Homicide in the House Page 12

“Is this about the Hill Rat story?”

  Dan nodded.

  “I haven’t seen it yet. I just heard about it a few minutes ago after leaving a meeting in the Capitol.”

  Dan pulled his iPhone from his suit jacket pocket, swiped it on, and handed it to me. I recognized the familiar icon from his blog page—a sketch of a rat with the Capitol dome behind it. The rat wasn’t cute like Chuck E. Cheese or the characters from Disney’s Ratatouille. It was menacing, with sharp teeth and red eyes. Its ugly tail was curled tightly around the top of the Capitol dome in what looked like a stranglehold.

  I scrolled down to read the story. Hill Rat’s blog entries were rarely long, and this one fit the form. He or she usually got right to the point. Hill Rat explained that Representative Maeve Dixon from North Carolina had discovered the bludgeoned body of Jack Drysdale yesterday morning. Due to her recent public tiff with the victim, Dixon was a prime suspect.

  I closed my eyes briefly and rubbed them. It had only taken two sentences to ruin my boss’s career.

  Considering Dan’s insensitive comments earlier today, he was the last person I wanted to consult about this nightmare. But Maeve was still on the phone so I had no other option.

  “Given this mess, shouldn’t we try to put our press secretary on active status?”

  “I mentioned that to Maeve. She’s being told by the Speaker to keep her staff at a minimum during the shutdown. He wants Americans to understand it’s not business as usual. She also didn’t think her lawyer would want her or the press secretary talking to the press.”

  “Why aren’t the phones ringing off the hook?”

  Dan chuckled nervously. “After I showed Maeve the story, she told me it was time to hunker down and take cover. She must have remembered her military training. That included locking the door to the office, lowering the blinds, and disconnecting all the phones.”

  “That’s fine for now, but I’m not sure it’s a strategy we can use indefinitely.”

  “We most certainly can.”

  We both turned our attention to our boss, who had just hung up the phone. “Detective O’Halloran would like to question me tomorrow afternoon at headquarters. I will comply with the request, with my lawyer present. Until this is resolved, it is counsel’s recommendation that we stay absolutely silent about my involvement in this murder investigation. Do you both understand?”

  We both nodded and murmured, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stood up, leaned forward, and placed her hands on the desk. “That means no talking to the press, on the record or off the record. If you are asked about my actions, you will say ‘no comment.’ It’s as simple as that.”

  “Congresswoman,” I said, “what about the phones? They’re disconnected now, but we’ll have to plug them back in soon, right?”

  She rubbed her chin as she thought about my question. “I suppose we can’t run a congressional office without phone lines. We will plug them back in after five o’clock, which is later than most reporters’ deadlines for print editions. When the phone rings, you will answer, provide the ‘no comment’ response, and then hang up.”

  Dan’s face had turned ashen again. All brightness had vanished, drained by the day’s unexpected stress to a zombie-like pallor. If Dan got any whiter, he’d vanish.

  When Dan didn’t respond, I piped up. “Don't worry. We’ll take care of the calls after five.”

  She gave us a curt nod. “I know I can count on both of you. The press might get wind of my trip to the police station tomorrow. You might want to make yourselves scarce. I’m sure enterprising reporters will be camped outside the door to see if they can pick up a juicy tidbit.”

  A day away from the office meant more time for sleuthing. Maeve must have noticed the change in my expression.

  “Kit, I know exactly what you’re thinking. I doubt that anything I say will keep you from investigating this murder. Please keep in mind that I did not kill Jack Drysdale. That means the person who did murder him is on the loose and might even think he or she got away with it. So be careful.”

  I gave her a mini-salute with two fingers. “Will do.”

  Maeve turned to Dan. She hesitated before giving him instructions. “Dan, try to remain inconspicuous and out of the way, if you can.”

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’m really good at that.”

