Homicide in the House Read online

  He didn’t seem comforted. “That’s fine if you don’t want to tell me what you’ve found.” He paused, likely for dramatic effect. “If you’ve found anything. But my original instruction still stands. You need to find the real killer or look for another job.”

  I straightened up in my chair. “I talked to Representative Dixon this morning, and she urged me not to investigate. She thinks it’s too dangerous.”

  Dan wavered for a moment before responding. “Of course she’d say that. She doesn’t want any liability if something happens to you. She can’t live with the guilt. However, I have a clear conscience.”

  Dan’s eyes bulged and he grimaced, reminding me eerily of Bert from Sesame Street when he got frustrated with Ernie. Angry Bert freaked me out. Irritated Dan had the same effect.

  “I’d like some clarification. You don’t give a rat’s ass if I become collateral damage?” I rarely cussed in a professional environment, but Dan’s boorish behavior justified an exception.

  “That’s crude, yet accurate.”

  I clenched my jaw and turned to face my computer. I glanced quickly to my right. Maeve’s door was open. I didn’t see a coat on the rack or her briefcase on the desk. She’d likely left for lunch. No luck that she’d overheard Dan reveal his true colors. I’d pegged him for a political lightweight, not a ruthless Hill denizen who cared about little else than his political career. I’d been dead wrong.

  I had nothing further to say. My brain could barely process his callous remarks, yet I forced myself to open my email inbox. Returning to work would give the impression that his crazy remarks hadn’t affected me. From behind, I heard Dan return to his office and shut the door.

  The list of unread email messages wasn’t quite as long as yesterday’s. That meant the number of credible proposals to end the shutdown had diminished. Pretty soon, there would be three or four viable alternatives. Once Maeve endorsed one of them, there would be no turning back politically.

  I spotted an email from Trevor with the subject “House Sergeant at Arms.” Perfect. I clicked on the message. Trent Roscoe has time to meet with you today at 3. Don’t miss this opportunity.

  Trevor even managed to sound bossy in an email. That required real talent. I hit reply. I’ll be there. Trevor appreciated brevity.

  I glanced at my watch. It was a little after two so I had some time before the meeting with Trent. I was about to focus on a long email outlining yet another solution to the shutdown when Maeve walked into the office.

  I stood up to greet her and smoothed my suit jacket. “Congresswoman, if you have a moment, I’d like to tell you about a discussion I had earlier today with the lead staffer from the Majority Leader’s office.”

  She motioned for me to follow her. Inside her office, Maeve collapsed into her high-backed chair. Her face looked drawn, and her usually energetic aura had dimmed. Her demeanor had changed drastically since this morning.

  What had caused this marked deterioration? “Excuse me for asking, but is there something wrong, ma’am?”

  Maeve had been staring at the wall, temporarily zoned out. She snapped to attention when she heard my question. “I'm sorry, Kit. I just met with my attorney.”

  She couldn’t throw a loaded comment out there without an explanation. Maybe it was rude, but didn’t I have the right to know what was going on?

  “What did he say?”

  She sighed. “The police don’t have any other suspects with the big three.” She ticked them off with her fingers. “Means, motive, opportunity.”

  “What about the other people on the Hill who hated Jack? He had plenty of enemies.”

  “They’ll explore those leads, but I’m clearly at the nexus of the investigation. My lawyer thinks the police might name me as a formal suspect and bring me in for questioning.”

  I gulped. “Today?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? I’m at their beck and call.”

  “Look on the bright side. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. There’s a chance we can keep this quiet, even if you’re questioned.”

  Maeve brightened. “Perhaps my attorney could negotiate those conditions.”

  “Absolutely. That way, once they find the real killer, no one needs to know the police suspected you were involved with the crime.”

