“Wilson seemed to focus on international monetary policy and banking regulations. That covers a lot of ground. Do any of those topics match what Karen was researching?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. She left notes on her daytimer. I know that sounds kind of weird. But it looked like she was keeping track of any legislation that involved banking or monetary policy.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, not exactly. Just that she was keeping track of it. That’s why I was curious about Congressman Wilson’s searches. Did any of those topics cover legislation? You know, like legislation being considered by any House subcommittee?”
Loretta frowned at the list. “No, I just did a cursory check on general topics. But I can run a more specific search when I get the chance. See if he was looking at any legislation.”
The waiter reappeared then with a bountiful platter of rich and aged cheeses, crackers, and fresh fruit. Loretta and I started sampling the aged cheddar, perfect with the beer. And a rich brie, slightly melted and warm from the oven. Heavenly.
I savored the creamy fattening delicacy, closing my eyes in enjoyment. “Ummmmmmmm, this is so good, it’s sinful.”
“Don’t I know it. But my doctor said to cut back on those rich cheeses, so smack my hand after two more slices.”
“I’ll try to remember, but no promises,” I said, then took a big sip of Guinness. “Listen, Loretta, I don’t want to burden you with extra work. I imagine you’ve got your hands full supervising staff and keeping track of all those congressional demands.”
“You got that right, Molly,” she said, handing her glass to the waiter for a refill.
I quickly drained mine and followed suit. At this rate, I’d be drinking tea and nibbling apple slices all day tomorrow so I’d look good in Samantha’s lingerie gifts Friday evening.
“Just take a look when you have a chance,” I said, slicing a thin wedge of bright orange cheddar. My cholesterol was climbing just looking at it.
“Will do. Any other sub topics?” Loretta bit into a Brie-filled cracker.
“Now that you mention it, see if he did any searches on the Epsilon Group or a European financial minister named Holmberg. Ambassador Holmberg.”
Loretta looked at me sharply, clearly forgetting the remaining Brie cracker in her fingertips. “Was Karen researching the Epsilon Group and Ambassador Holmberg?”
I met her gaze and was surprised by the intensity. “Yes. I found references to both of them in her daytimer. Why? Did Congressman Wilson research them too?”
“No. Wilson didn’t. But I do know someone else who was researching them.” She glanced away, but not before I noticed a tightening of her jaw.
I waited until the waiter placed both our beers in front of us before speaking. My gut had already told me who Loretta was talking about. Celeste Allard. The sweet young staffer from Congressman Jackson’s office—Karen’s former office—who’d helped search e-mail files for me last spring. That was when I was convinced Jackson’s chief of staff, Jed Molinoff, was involved in wrongdoing. Celeste had done many searches for me until her young life ended in a freakish accident on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.
“Was that person Celeste Allard?” I asked quietly.
Again, Loretta trained her intense stare on me. “Yes. Did you know Celeste?”
I nodded sadly. “Yes. We met after Karen’s death. She called to tell me that Jed Molinoff was acting strangely—searching Karen’s desk and removing her computer. Celeste was convinced Molinoff was trying to hide something, and I was too. I’d seen Molinoff in action at a reception, and I didn’t trust him.” The remembered pain of losing my niece flowed through me again, bringing the remembered anger. “Bastard,” I hissed.
“I agree with you. He was a son of a bitch. I heard enough about him from Celeste. I’d met her when she first came to the Hill.” Loretta shook her head. “She was so bright and sweet and kind-hearted. I made it a point to look out for her. Give her advice. You know, take her under my wing, I guess. And she had to work with those snakes over there in Jackson’s office.”
I knew immediately to whom Loretta was referring. “Larry Fillmore, right?” I let my opinion fill my voice. “Celeste told me how he was watching her at the office. And again when she went down to Records. He was another bastard.”
“Oh, Larry Fillmore is a real piece of work,” Loretta sneered. “I used to know his ex-wife, before he drove her out of town.”