  For once, I completely agreed with him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Upon returning to my desk, I took a precious moment to clear my head. We couldn’t have suppressed Maeve’s status as a suspect indefinitely. It was pure luck her name had been kept out of the press this long. Hill Rat’s exclusive also didn’t surprise me. This was the Rat’s typical modus operandi, namely an exclusive yet salacious tidbit that had the potential to ruin reputations, embarrass public officials, and even change political outcomes. The suspicion surrounding Maeve Dixon hurt her personally and the constituents she represented in North Carolina since she wouldn’t be able to participate in the upcoming policy debates in Congress. But it also had the potential to weaken the entire party as it tried to negotiate favorable terms to the shutdown.

  A quick time check confirmed I had twenty minutes before we’d allow the phones to ring again. Attending the Capitol Canine awards ceremony tonight was low on my priority list, but where else could I possibly meet Jordan Macintyre, Jack’s grieving spouse? Even though D.C. social etiquette often eluded me, it was likely bad form to own the dog that won Capitol Canine and then not show up for the party.

  I signed on to my computer and clicked on the contest website. Sure enough, Clarence was still in first place. Voting closed at five. Barring some last-minute flurry of voting, Clarence was headed to victory. But would Jordan Macintyre put his grief aside for the evening and attend the party? After locating the number for Capitol Canine’s publicity contact, I grabbed my cellphone and placed the call.

  A female voice answered on the second ring. “Christy from Capitol Canine. Are you a reporter looking for press photos of the dogs?”

  Her question caught me off guard. “Um, no. My name is Kit Marshall, and I’m the owner of Clarence, who’s participating in the contest.”

  She squealed, conceivably in delight. Was this my Andy Warhol moment, or more specifically, Clarence’s fifteen minutes of fame? Visions of his adorable face on a package of Purina Dog Chow danced before me.

  “Congratulations! The contest isn’t over yet, but it’s looking very good for Clarence.”

  Absent the pressure to solve a homicide in the House, I would have found Christy’s enthusiasm infectious. Given the circumstances, faking it was the better option. “Great!”

  To my ears, my response sounded forced, but the woman on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice. “What time will you arrive tonight with your little champion?”

  “I’ll try to be there by six thirty, but that’s not why I called. Is Jordan Macintyre going to attend the party tonight?”

  Christy’s voice softened. “Isn’t it terrible? We are so sad here at Capitol Canine. Jack was a big supporter of the contest. He and Jordan secured many of our sponsors and helped raise money for our charities. Did you know Capitol Canine benefits several rescue dog organizations in the D.C. area?”

  I vaguely remembered reading about the worthy financial goals of the contest. As much as I supported the noble cause, I really needed to determine whether Jordan had decided to make an appearance at tonight’s event. I tried again. “That’s tremendous. Will Jordan be there tonight to present the charity checks?”

  “Oh yes, he’ll be there. Before we announce the winner, we’ll pause for a moment of silent reflection to memorialize Jack. Did you know both of them?”

  This was my opportunity. “I only met Jack once, but I’d like to pay my respects to Jordan. Can you introduce me?”

  Christy responded instantly with gusto. “Of course. He’ll want to meet Clarence.” She quickly added, “You, too!”

  I got the drift. I’d play second fiddle
to Clarence tonight. That was fine with me, especially if the “little champion” could help me interrogate Jordan without drawing too much attention.

  After telling Christy I’d track her down soon after my arrival, I hung up. My phone dinged a few seconds after the call ended. It was a message from Doug, asking for the address for the event. I reminded him he should arrive with Clarence by six thirty. Then I copied the address and pasted it into a new text to Meg. Besides the cute dogs, Capitol Canine’s allure was primarily social. Meg loved attending soirees featured in the Capitol Hill newspapers, and this one would be front and center.

  Ping. I glanced at her response.

  I really should stay here and work on the investigation.

  I checked the clock. Five minutes before we had to turn the phones back on. I thought for a moment before answering. Before Meg had a boyfriend, I could usually convince her to join me at almost any event on the Hill if I promised her I’d heard attractive men were planning to attend. That argument didn’t work quite as well now that she was attached.

  There’s free drinks and pizza.

  My iPhone remained inactive for a long moment. Then the three dots appeared.

  I’ll meet you there.

