrugged and stepped back.
“I should have known better than to trust a man with a secret,” she said. “You’d better come in.” She looked at Cocoa. “Him, too, I suppose.” She turned to the woman. “Meg, honey, I think you’d better go. I have to speak to these gentlemen.”
The woman got to her feet, giving Kane a view of a fine set of legs and what lay above them.
“Better go?” she said. “Something’s come up and the piece of ass better go?”
She stormed out of the room. Samantha followed. Kane could hear soft voices, one pleading, the other hissing. Then the woman came back out fully clothed, burst past Kane and Cocoa, and flew down the stairs. Samantha came back into the kitchen with a rueful smile on her face.
“Young people.” She said. “So impetuous. Can I give you coffee? No? Well, we better go into the living room where we can be more comfortable.”
When they were seated, Kane said, “I know that you knew Melinda Foxx. Could you tell me the nature of your relationship?”
Samantha laughed.
“The nature of your relationship,” she said. “I like that. We were lovers.”
Kane opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand.
“This will go faster if I just tell you the story,” she said. “You can ask whatever questions you have afterward. Is that okay?”
Kane nodded, and she began.
“I met Melinda last year, when she first got to Juneau,” Samantha said. “She was quiet and seemed nervous in a new job, but she was beautiful and I was attracted to her. If this were a TV show, I’d say my gaydar went off, but the truth is, my gaydar isn’t all that good. But I decided I’d give it a try anyway. So I made excuses to see her and to take her out for drinks after work. I thought I was scheming on her.
“Then, one evening, we were sitting in the Baranof just having a drink and she said to me, ‘You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?’ She didn’t sound scandalized or offended, just curious. I denied it, of course, but then she proceeded to tell me that she had had a couple of boyfriends in college and the sex was fine, but she was hoping that I was interested in her because she wanted to try it with a woman, an experienced woman, to see if that didn’t suit her better.
“We came right back to this place and made love,” Samantha said. “She seemed to like what we did, and me, and we carried on for the rest of the session. We were careful when we were in public. I took her to Vegas over Easter break and bought her a few things
. We were happy, I thought. Then, the last day, at lunch, she thanked me and told me that it was over.”
“Just like that?” Kane asked.
“Just like that,” Samantha said. “I thought it was odd, but I didn’t mind so much. With the life I lead, I’ve more or less given up the idea of a permanent relationship.”
“Why did you think it was odd?” Kane asked.
“Well, I’d gotten to kind of like Melinda, as a person I mean,” Samantha said. “She seemed sweet and full of ideals, but the way she broke it off was so…bloodless and clinical that I began to wonder if it was all just an act.”
“Was it?” Kane asked.
Samantha looked out the window for a minute or so.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know. If it was, she was a first-class schemer. Anyway, I didn’t see her again all during the interim, but a couple of weeks after the legislature reconvened I ran into her and we had coffee. She acted like I was an old friend, and she seemed nervous and happy at the same time. I asked her about her love life, and she gave me this smile and said, ‘I’ve decided there’s no such thing as love. Only sex and politics.’
“So I asked about her sex life, and she laughed and said I was the only one she knew who would ask such a question. I kept after it, and finally she said, ‘Active.’ So you’re seeing more than one person? I asked her. Men or women? And she just laughed and didn’t answer. And then, without saying this was related to the rest of the conversation, she asked me what I thought of Letitia Potter. Gorgeous and bloodless, I said, and she said, ‘You’d be surprised’ and wouldn’t say any more. That was the last real conversation I had with her.”
“So that’s what you were talking about when you told Dylan that Melinda had a new friend?” Kane asked.
“It is,” Samantha said. “She didn’t come right out and say it, but I got the strong impression she and Letitia Potter were lovers.”
Kane thought for a moment and said, “So, when Melinda Foxx turned up dead in that…that obviously sexual way, why didn’t you tell the authorities about this?”
Samantha looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“You mean, why didn’t I suggest that the Senate Finance chairman’s daughter was gay and right in the middle of a spectacular murder?” she said. “I make my living as a lobbyist, Mr. Kane. How long do you think my clients would have stuck with me if I’d done that? Besides, I didn’t really know anything, did I? And her father said they were together at home at the time of the murder. And the police arrested Senator Hope so quickly. I thought the whole thing had been solved.”
Kane got to his feet. He thought about saying something about how weak her rationalizations were but realized it would be a waste of time. It seemed that if you couldn’t rationalize iffy things, you didn’t belong in politics.
“Well, thank you for your time,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Samantha said as she followed him out through the kitchen to the door. “Perhaps you could answer a question for me.”
“What’s that?” Kane asked, turning on the landing to face her.
“Why didn’t you just ask Dylan about all this?” she said. “I told him the same story.”
“You did?” Kane said. “When?”
“Last night,” she said. “At the bar. He came in all pumped up about how you and he were getting along better, and how he wanted to help you. So I decided I should tell him, probably because I’d been drinking shots with some people before he got there. Then he left, saying he was going to crack the case, and Meg sat down at the table and one thing led to another and I forgot all about it until you showed up.”