“I heard about that from a friend who keeps an ear out for Washington gossip. I remember her updating me last spring on Fillmore’s tawdry reputation.”
Loretta gave another disgusted sniff. “Tawdry is putting it mildly. That man had been transferred from one job on the Hill to another until he landed at Congressman Jackson’s office. I cannot believe he’s Jackson’s chief of staff now.”
“Neither can I. Celeste filled me in on his background. She also told me Karen got Jed Molinoff to transfer Fillmore from Jackson’s office about a month before her death. Let’s just say he didn’t get along with the female staffers.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, given what Celeste said about him. How then did he get back into Congressman Jackson’s good graces after being let go?”
“Apparently Jackson never knew about it. Molinoff handled everything. And when Karen died, the first thing he did was bring Fillmore back on board.” I frowned into my beer glass. “Celeste was convinced Fillmore was brought back to spy on everyone. And he certainly made her life difficult.”
Loretta’s expression hardened. “He did, indeed. Listen, Molly, I’ll be glad to help you find any information you need for Karen’s research. As our own little tribute to two fine young women that left us too soon. Way too soon.”
I looked into Loretta Wade’s eyes and saw the same light of determination I felt inside. I lifted my glass. “Thank you, Loretta. To Karen and Celeste.”
Loretta lifted her glass. “To the good ones. And to hell with the bastards.”
I’d drink to that any day.
fifteen
Friday
I stepped out my front door into the summer morning’s embrace, delighted that the humidity wasn’t as noticeable as it had been when I was running earlier. I’d left plenty of time for my morning stroll to the Russell mansion, so I could make some personal calls. Once I arrived at my office, e-mails and messages would be nonstop.
Slipping the cell phone from my purse, I continued down the steps to my front walkway. I was about to press Samantha’s name on my directory when the phone rang in my hand. Samantha. “Hey, you were reading my mind,” I answered. “I was about to call you. How’re you doing?”
“Surviving,” Samantha’s drawl flowed as smooth as honey.
“Hang in there, Miss Thing. Where have you and Eleanor been to these last few days? I heard about the D.C. Art League luncheon and the dinner with her book group. Oh, yes, and another fundraiser charity. One of the churches, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. That was just the first two days. Since then, Eleanor and I have attended two concerts, one at Kennedy Center and another at Lisner Auditorium. Luncheons for the United Way and Children’s Hospital, and another musical interlude at the National Gallery. Oh yes, and a tediously boring reading by some retired diplomat who decided to write his memoirs. I almost fell asleep in that one. I swear, if I’d led as boring a life as he had, I’d never admit it, let alone write about it.”
“Culture and charities, how uplifting,” I said after I’d stopped laughing. “I’m proud of you, Samantha. I’ll bet Eleanor is too.”
“I wouldn’t say proud. But I can tell I’ve surprised the hell out of the old dear that I haven’t balked at any of her schedules.”
I crossed 29th Street, sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees overhead. Morning rush hour traffic stopped at each intersection just long enough for a pedestrian to skip acro
ss. Heaven help the slow. Impatient drivers would probably start nudging them along with their front fenders. “Well, I’m proud of you, Samantha. Have you encountered any raised eyebrows?”
She laughed. “Oh, yes, but most of them are smart enough to wait until my back’s turned.”
“Blow ’em off.”
“They don’t bother me. I’ll walk through snake-filled swamps to make sure my grand-girls aren’t subjected to any more vicious gossip. If charity luncheons, symphony receptions, and boring author readings will help, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes. By the way, what have you heard from Danny? Or, Double Dangerous, or whatever his nickname is?”
“Just a text last night saying that he’d pick me up from Russell’s house tonight and not to make plans for dinner.”
“Oooooo, that sounds like a good start. Listen, sugar, you two have fun, you hear? It’s about time you got together. Stop wasting time. Life’s too short. I’ll talk with you next week.”
