She ran toward the elevator and anxiously pushed the button for the lobby. Cripes, I should have taken the stairs. Freaking elevators. They’re as old as this town!
When she reached the ground floor, she started toward Marcus but thought better of it. He would think she was losing her mind. It had taken her a while to get over her brother’s death, and she knew that some folks thought she was still a little shaky even after four years. Looking for a mysterious man who smelled like cheap cologne would certainly add to everyone’s concern that she wasn’t fully recovered from the trauma of his death.
She breezed past the security desk, trying to pick up the scent again. Add bloodhound to my résumé, she mockingly chided herself. Several corridors down, the smell was getting stronger again when she heard voices coming from inside Congressman Dillard’s office. Loud voices. And familiar. She had heard that voice before—and not just Dillard’s—as surely as she had smelled that horrible stench before. She tried to lean closer to the door, but too many people were coming back from lunch to do so unobtrusively, and she was beginning to feel self-conscious.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, she tried to tell herself. No. The fine hairs on the back of her neck definitely said otherwise. And her nose agreed wholeheartedly. Something was fishy, and it was something more than the smell. Suddenly, she heard one of the voices announce in a tone that indicated that the speaker was fed up, “I said I’ll take care of it!” On that note, one of the doors to the hallway opened, and she immediately turned to walk in the opposite direction. Oh, that smell! It’s him all right! She tried to get a good look at his face, but he clearly knew to keep his head down and was well aware of the placement of the security cameras. Her palms were starting to sweat. She needed to move fast but not too fast. She was already feeling conspicuous.
CJ took the stairs back to her office to see if she had overlooked anything, any clue that Snapper might have left as to why he had disappeared in such an unusual way. Again, nothing.
Having nothing to go on to understand Snapper’s behavior, she tried to busy herself with answering the pile of e-mails she had printed out, watching the mini digital clock slowly mark the afternoon hours. She finally picked up her cell and dialed Colin.
“Hey, Col, you going to the cemetery on Saturday?”
“Don’t I always?” Colin sighed. “I know I’m just torturing myself.”
“I hear ya.”
“Why? You have something in mind?”
“Can we have lunch afterward? I need to pick your brain.”
“Ha. You mean what’s left of it. Tell me, what’s going on, CJ? Everything okay?”
“I’m not really sure, and I don’t want to sound crackers. See you at eleven?”
“You got it.”
CJ was relieved that she was going to see Colin on Saturday. She missed the dinners her brother would prepare for the three of them. Colin had a really good head on his shoulders and was very savvy when it came to all sorts of investments, including stocks. She was going to ask him about Robotron.
Finally, when the LED changed from 4:29 to 4:30, she grabbed her coat and headed down the stairs. When she got to the garage, she noticed that Snapper’s car was still in its spot. She wondered if Snapper had taken a car service. But that seemed unlikely since she would have been the one to make the reservation. I’m not liking any of this.
CJ walked to her own car, got in, and patted the dashboard as if it were her pet. “You’re going to start up just fine for me, aren’t you? I’ve already had enough excitement for one day.”
She made the sign of the cross and laughed. She wasn’t Catholic, but she had seen that gesture so often, she thought it couldn’t hurt. She turned the key, and the car started without a hitch. At last! Something was working right. She really needed to get a new car. Though she had several in her garage, they were all much too expensive to her taste. Maybe she should trade one of them in and get another. She could get two others for as much as one of those cars cost. Actually, she could probably get several cars. She knew so little about high-end cars that she could barely distinguish one make of Italian sports car from another. Maybe it was time to be practical instead of fearful. Ever since her parents’ death, the memories of their angry voices, late at night, arguing about money had led CJ to resolve never to live anywhere near beyond her means. And to her, that meant budgeting in accordance with the money she earned from working as Snapper Lewis’s chief of staff. Given that she was a multimillionaire with an income from her half of the business that dwarfed her government salary, she knew she was being ridiculous. In addition, she could easily afford to buy a new car on her salary alone, for heaven’s sake.
Yeah, maybe this week. It’s time. It was past time for her to get over her mourning and begin to enjoy what her brother had left her. “Kick would want you to,” Colin would constantly nag at her. She resigned herself to getting it done. But nothing ostentatious. She and Colin would go look for cars together. Everyone knew that male customers were much more likely to get a good deal from a car salesman than female customers.
When she turned onto her street, after unlocking the security gate, entering the garage, and waiting to go through the hoops necessary to enter the house proper, she took a deep breath and contemplated whether she should open the Brunello or the Nebbiolo. Both were warm and rich and looked beautiful in the wine goblet. “Damn it. I forgot to pick up cheese.” She got back in her car, backed out of the garage, and made a quick trip to her favorite gourmet market.
That was another thing Kick had taught her—wine pairings. The only big question was which bottle was she going to open? She’d get an assortment of cheeses and figure that out when she was finally ready to sit down and ponder the recent odd happenings.
When she was back home and in the house, she decided on the Nebbiolo, poured the wine into a goblet, and made a nice cheese board for herself. Realizing that she had been sitting for over an hour reminiscing about her days with Kick and Colin, she snapped back to the task at hand. She also realized that she had made a good dent in the bottle.
