Poisoned Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  Samantha’s long, tired sigh came over the phone. “I wish to God it was, Molly. A blackmailer is only after money and not out for vindictive pleasure and retribution.”

  “You need to talk to your lawyer, Samantha.”

  “That’s where I’m heading right after this phone call. I’ve already called him. We need to have some strategy planned for both scenarios. Vindictive wife or blackmailer. Plus, I don’t want to be here when Quent comes. I gave him the house security code and told him I’d be gone all evening. Plenty of time for him to gather any personal belongings.”

  “Samantha, I don’t want you alone tonight. I wish I didn’t have this dinner, otherwise you could come over and stay with me.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t plan to be alone. I’m going to seek additional counsel after I speak with my attorney.”

  I searched through my memory for the name. “Are you still using Jefferson Carter, Beau’s longtime lawyer?”

  “Most definitely. Also I’ve got some old friends in town who’ve been put through the wringer in the past. I’ll need their thoughts on this mess.”

  “That makes me feel better. You’ll need advice from wise and experienced heads to steer your way through this thing. I’ll call you when I can steal a moment away from the dinner tonight, okay? And if your old friends aren’t available, come on over and stay with me.”

  “Thank you, sugar, but I’m fairly certain I’ll be finishing the evening with one dear gentleman. He and I haven’t spent time together in quite awhile. It’ll be good to talk with him.”

  “Okay, but if plans change, don’t hesitate to call me. Why don’t you call me anyway and let me know how you’re doing so I won’t worry.”

  A smile finally appeared in Samantha’s voice. “I’ll try. Meanwhile, you take care of Senator Russell’s folks tonight, you hear? I’ll be okay.”

  “All right. Take care of yourself, Miss Thing,” I said, trying to match her lighter tone.

  “Always, sugar.” She clicked off.

  _____

  “Has he received the photos yet?” Spencer’s low voice came across the cell phone.

  Raymond took a long drag on his cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nicotine cloud both soothed and irritated his ragged throat. “I made sure they were delivered to him before he left for the Hill this morning. Special delivery by a special courier.”

  “Your man, I assume?

  “You assume correctly.”

  “Good, good. Do you know if he opened the package right away?”

  “Yes, he did.” Raymond took a sip from his cold coffee and leaned back in his upholstered desk chair. A shaft of late morning sun fell across the worn oriental carpet at his feet. “Wilson inspected the package and went back into his townhouse, then he called Mrs. Calhoun. QuickiExpress delivered her package while they were still on the phone. Let’s just say neither of them was very happy.” He took a quick drag.

  “Your man’s been keeping track of Wilson?”

  “Absolutely. He bugged the townhouse a month ago when he slipped in to check the computer files. Wilson can’t take a leak without us knowing. Don’t worry, Spencer. Wilson got your message loud and clear. He called his Hill office and said he’d be a little late.” Raymond chuckled low in his throat, risking the start-up of that pesky cough.

  “Excellent. I assume everything is ready for tonight. Is your man in position?”

  “Affirmative. He just scheduled a courier to hand deliver a note to Wilson at his House office. With all the staffers around, they’ll make sure to mention it if any cops question them. A single page of paper and typed message: ‘You’ll be sorry.’”

  An exhale of breath on the other end of the phone. “Good, good. We’ve put a lot of pieces into motion, Raymond. Everything has to work like clockwork.”

  “Don’t worry, it will. We’ve already started pushing the dominoes. Everything will fall into place, Spencer. Trust me.”

  “Oh, we do, Raymond. We do. Call me once it starts.”

  “Of course.”

  three

  Sunday

  I grabbed my car keys, purse, and coffee mug, ready to head out my kitchen door to run some errands. Early Sunday morning meant the shopping malls would be relatively calm for a couple of hours. After that, the crowds would arrive in force.

  I planned to head right across Key Bridge into Virginia then up the George Washington Memorial Parkway to Chain Bridge Road to the McLean, Virginia, exit. If I was lucky, I’d beat the shopping hordes to Tysons Corner. Since I was joining my cousins Nan and Deb and their husbands in Vienna, Virginia, later that afternoon, I figured Tysons Corner made sense. However, Tysons was one of the busiest shopping centers in Northern Virginia, so you had to be really slippery to not get stuck in traffic jams. Of course, knowing all the surrounding streets and alternate routes helped.

  Bruce meowed at me as I walked toward the driveway beside my townhouse. I gave him my regular admonition to leave the birds alone. Bruce simply looked at me, then licked his big paw. As I settled into my car that I’d finally been able to bring from Colorado, I heard the driving beat of “Brown Sugar” coming from my purse. I started the car, ready to begin the tricky process of backing out of the narrow Georgetown rowhouse driveway. By the time I retrieved my phone, Mick Jagger was already in full throat, and Samantha’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hey, I’m glad to hear from you,” I said when Mick disappeared. “I tried calling last night, but you were obviously still in the midst of counsel. What’s the word from the Wise Sage?”

  “Molly … can you come over to my house right now, please? I need to talk to you,” Samantha said in a voice so soft I could barely hear her.