  Maeve and I chatted about the Majority Leader’s policy proposal and Judy’s pressure to lend support to it. The situation required delicate maneuvering. Maeve didn’t want to support the proposal and then get hauled downtown as a formal suspect in Jack’s murder. On the other hand, jumping onboard too late would earn her little political favor with the powers that be. One more day of delay wouldn’t hurt, so we’d evaluate the situation again tomorrow afternoon. As I reminded my boss, political decisions were never made quickly. In an era of contentious politics, both parties routinely procrastinated.

  Unlike my congressional colleagues, I had no time to waste after wrapping up with Maeve. The House Sergeant at Arms office was appropriately located inside the Capitol itself, so I needed to boogie to make it there by three. After clearing the security checkpoint, I hustled through the underground passage connecting the Capitol to the House of Representatives office buildings.

  The Cannon Tunnel was the perfect spot for a moving walkway system, but such modern amenities had not appeared yet in Congress. The tunnel always made me think of an aging airport. Those of us who walked it on a daily basis found its gray, industrial appearance uninspiring. People moved swiftly on both sides of the passage under harsh lighting, usually engaged in blatant wheeling and dealing. Staff briefed their bosses en route to an important vote, lobbyists jogged to catch up with the House member they needed to solicit, and tourists clogged the artery while gawking at politicians they recognized from cable television. Adding to the chaos was the long line of paintings covering the tunnel’s walls, all winners from an annual congressional art competition featuring the best work of high school students across the country. Most visitors stopped to admire the impressive artwork or find the canvas from their congressional district. It often required the antiquated skills of an expert “Frogger” video game master to negotiate the series of obstacles in one’s path.

  Luckily, the shutdown had decreased the typical pandemonium of the Cannon Tunnel to a dull roar. After crossing into the Capitol, I quickly found the door labeled “House Sergeant at Arms” and pushed it open. Preoccupied with finding the correct location, I’d neglected to strategize for my meeting. Trevor’s contact was the purportedly attractive Trent Roscoe, whose boss was Gareth Pressler. Jack and Gareth had gone to war in the press over the security in the Capitol complex. With little love lost between the two of them, Pressler seemed like a man with a plausible motive to kill Jack.

  After providing my name to the assistant sitting at the front desk, I grabbed a seat in the small waiting room and checked my iPhone for messages. I had just clicked on a new email when I heard footsteps in the adjacent hallway.

  Meg and Trevor hadn’t exaggerated about Trent Roscoe. He was in his late thirties or early forties, but the years had been kind. He had a different kind of appeal than what I usually found attractive. He was ruggedly handsome, with military-style cropped brown hair, a square jaw, and the faint remainder of a tan. Although he was dressed in a nondescript black suit, I could tell he was in terrific shape. His pale yellow button-down shirt hugged his chest, showing off a chiseled upper body and trim waist. The soft, muted colors of his tie provided the perfect accent to his outfit. A guy like Trent could wear pastels and get away with it because he simply radiated testosterone.

  When I stood to greet him, I might have been dreaming, but I thought he gave me a once-over. If so, it didn’t last for more than a second. He immediately extended his hand. “Kit Marshall, I presume?”

  Maybe I was cold—the Capitol wasn’t the warmest building in the winter—but when I touched his hand, a warm sensation entered my fingers, ran up my arm, and then traveled throughout my body. I looked into his eye
s briefly and he smiled. Had he felt it, too?

  Then his expression turned quizzical. He’d asked me a question, after all. “That’s m-me,” I stammered. Nice move, Kit. Always the queen of suave. Cosmo could use me as a case study illustrating how not to behave around the opposite sex.

  Trent didn’t bat an eyelash at my awkwardness. “Let’s head to my office so we can chat,” he said.

  He led me down the hallway into a very small room with only a desk and one chair. It wasn’t a broom closet, but it was darn close. I squeezed past the door and slid into the available seat. He laughed at my obvious attempt to fit into the tight space. “I apologize. I realize this isn’t the Oval Office.”

  “No worries. I’ve never had a private office on the Hill, so I’m insanely jealous of your real estate.”