What to do? Open another? No, that would just make her groggy, and she needed to think. Think! What, she asked herself, was going on with Snapper? He seemed so edgy. And that guy, the one who stunk so bad? Who was he?
The sudden sound of the phone made her jump out of her seat! Who the hell was calling at this hour, she wondered? It was late. Looking at her phone, it said, “Boss.” With a sigh of relief she answered the phone and blurted, “Finally! Where are you? What is going on? Is everything okay? Why didn’t you leave me a note when you left?” The words were tumbling out of her mouth before she could hear an answer.
“Hello. Is this Carol Anne Jansen?” a strange voice came through the line.
“Speaking. Who is this? And why are you calling from my boss’s phone?” CJ was uneasy.
“This is Detective Daniel Harris. Your name and number was in Congressman Lewis’s phone, listed under ‘In Case of Emergency.’ ”
“What emergency?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Ms. Jansen. Can you come down to the precinct?”
After the events of the past couple of weeks, CJ wasn’t sure that the person on the other end of the line was really a police detective and not some impostor.
“What precinct? What are you talking about?” CJ was getting more agitated.
“First District Substation. Or would you prefer we have someone pick you up?”
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She had no idea who this guy was. It could be Mr. Crappy Cologne for all she knew.
“No. I’ll come down. Where should I go? Whom should I ask for? What is this all about? Can’t you tell me anything?” CJ was trying not to panic.
Getting no good answers to her questions other than that she should ask for Detective Daniel Harris, she thought that perhaps she should call Colin and ask him to go to the station with her. But it would take too long for him to get here. She’d have to take her l
ittle junkmobile out one more time. But then, realizing that her very-much-used auto was never reliable, she thought once more, Cripes, I need a new car. That’s all I need is that hunk of junk to break down while I’m doing the same! So, she tapped the Uber app on her phone. Stay calm, she kept telling herself.
Instead of calling, she sent a text to Colin: Something happened to Snapper. Going to police station. Will call when I know more. She realized that Colin probably wouldn’t see her text until the morning, but she wanted him to be on call then if she needed him.
Within a few minutes, an Uber arrived, and she hopped in. “First District Substation at Capitol Hill.” The driver nodded. He looks like he’s twelve, she thought to herself. “You know how to get there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor, throwing CJ back into the seat. No wonder they’re trying to regulate these guys, she thought to herself as she shook her head. More regulations. Swell. More work for me. But in this case, maybe not such a bad idea.
Chapter 4
After a hair-raising ride to the precinct, CJ threw two twenty-dollar bills at the driver. “Here. Keep the change. And buy a map, for heaven’s sake!”
Bouncing from the Uber as quickly as she could, CJ noticed she was almost out of breath. She hadn’t run anywhere, but the anxiety arising from the disturbing phone call was making her sweat. She ran up the front steps of the police station, bumping into people as she took two steps at a time. “Sorry . . . excuse me . . . sorry . . .”
“Hey, lady. Slow down. Nobody’s in no hurry to get into a police station. . . .” one onlooker grumbled at her.
“Sorry . . . so sorry . . .” Breathless and shaking, she walked over to the front desk. “Is there a Detective Harris here? Daniel Harris, I think is his name.”
“Okay. Take it easy, miss. Yes, there is a Detective Harris here. Whom shall I say is inquiring?” The red-haired cadet with green eyes and a pleasant-looking face smiled reassuringly.
“I’m . . . I’m CJ, uh . . . Carol Anne Jansen. He called me about Congressman Lewis.”
Suddenly, the expression on the cadet’s face became somber. “One minute, please. I’ll get him.” He picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Detective Harris? There’s a Miss Jansen here. She said you called her? Right. Will do.” As he clicked the phone he looked up at CJ. This time the sympathy showed very clearly. “He’ll be right with you.”
Within two minutes, a tall man, over six feet, around fifty years old, thin and fit, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, came into the lobby. When he opened his mouth to greet her, the caps on his front teeth shone in the light from the overhead illumination. “Miss Jansen? I’m Daniel Harris. Won’t you come into my office?”
“Yes, of course. What is this all about?” CJ was trying to maintain her composure, but her inner self was telling her to scream.
Harris offered her a chair. “Please sit down.”
“I can’t until you tell me what’s going on,” she responded, her voice rising. “Where is Snapper? I mean Congressman Lewis? What is going on? Why am I here?” She took a deep breath and steadied herself by leaning her hand on the back of the chair in front of her.
As soon as the words “I am sorry to inform you . . .” came out of the detective’s mouth, CJ thought she would faint but readied herself for the rest of the sentence. “. . . Congressman Lewis’s body was found in his car earlier this evening. It was an apparent suicide.”
CJ thought she heard an oncoming train rush through her mind. “What? What did you just say?”
“Unfortunately, Congressman Lewis took his own life.”
“But how? Why? That’s just not possible! He would never do such a thing!” CJ protested as if her words would make it not be true.
“Carbon-monoxide poisoning.”
“Carbon-monoxide poisoning?” she parroted.