  Meg’s valuable assistance in our previous murder investigation had been based largely on her remarkable ability to wrap the opposite sex around her pinky finger. Jordan wasn’t interested in women, so Meg would have to devise another angle. Meg’s resourcefulness continually exceeded expectations, so I had no doubt she had other tricks up her sleeve.

  At five o’clock on the dot, Dan turned on the phones. The calls didn’t stop for a solid hour. The fervor diminished as time went on because reporters undoubtedly let each other know that the Dixon office had offered “no comment” to every single inquiry. After Dan heard I needed to leave at six fifteen to interrogate a possible suspect, he shooed me out of the office with the warning, “Don’t come back until you know whodunit.” Not deigning to respond, I grabbed my purse and coat and headed outside to find a taxi.

  I gave the cabbie the party’s address and we sped off down Independence Avenue toward the adjacent Penn Quarter neighborhood. Located near Chinatown, the east end of the city remained one of my favorite haunts. Home of Ford’s Theater, the Newseum, the Verizon Center, the Shakespeare Theatre, the Spy Museum, and the National Portrait Gallery, this area of the District bustled. The numerous attractions supported a wide variety of restaurants, ranging from high-end contemporary Indian fare to popular chains. Penn Quarter resembled the urban core of other major American cities. Washington D.C. had its advantages, but it was a government town. With its flashing lights and busy nighttime sidewalks, the five blocks of Penn Quarter provided a glimmer of New York. Even the most devout politico needed a break from the inspiring monuments and stately federal buildings, and this part of town helped satisfy those urbane desires.

  The driver turned his head sideways to glance in my direction. “You work on the Hill?”

  I’d been fiddling with my phone, looking for a text from Doug indicating he and Clarence had arrived. I muttered a barely audible “yes” in response.

  “That’s something about the female congressman killing the staffer. Did you know the guy who got whacked?”

  He had my attention. “What did you say?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Some woman in Congress murdered the guy who works for the Speaker. Or something like that.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “It’s more like where didn’t I hear it. All the talk shows have the story.” He motioned toward the radio in his cab, which was set on a popular station for local news.

  We were almost at the destination. After swiping my credit card and gathering my things, I piped up, “You shouldn’t trust the media.”

  I opened the door and thrust one foot on the sidewalk. Over my shoulder, I heard his final retort. “Lady, I don’t believe half the stuff I hear. All I know is if they don’t end this shutdown soon, more bodies are going to pile up.”

  I heaved myself out of the taxi, shut the door, and watched it speed away, praying his prophecy wasn’t true.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A fancy consulting firm had donated its office space to host Capitol Canine’s festivities. After exiting the elevator, I didn’t need to make sure I had the correct suite. A cacophony of excited barks traveled the length of the hallway. The entrance had been decorated with photos of the dog contestants. Clarence’s cute mug was in the center of the puppy collage. Someone had pasted a crown on his head, ostensibly in anticipation of the big announcement scheduled for later this evening.

  About ten dogs had already arrived with their owners. A National Geographic documentary I’d watched over the summer explained that domestic dogs exhibited the widest variation in size and physical characteristics of any mammal. The motley crew in attendance certainly attested to that fact. There was a Scooby-Doo look-alike Great Dane, a sizable chocolate Lab, a sturdy American bulldog, a petite Yorkie, and a slightly overweight dachshund. The remainder, I was glad to see, appeared to belong to Clarence’s polyglot category, affectionately known as “mutt.”

  I spotted Doug and Meg in the corner of the room. Doug had put Clarence’s harness on him, and he was gripping his leash tightly. I waved from across the way and walked over to join them. Their personalities being on opposite ends of the spectrum, Doug and Meg weren’t best buddies. Doug was as cautious as Meg was impetuous. Doug preferred quiet evenings at home with his history books, and Meg never met a happy hour she didn’t like. Doug happily ate vanilla ice cream, and Meg tried every flavor before settling on Caramel Sutra with a twist of Bohemian Raspberry. The contrasts were endless and often presented entertaining challenges when we hung out together.