Samantha clicked off, and I was about to drop the phone back into my purse when I remembered another call. I paused on the brick sidewalk edging 30th Street while I scrolled through my directory. I didn’t want to risk tripping over the uneven brick. Pressing Congresswoman Sally Chertoff’s office number, I listened to the rings while I meandered slower.
“May I speak with Natasha Jorgensen, please. Molly Malone from Senator Russell’s office,” I announced when the receptionist answered.
Natasha’s voice sounded after a minute. “Hey, Molly, how can I help you?”
“I simply called to see how you’re doing, Natasha.”
“I’m doing okay. Way too busy, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh yeah. Why don’t I take you out to lunch next week? You sound like you could use a break from the office. I know I do.”
“That’s nice, but I usually take lunch at my desk.”
“Okay. I’m switching into Mom Mode now. You need a break so you won’t burn out. Eating at your desk can be a bad habit. I escape outside every day to Russell’s garden for lunch. There’re plenty of shady park benches dotted around the Capitol grounds. You can spare a half an hour outside in nature. It’ll be good for you, girl.”
Natasha laughed softly. “Okay, Mom. Why don’t we meet Monday around twelve. There are some vendor carts on Pennsylvania Avenue near the National Gallery. We can coordinate by phone. Then we can find a bench.”
“Perfect. Monday it is. Oh, by the way, I wanted to start looking at Karen’s notes again and try to pick up where she left off. I met the researcher you mentioned from the Congressional Research Service, Loretta Wade, and she’s offered to help me. But those categories are pretty broad and there’s a ton of information. Do you remember if Congressman Wilson had narrowed his focus at all? I wondered if he left any notes or something.”
Natasha paused. “I don’t know if he made any notes. If so, he’d have had them in his briefcase. But I do recall I asked him one morning if he was still working on that ‘project,’ as he called it, and he said he was finishing up.”
That caught my attention. “Did he go into any details? The researcher said he was looking at international monetary policy and banking regulations and legislation related to it. Those are pretty broad areas.”
“I do recall his mentioning international banking legislation more than once. Several times, in fact. You know, let me look in my desk at home. When I left Wilson’s office, I grabbed all my research files that I might need here at Chertoff’s office. And I had Wilson’s search files on a duplicate storage drive. I’m anal about backing up everything, and I figured he’d want me to. Once I knew I was coming over here, I brought those files with me. Chertoff is on the House Financial Services International Monetary Policy and Trade Subcommittee, so I thought she might be able to use that information. I knew Sylvia Wilson wouldn’t need it.”
“That was smart thinking on your part, Natasha. I told Sally Chertoff she was lucky to have you.”
Natasha laughed again. “Now, you really do sound like my mom. Why don’t I make a copy of Wilson’s files for you, Molly. I’ll bring them to you when we have lunch on Monday, okay? Unless you need them for the weekend. I could send it to Russell’s office today.”
“No need. I’ll get it from you Monday. I’ve already got plans for the weekend.”
_____
“Did your man check her computer yet?” Spencer asked, as he stood beside his office window. The last of morning rush hour traffic still clogged Pennsylvania Avenue below. The U.S. Capitol lay many blocks ahead, the tip of the Pennsylvania Avenue spear.
“He got into her apartment yesterday. Went in while she was at her office,” Raymond’s scratchy voice came over the phone. “He copied all her e-mails and also copied the storage drives she had in the desk drawer. He’s taking a good look and will get back to me later today.”
“Will he be able to go over all that by then?”
“Depends on how much there is. But it shouldn’t take too long, because he knows how to filter through a lot of the crap and find what we’re looking for. By the way, did you hear anything from the others?”
“Nothing definitive about Jorgensen. Some were a little ‘reticent,’ shall we say, about another termination so close to the last ones.” Spencer didn’t try to disguise the disdain in his voice.
Raymond snorted. “Sounds like they’re getting queasy. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“I’ll be at a dinner for Ryker, so send me a text.”
“Will do.”