“Yes. Apparently, he connected a hose from the exhaust pipe of his car, attached the hose to the front window of his car using duct tape, and pumped the gas into the car.”
“I just can’t believe this. I cannot believe this is happening. Happened. Where?” She was shaking, her voice shrill.
“In the garage at the Rayburn Building. Security found him around eight this evening.”
“The garage at the Rayburn Building? This is not making any sense. He left the office early, but his car was still in its place when I left. But he wasn’t in the car. I thought he had taken a car service even though I had not booked one. I cannot believe this. Where is he now?”
“They took him to the county morgue. Do you know of any family members we should contact?”
“I think he has a brother somewhere, but he never talked about any family. Never. Ever. Some people are like that. They have no one.” Suddenly, it hit CJ that she had suffered yet another loss, and she burst into tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I mean . . . I can’t believe this. Any of it.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Did he leave a note? Anything?”
“I’m sorry to say he did not. Actually, about two-thirds of suicides do not leave a note. I guess they figure people would know; or they are in such a state of despair, they don’t think about it. It’s the act itself they focus on. Or so I’ve been told.”
Trying to hold it together, she gave him a quizzical look. How would you know what they focus on if they’re already dead?
As if he read her mind, Harris continued. “There have been thousands of unsuccessful suicides, and when/if the person is in therapy, they usually tell their therapist about what they were thinking when they attempted to commit suicide. Of course, we don’t know any personal information about the patients, but the mental-health community has been gathering statistics for the past two decades.”
Heaving a big sigh, as if trying to clear her head, CJ asked about the car and its contents. “Was his briefcase in the car? Did he leave any kind of clue? Are you absolutely certain it’s him?” She was begging for a different outcome.
Harris understood the shock. He had seen it many times before. Sometimes the person whom you least expect takes his or her own life.
“Yes, we have his fingerprints and are waiting on the dental records. But the fingerprints match.” Harris lifted the folder from his desk. “Do you think you want to take a look at his photo? We took it from the morgue’s closed-circuit camera. Maybe that will give you some closure.”
“I . . . I suppose so,” CJ stuttered, and took a deep breath as Harris handed her the photo of what appeared to be the dead congressman. It only took a brief glance to see it was Snapper. CJ was starting to shake uncontrollably.
“Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No. I’m . . . I’m fine. What about his car?” CJ was trying to keep her composure as her mind was racing.
“The car was towed to the police lot and there are a few personal items. Forensics is done, so we can release them. Do you want to get them? I can walk you over.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” She stood as tall as she could, shoulders back, head up, hoping her legs would not give out on her.
As Detective Harris ushered CJ through the precinct, he asked her casual questions. How long have you known the congressman? How long have you worked for him? Was he easy to get along with? Did he have much of a social life with all the hours he put in?
It all seemed innocuous, but CJ felt that there was an underlying agenda behind the banal questions, and she answered them in the same manner they were delivered. Matter-of-factly. Twelve years. Twelve years. Yes. Grouchy sometimes but generally kind. The only social life he had were those boring black-tie events where he would have to make “a cameo appearance.” That’s how he referred to his attendance.
When they reached the car, the detective opened the front passenger side. “It’s totally clear now . . . the air quality, I mean.”
As CJ poked her head in to open the glove compartment, she gasped at the smell. But it wasn’t the smell of any kind of gas. It was
the smell of god-awful cologne.
Whipping her head from out of the car, she barked, “Detective, did anyone look at the security surveillance tapes? Did anyone look at it at the time he was supposed to have killed himself?”
“Most cameras are primarily focused on the entrance and exits. We just don’t have the man . . . I mean peoplepower to cover every square inch of every building in this city. Parking garages are secure enough since you need a series of pass codes to get in and out. We keep the footage for thirty days; otherwise, it would take up too much data space.”
“Do you mind if I take a look at it for the time Congressman Lewis was in his car? It’s sickening to think someone could have been monitoring the cameras and could have stopped this from happening.” CJ was finally beginning to think rationally. And this situation required all the rational thinking she could summon.
“If you think you want to put yourself through this . . . but I have to tell you that when we went back to check the footage, the camera was at an odd angle, so we couldn’t see the actual events occur. The camera was positioned so we could only get a glimpse of the rear passenger side. At first, it looked like the congressman was checking for something under the car, but we couldn’t see exactly what he was looking for.”
“But did you see his face? Was it recognizable?” CJ was starting to sound like a detective at this point.
“Well . . . no.” Harris hesitated. “But he was wearing the same Burberry raincoat we found him in.”
“So you really didn’t see who attached the hose to the exhaust pipe? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Ms. Jansen. I know this is a great shock to you, but it does happen. People get depressed and despondent, and from what you said, he has no family. Maybe the stress of working in this pressure-cooker town finally got the better of him.”
“No. I do not, will not accept that. He was a workaholic. He loved what he did. Hell, he answered his own phone! And to be quite frank, I don’t think he’d know how to hook up a hose to an exhaust pipe!” CJ was unconvinced. “I really think this needs more investigating. It’s just not right.” CJ’s gut was churning at this point. “So, if you can get me clearance to look at the tapes, I want to go through them.”
Deep Harbor Page 4