  He nodded. “I’m lucky Gareth decided I could have this space. Since I frequently conduct meetings about the security of the House, he thought I should have an office with a door.”

  How many people could discuss the security of the House in this office at one time? A multitude of staffers might be interested, but they’d have to schedule individual meetings.

  “I appreciate that you’re willing to meet with me,” I said. “Trevor and I worked together in the Senate before he left to become a lobbyist.”

  Trent nodded. “When I read Trevor’s email that his friend needed my help, it was a no-brainer. Any friend of Trevor’s is a friend of mine.”

  Times had definitely changed. Trevor hadn’t exactly been the social butterfly of the Senate. He must have undergone a drastic personal makeover to succeed at his new job. The bright lights of a movie marquee flashed before my eyes: The Wolf of K Street. It had a nice ring to it.

  “How did you meet Trevor? I wouldn’t think he’d have much dealings with House security.”

  “There’s no immediate tie. But as a lobbyist for a big defense company, Trevor needs to know everyone on the Hill. Quite a few of our employees in the Sergeant’s office are former military. That’s another reason for Trevor to develop a connection with our folks.”

  With the killer bod and buzzed haircut, Trent looked like he’d served in the military. “Are you a veteran?”

  To my surprise, Trent shook his head. “Afraid not. I was in the Secret Service for a while, but an old injury prevented me from continuing work in the field. I heard through the grapevine the Sergeant at Arms wanted to make hires with a law enforcement background. Before you know it, I’m working in the House of Representatives.” Trent’s smile spread from ear to ear.

  Not too many people these days boasted they worked for Congress. “You must really like your job.”

  The grin still plastered on his face, Trent said, “I love the mission. We’re here to protect the elected members, staff, and everyone who visits the Capitol complex. It’s a big responsibility. Who wouldn’t be excited?”

  Trent’s enthusiasm struck a familiar chord. “In my experience,” I said, “staff work on the Hill for a variety of reasons. With all the political nonsense that goes on, sometimes we forget the bigger goal of public service.”

  Trent’s eyes lit up. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” His line of sight drifted to my left hand, which was resting on the edge of Trent’s desk. He quickly averted his gaze when he realized I’d caught him checking out my ring finger.

  No need for another awkward moment. It was time to get down to business. “I wanted to meet with you because my boss had mentioned there was controversy concerning the level of security in the Capitol and House buildings. We have a lot of North Carolina constituents who visit our office and she’d like to know if any changes are planned.” It was a load of bunk with a grain of truth, but I needed to get Trent talking about the hullabaloo between his boss and Jack.

  “Calling it a controversy is an understatement. Congress is a top terrorism target, and the Sergeant at Arms is responsible for the safety of those inside these buildings. We need to make sure we have the right protocols in place to guarantee security. Unfortunately, many of our elected members of Congress don’t want to impede the flow of visitors in the chamber.”

  “I think I read a newspaper article about that man who was murdered, Jack Drysdale, and someone who leads your office. Didn’t they disagree about this issue?” I asked innocently.

  “Yes. Luckily, the papers didn’t report half of it. Let’s put it this way: there was no love lost between Drysdale and my boss, Gareth.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “Why do you say that?”

  Trent sighed. “Drysdale fought with Gareth about implementing tougher security protocols. They weren’t able to arrive at a sensible compromise. Instead, their meetings usually ended up in shouting matches, with Jack storming out of Gareth’s office.”

  “Sounds serious. How did you negotiate that land mine?”

  “I didn’t. Those decisions are above my pay grade. But I listened to Gareth complain after the meetings.”

  There was a tap at the door. Trent said loudly, “Come in.”

  I scooted my chair as far away from the door as I could so it could open. A middle-aged man appeared. He seemed surprised Trent had a visitor. “Don’t forget we have that meeting about identification badges in a few minutes.”

  Trent’s demeanor changed instantly. He straightened up in his chair, all business. “I will be there. Sir, this is Kit Marshall from Representative Maeve Dixon’s office. She wants to learn more about House security procedures. Ma’am, may I introduce you to the Deputy Sergeant at Arms, Mr. Gareth Pressler.”