_____
I scanned the tabloid sheet as I stood in the doorway leading outside to the Russell garden. Cicadas buzzed their sultry August drone, the humidity building as the late-morning heat climbed. It would be in the upper nineties again today. Hot and humid. Dog days of summer at their finest, I thought as I sipped my coffee and smiled at the D.C. Dirt’s story.
Newly appointed Congresswoman Sylvia Wilson appeared quite agitated when asked about the photographs taken of her late husband Quentin and his paramour in flagrante delicto. Sylvia Wilson hotly denied that she had anything to do with the photographs and professed shock that anyone could think she would threaten her cheating husband with the evidence in a divorce. The Dirt’s sources report that police found no blackmail message on Quentin Wilson’s computer or in his residence. So who then ordered the surveillance photos? The D.C. Dirt is curious, indeed. If anyone knows, the Dirt is listening.
The creak of the wrought iron gate that opened into the driveway sounded from the rear of the property. I spotted Albert beckoning the familiar caterer’s truck to roll down the driveway. Tonight would be the last of the formal dinners. Next week, only one reception remained before Senator Russell returned to Colorado for the Congressional August recess. Thank goodness, these smaller dinners didn’t require my extra hostess assistance like the Senator’s large receptions. Danny and I would be entertaining ourselves tonight.
Late Friday afternoon
Raymond set an iced coffee on the glass table beside his patio chair and retrieved the ringing cell phone. Trask’s number flashed. No name. “What’d you find?” Raymond asked.
“Nothing in the e-mails. Just office or personal business. But the last storage drive was filled with research files. Monetary policy, international banking regulation, recent financial legislation introduced into committees and subcommittees. Looked exactly like the files we found on Wilson’s computer. Jorgensen obviously made copies.”
Raymond closed his eyes and rested his head on the cushion behind him. The ice had started to numb his throat. Just a little. Maybe he didn’t have to sweat with the hot coffee after all, especially on a summer afternoon. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“I figured. Now that we’ve found the smoking gun, what’s next?”
“Well, they know what my recommendation is, but Spencer says some of the others are getting squeam
ish about a third action.”
A deep chuckle came over the phone. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Keep track of her for now. As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know. By the way, will you have time to put up that camera? I wanted to start with the Malone woman tonight.”
“I got it mounted this morning. Right across from Malone’s house. I was the cable guy. Everyone’s used to those trucks. It’s all ready to go. I already checked the video feed in your office.”
Impressed with Trask’s efficiency, Raymond laughed softly. “Good job. I’ll head over to the office now and get settled in. Then I can see what Ms. Malone is up to this weekend.”
“Prepare to be bored. She’s a workaholic. Whenever I checked on her last spring, she’d leave for the office early and not return until later at night most of the times. The rest of the time she’d run out in the neighborhoods. Another time, she drove out to Virginia towards Vienna. Visited friends, it looked like. That’s all.”
“Good. I like boring. I’ll take a book with me,” Raymond said with a laugh … until his cough started.
Friday evening
I checked my watch as I logged out of my computer: 5:35. Danny should be calling any minute. A buzz from my cell phone showed a text message. Danny, of course.
Almost finished?
I smiled. He was always one step ahead of me. Maybe he really could read my mind. Scary. I texted “Ten minutes, max.” With luck, it wouldn’t be a lie. Now all I had to do was hope that Peter wouldn’t waylay me with a question on my way out of the office.
Glancing into the ornate mirror on the wall beside the bookcase, I checked my makeup, grabbed my purse, and locked the office door behind me.
Scanning the hallway, I didn’t spy Peter anywhere. So far, so good. The catering staff was making much food-preparation noise—mixers whirring, voices calling over the clatter of metal pans. Entertaining at its height. I’d grown so used to the accompaniment, I thought of it almost as background music.
I walked toward the dining room and spied Aggie and Ryan arranging the table, while Bud the bartender set up the bar at the end of the formal living room. Aggie glanced up, spotted me, and gave a smile.
Poisoned Politics Page 15