  “Samantha, are you all right? What’s the matter?” I’d never heard her sound like that before.

  “I came home early this morning and … and found Quentin dead on my couch. He was just slumped over on the cushions.”

  An icy chill ran through me and caught in my throat. “Oh, no …” was all I managed to gasp out.

  “I thought he was asleep but when I couldn’t wake him, I checked his pulse.” Samantha’s voice caught. “God, Molly, it was awful! There were pills scattered all over the coffee table. The police just left a few minutes ago. The ambulance took him away. Please, Molly, can you come over? I need someone I can talk to. Someone I can trust.”

  “I’m leaving now,” I said, backing up quickly. To hell with the grass. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Have you called anyone else?”

  “Just my lawyer. Dear God, Molly.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  _____

  I handed Samantha a ceramic mug of English Breakfast tea then sat on a chair across from hers in her paneled library. The idea of sitting in the living room was out of the question.

  “Have you had anything to eat?” I asked before sipping my coffee. “I can make you something.”

  “I had a croissant and jam before I left Ber … my friend’s house this morning. I don’t think I could eat anything now.” She chewed her lip, as she clutched the mug in her lap.

  Her nervous behavior was so unlike Samantha that it was striking. I could only remember seeing her this rattled as an adult once before. When I went to see her before she flew off to Mississippi and went into seclusion after her young husband’s death. Eddie Tyler had died when his plane was shot down during the Vietnam War. There had never been any indication of remains being found. Samantha was told that the plane wreckage was at the bottom of the Gulf of Tonkin Bay.

  “Take a sip of tea. Black, no cream or sugar. It’s good for you,” I prodded.

  “All right.” Samantha took a sip then held the mug close to her chest with both hands, as if it were winter instead of mid-July.

  “Would you mind my asking some questions?” I ventured. “I want to get this entire s
cene in my head. I’m still confused about a few things.”

  She nodded. “Go ahead, Molly. It’ll help me remember what I told the police. I need to get it inside my head too.”

  “When did you come home this morning?”

  Samantha took a large sip before answering. “I left D.C. about six a.m. and arrived here around six twenty-five, I think. I turned into my driveway and was surprised to see Quentin’s car still there. I’d assumed he’d gathered his things and left by early evening.”

  “Then, you walked inside?”

  She closed her eyes and her voice came out tighter. “Yes. I found him on the sofa. I thought he was asleep and kept calling out his name and telling him to wake up! When he didn’t answer, I got this sickening feeling. That’s when I checked his pulse and didn’t feel it. I even checked his throat. His skin was cold. He was cold.” She shuddered visibly.

  “You said there were pills scattered all over the coffee table. Do you have any idea what kind of pills they were? Had you ever seen him take pills before?”

  Eyes wide open now, Samantha nodded and sipped more of the strong tea. “Yes, many times. Quent had trouble sleeping. Some nights he couldn’t wind down. Even sex didn’t seem to relax him. So he took sleeping pills every night.” She stared toward the tall cherry wood bookcases, each shelf filled with books and treasures brought back from her international travels. “Several of the capsules were opened and spilled out beside the bottle of beer. Quentin loved Guinness, so I always kept a few bottles in the fridge for him.”

  I peered at Samantha. “Why would he open the capsules? If he was intent on killing himself, he’d simply swallow them with the beer, wouldn’t he?”

  “Lord, Molly, I don’t know.” She looked away from me. “I cannot imagine why Quent would resort to taking his own life. I mean … I told him I’d pay the blackmail money if it came to that. Why would he do it?”

  Having walked in after a tragic suicide had taken place years ago, I was still at a loss for an explanation to offer Samantha. “Who knows? I still haven’t figured out why Dave killed himself, and it’s been over twenty years.”

  She glanced to me with compassion. “I’m sorry if this brings back ugly memories, Molly.”

  I shrugged. “That’s okay. It was a long time ago, and I’ve come to the conclusion that none of us can know what’s going on inside someone else’s head. Sometimes the people we care about the most can deliberately hide their thoughts from us.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  An idea came suddenly. “Do you think that blackmailer called Wilson? Maybe he scared him and Quentin panicked.”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like the coincidence of those photos arriving on his doorstep Saturday, and that same night Quentin decides to kill himself.”

  I didn’t like coincidences, either. “I know, it doesn’t make sense, considering you’d told him that you would pay any blackmail money. Something else must have scared Wilson. Scared him enough to take his life.” Another idea surfaced. “What occurs to me is there was no blackmailer. You said Wilson was afraid his wife had ordered the photos. Maybe that’s exactly what happened, and she called him to tell him she was dumping him. His worse nightmare. His political career would be over. I mean, if she was that well-connected in Ohio, she could influence the powers-that-be to withdraw their support. Then, she’d withdraw her money. That would finish Wilson politically.”

  Samantha nodded. “Quentin would be unable to mount a re-election campaign without her money, especially if she was using her influence against him. Quent wouldn’t have a prayer. He was a Cleveland D.A. from a modest background. Then he started winning several high-profile cases against some financial con men who’d defrauded scores of Ohioans out of their retirement savings. That’s when he got on the Ohio politicos’ radar screen. And, caught Sylvia Burnham’s eye. She’s old Ohio money. After they married, it was an easy climb upward for Quent.”