“You know where the Potters live?” Kane asked Cocoa.
The cabbie nodded.
“Then let’s get there,” Kane said. “Fast.”
He ignored the pain and took the stairs three at a time going down. When he got to the bottom, he limped quickly to the cab, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he did so. He slid into the cab and punched in Tom Jeffords’s private number.
“It’s Sunday morning,” Jeffords barked. “This had better be important.”
“And a good morning to you, Chief,” Kane said cheerfully. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”
“Oh, it’s you, Nik,” Jeffords said. “I did see the newspaper. It looks like bad news for Hiram Putnam.”
Jeffords didn’t sound at all sorry that his political ally was in the soup.
“Well, between that and two murders in O. B. Potter’s office—not to mention the other scandals around these guys—you should be a happy man,” Kane said.
“Why would you think that, Nik?” Jeffords said. “The governor, the senator, and I are political allies.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen how that works,” Kane said. “I figure the reason you wanted me to come down here was because you wanted Putnam and Potter to be in as much trouble as possible so your mayor had a clear shot at the nomination for governor.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Nik,” Jeffords said. “If Governor Putnam and Senator Potter are in trouble, I don’t see how that affects me. I’m just a local police chief.”
Kane laughed.
“It would be fun to fence with you for a while, Tom”, he said, “but I need something fast. I’m doing your dirty work now, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t help. I need you to talk to whoever you need to and have a Juneau Police detective named Crawford meet me in thirty minutes at the Silver Bow coffee shop.”
“Can’t you just ask him yourself?” Jeffords said. “You know my reluctance to become involved in this affair.”
“I could,” Kane conceded, “but I’m not sure he would come. He’s been warned off the White Rose Murder by his boss, at the behest of your political pals. The only way his boss would let him get involved is if some other political heavyweight asks. And that’s you.”
“Look, Nik,” Jeffords began, “I’m afraid you have an inflated—”
“It’s Dylan, Tom,” Kane interrupted. “I’m afraid he’s in trouble and that I’ll need official help. So just do it, please. Thirty minutes. Crawford. Silver Bow.”
“I—” Jeffords began, but Kane overrode him.
“If you need any more incentive,” he said, “I think this will take Potter off the board completely. Your guy will have a clear run.”
There was a brief silence.
“I was going to say that of course I will help,” Jeffords said, his voice thick with frost. “Not everything is politics.”
Maybe not, Kane thought as he put his cell phone away, but I never thought I’d hear Tom Jeffords say so.
34
No man, however strong, can serve ten years as schoolmaster, priest, or Senator, and remain fit for anything else.
HENRY BROOKS ADAMS
Cocoa pulled into the curb. They’d gone just three blocks.
“What are we stopping for?” Kane asked.
“You wanted Senator Potter’s place,” Cocoa said. “This is it.”
The house, a ranch-style painted pea green, looked deserted—no car in the driveway and the curtains on the big picture window pulled tight. Kane got out of the cab, limped to the front door, and pounded on it.
“Open up,” he yelled. “Police.”
“Police?” Cocoa said from behind him. “You ain’t the police.”
“I want in there, Cocoa,” he said. “I’m afraid something might have happened to my son.”
He pounded again, but there was no response.
“Guess I’ll have to break it down,” he said.
Cocoa pushed him out of the way. He had two thin pieces of metal in his hand. He inserted them in the lock and twitched them around. Then he straightened and turned the knob. He saw the look on Kane’s face and said, “I just said I never been in prison. I didn’t say I don’t have criminal skills.”
Kane took the gun off his hip and went through the door, stopping to listen. He heard people whispering.
Senator O. B. Potter walked from the back of the house clutching a terry-cloth bathrobe around him. His white hair stood up at all angles and sweat ran down his flushed face.
“What’s…what’s the meaning of this?” he asked.
“Where’s your daughter?” Kane asked.
“Who are you?” Potter said. “Why do you want my daughter?”
“I’m the guy who is going to shove this gun about three feet up your ass if you don’t answer my questions,” Kane said. “Where is Letitia?”
“I—she’s not here,” Potter said. “I’m not sure where she is. The office, perhaps. She’s a very conscientious worker, and now, with two empty staff positions, we’re very busy. She worked very late last night, and I suppose she’s at work again now.”
“Hear him?” Kane said to Cocoa. “Two empty staff positions. As if murder was just another personnel problem.”
He looked around the living room but saw nothing of interest.
“Where was your daughter the night Melinda Foxx was killed?” he asked.
“What?” Potter said. “Why, she was here, at home with me.”
He straightened his shoulders and tried to puff out his chest, but his robe slipped and he had to grab it again to keep it closed.
“Who are you?” he said. “What right do you have to break into my home and ask questions? Do you know who I am?”
Kane laughed.
“I love it when they ask that,” he said.
“If you are the police, where is your warrant?” he said. “I want to see your warrant. And some identification.”
Kane put his hand in the middle of the senator’s chest and pushed. The old man stumbled backward and fell into an armchair, his robe flying open.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Cocoa said. “Would you look at that?”