  Ma’am? Wasn’t I at least a “miss”?

  Before I had a chance to speak, Pressler said, “What does Representative Dixon want to know about security? Is there a problem I should know about?”

  “No. I mean, no, sir. She’s a freshman member of Congress and we want to know about any proposed changes to tourist access or visits to the Capitol.”

  He stared at me intently. “I’m always available—the Sergeant at Arms is as well—to answer questions from members of Congress. We find it’s better to deal with the members directly on this issue. Staff don’t always act in their bosses’ best interests when it comes to security.”

  I was about to give Gareth Pressler a piece of my mind, but Trent cut me off. “Thank you, sir. We were just finishing our conversation. I’ll see you in a moment.”

  Pressler took the hint. He nodded curtly in my direction and closed the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry about Gareth. Since his disagreement with Jack, he doesn’t think highly of congressional staff.”

  “No problem. One more question. Is the Sergeant at Arms office involved with the Drysdale murder investigation?”

  “The Sergeant himself serves on the board for the Capitol Hill Police. So he’s staying informed at that level. Even though we’re law enforcement within the Capitol, we’re leaving the detective work to the trained investigators.”

  “Makes sense. Thanks again for meeting with me. My boss might have more questions down the road about this security business.” He hadn’t seemed to notice that my ostensible reason for visiting with him had never been satisfied. I hadn’t learned anything about their security procedures. I had learned some valuable information related to my real objective, however.

  Trent and I both stood up, and he came around to my side of the desk. He placed his hand lightly on the small of my back to guide me toward the door, which was completely unnecessary since only three feet separated my chair from the exit.

  “I’m sure we’ll stay in touch,” he murmured.

  I felt the heat of embarrassment traveling upwards from my neck. If my face was as red as I imagined it was, Trent paid it no mind. The last thing I saw before he shut the door behind me was a sly smile accompanied by a slow, sexy wink.

  I raced out of the office suite into the first-floor hallway of the Capitol. What had just happened? Sure, I wasn’t the most experienced object of male admiration, but I’d been around the block a
few times. Trent Roscoe had definitely put the moves on me. I took several deep breaths to clear my head.

  Almost without thinking, I rummaged through my purse to find my iPhone. After swiping it on and entering the password, I touched the “Messages” green icon in the top left corner. My last texting conversation with Meg was never far from the top of the screen. I started typing furiously in the blank window. How did I explain what just happened in a text? Maybe Meg knew more about Trent Roscoe than she was letting on.

  Trent was interesting. What’s his deal?

  The three dots flashed, indicating Meg was replying.

  He’s cute & single. No more to know :)

  I’d need to talk to Meg later to get her reaction. I didn’t have a moment to spare the rest of the day if I wanted to make it to the Top Dog party on time.

  Then I noticed Meg was typing another message. It appeared a few seconds later.

  Trent is least of your troubles. Hill Rat broke story about murder :o

  Damn Meg and her emoticons. I wasn’t sure what that last one meant. Surprise? Shock? I picked up the pace back to the office and fired off one last question to Meg.

  Is it bad?

  I was hitting my stride, dodging members and staff out for a leisurely walk through the Cannon Tunnel, when my phone dinged. Meg had responded.

  Fraid so :(

  Not a good sign.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I braced myself for the inevitable chaos that would assault me in Representative Dixon’s congressional office suite. I imagined Dan crying, Maeve yelling, or even the reverse. Instead, complete silence. After depositing my purse on the desk, I did a 360 to see if anyone else was around. That’s when I heard soft voices from the congresswoman’s private office.

  I knocked on the door, and Maeve instructed me to enter. She was seated behind her desk with the phone receiver to her ear. Dan was sitting across from her, so I took the chair next to his.

  He leaned closer. “She’s on the phone with her lawyer.”