  I scrutinized Samantha. “You really did research him, didn’t you?”

  In a brief return to her old self, Samantha arched a brow at me. “I told you I researched my pupils. I looked for anything that might hold him back or become fodder for the media sleaze.”

  I leaned back in the chair and sipped my coffee, pondering what she’d said. “You know, I’m thinking more and more that Wilson’s wife may have been the one to push him over the edge. I’d be willing to bet she called him while he was still here. And it was a downward spiral for Wilson after that.” I took another sip of coffee. “Boy, I wish we knew who called him last night.”

  Samantha picked at her nails. “Actually I do know who he talked to last night.”

  “What?” I stared at her.

  Samantha stared at her hands. “I … I saw his cell phone on the sofa beside him and … I went through the phone logs before I called the police.”

  Whoa. I hadn’t expected that. “Wow, that was really clear thinking.”

  She gave me a worried look. “I know how that sounds, Molly. But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know who called Quentin before he did this horrible thing. Someone drove him to suicide, and I want to know who it is.”

  “Did you recognize any phone numbers?”

  “Yes, there was one that matched his home number in Cleveland. I recognized it from my own phone log when he’d call from Ohio.” She rose from her chair and went to the small cherry wood desk across the room, then returned with a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down all the numbers that Quent talked to Saturday afternoon. He said he’d be at the Hill most of the day.”

  I reached for the paper and scanned the long list of numbers. Since this was Wilson’s personal line, the list was shorter than it would have been if constituents were listed. Even so, Samantha had copied an entire column of phone numbers. “These are a lot of calls. Which was his Ohio phone?”

  She pointed a fire engine red fingernail at one number. “This one. I checked it with my phone logs, and it’s his home. So, that means his wife did call him yesterday evening.”

  I exchanged a glance with Samantha. “The police took his cell phone, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, they did. But I’m not sure they’d bother to check who called Quentin. After all, it’s an obvious suicide.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Do you recognize any other numbers on this list?”

  “Yes, several are from his Capitol Hill office. The rest of them looked like other numbers on the Hill, probably colleagues and staffers. Still, I may give the list to a professional to check to be sure.”

  “Why?”

  Her face darkened. “If it wasn’t his wife and he was being blackmailed, one of those numbers could be the blackmailer’s. If so, I want to expose the bastard. He was responsible for Quentin killing himself.”

  “So, you have a private eye on retainer?” I couldn’t help smiling.

  She sent me one of her looks, which made me feel better. Nervous, hesitant Samantha didn’t resemble the woman I’d known for a lifetime. “Molly, there’s an awful lot of stuff going on in Washington. Even more than when you lived here. You never know if someone is who he or she says they are. I always have a background check done if I’m going to do business with someone. An expensive suit and a smile aren’t enough. Some job histories are suspect. Even personal recommendations can be suspect. I like to know the people I’m dealing with.”

  “That makes sense. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Precisely.”

  I was impressed with Samantha’s caution. Sober-and-Righteous prodded that I needed to adopt that attitude myself. I ignored it. Samantha returned to her desk and dropped the folded paper beside a lamp. Then my instinct prodded me. That, I listened to.

  “You know, you should scan that list into your computer and save it to a file. That way you’ll have an electronic copy to send to your investigator guy … or girl. Then you could a
ctually destroy that paper list. Better not to have it around.”

  “Good point.” She gave me a smile then reached over and turned on her computer and scanner and settled in her desk chair.

  Another concern surfaced and I had to voice it. Samantha needed to prepare herself. “You know the police are going to question you once they find out about your affair with Wilson. You’d better have your story straight.”

  She glanced over at me with a worried frown. “You’re right, and I plan to tell them about the photos and my suspicions about a blackmailer. Besides, they’ve probably found those photos in Quent’s briefcase. Dear God.”

  “Are you going to tell them about the arrangement Wilson had with his wife?”

  She gave a long sigh. “I will if they ask about his wife. If they don’t bring up the subject, I won’t go there. What Quentin and his wife, Sylvia, said to each other is their business. It was between husband and wife.”

  “Okay, but be prepared to tell the truth if they do ask. After all, his wife is probably the one who ordered the photos.”

  “I know,” she said, glancing toward the window.

  Another sunny hot summer day lurked outside, waiting for us to step into it. I’d already called my cousins and told them I wouldn’t be coming over that afternoon. I didn’t want to leave Samantha alone.

  “You’re staying with me tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer. So better pack a bag. Let’s get out of here. In fact, it might be better if you didn’t stay here until you can have the entire living room area cleaned and redecorated. Change it entirely so it doesn’t bring back any memories.”

  I could see her relax a little. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Thank you for asking me over.”

  “C’mon, let’s go pack some bags for you,” I said as I rose. Another concern swept forward then, something I had wanted to say earlier but hesitated to do so. “Oh, and you know the police are going to ask you to account for your whereabouts last night, so be prepared to answer. You’ll probably have to warn your Wise Sage that he may be questioned too.”