  If Meg and Doug had been trading barbs, Clarence looked no worse for wear. Seeing me approach, he wiggled his butt enthusiastically. I bent down to pet Clarence on the top of his head and in return, he gave me a wet kiss on the cheek.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Meg recoil briefly at Clarence’s lick. Meg liked dogs in theory, but not in practice. Her taste for expensive couture did not mesh well with dog hair and the occasional slobber.

  After giving Clarence a few more scratches behind his floppy ears, I stood up. Doug was holding the dog close. “Why do you have a death grip on his leash?”

  Doug grimaced. “Clarence is acting strangely. He seems overly excited. You don’t want any problems here, right?”

  I looked down at Clarence. His adorable face with big brown eyes stared back at me angelically. “There’s nothing wrong with him. Why are you so nervous?”

  Doug tended to exaggerate risk. “He’s not used to being around so many dogs at once. I’m telling you we’d better keep an eye on him.”

  Meg was texting on her phone, clearly bored with our argument. Without looking up, she said, “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Doug. Let Clarence live a little. After all, it’s his night.”

  Under his breath, Doug murmured, “Thanks for your input, Dog Whisperer.” He loosened his grasp of the leash, giving Clarence more room to wander.

  Meg finally put her phone away. She smiled and gave me a hug. “How are you holding up after the Hill Rat debacle?”

  Before I had a chance to respond, Doug said, “That’s a tough break.”

  I sighed. “Yes. Hill Rat, the one and only, somehow figured out Maeve discovered Jack Drysdale’s body yesterday.” Then I turned to Meg. “Thanks for asking. Our office is still standing. For how long, I’m not sure.”

  Meg lowered her voice and inched closer. She motioned for Doug to do the same. “What are our assignments for tonight?”

  Doug narrowed his eyes. “Assignments?”

  Meg gently punched him in the arm. Clarence growled softly, not appreciating Meg’s jostling of his owner. Meg shushed him. “Clarence, be quiet. We all have to pull together to solve this mystery before Kit’s boss gets tossed in the slammer.” As if paying careful attention, Clar
ence cocked his head and sat down in the center of the tight circle the three of us had formed.

  “Thanks, Meg. I need to talk to Jordan Macintyre, the grieving widower. My instincts tell me he’s going to want to meet Clarence, so Doug should stick with me.” I checked out Meg’s attire. She sported a fitted dark purple sweater dress with gray tights and knee-length black leather boots. The small bow tucked into the side of her blonde bob perfectly matched her outfit. She looked smart, sexy, and professional. In other words, a perfect fit for this crowd. “Is your boyfriend joining us tonight?”

  Her sunny visage turned gloomy. “No, Kyle isn’t coming. He has to work late due to negotiations in the Senate on the shutdown.” Meg nervously fiddled with the amethyst ring on her right hand. I could tell she wasn’t buying Kyle’s excuse any more than I was.

  “That’s too bad. But it suits our purposes for solving this murder. I think you need to turn on your famous charm tonight and see what you can find out in this room.”

  Meg stopped staring down at her hands and perked up. “Do you think that’s dishonest since I have a boyfriend?”

  Doug snickered. “Are you telling me you were honestly interested in every guy you flirted with before you met Kyle?”

  Meg put her hands on her hips defiantly. “I never led anyone on, Doug. Besides, you of all people should not be offering relationship advice!”

  That caught Doug’s attention. “What is that supposed to mean?” His body language implied his question wasn’t directed only at Meg. Sensing conflict, Clarence’s ears flattened.

  Time to intervene. “No harm meant, Doug.” I put a hand on Doug’s left shoulder and Meg’s right. “Let’s call a truce. Can we all just get along? Let’s try to pick up a few clues at tonight’s party.”

  Meg and Doug nodded their heads slowly. I reached down to pet Clarence and he gave me his right paw, a sign that he’d accepted the plan.

  “Terrific. Meg, I think many of Jack and Jordan’s friends will be here tonight. See what you can find out about motives and alibis.” I briefly recounted my conversations earlier today with Judy Talent, Trent Roscoe, and Gareth Pressler.