Homicide in the House Read online

  I took a seat a few rows away from the confab and buried my face in my iPhone. If Smart-Not-Sexy knew about Hill Rat, it was a safe bet most of those in the room did, too. In ten minutes, the crowd had dwindled. After Judy took care of the remaining devotees, I could ambush her without drawing too much attention. I was about to make my move when a legislative director from another House office appeared next to me.

  “Kit, is that you?”

  I looked up. His name was Stuart and he worked for another Southern member in the Democratic caucus. There weren’t too many of us from the region so we’d become acquainted. I groaned inwardly. Stuart was a nice enough guy, a well-meaning nerd of sorts. This was not the time for small talk.

  “Hello. I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m reading an important email from my chief of staff.” Mentally I crossed my fingers. I didn’t typically resort to lying. I’d say an extra Hail Mary before bedtime. Although I wasn’t a churchgoer, old habits die hard.

  Stuart ignored my excuse. He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure another House member will hire you after the dust settles.”

  What did he say? I stood so he’d have to remove his hand. Keeping my voice even, I said slowly, “I’m not looking for another job, Stuart.”

  Stuart nodded. “I agree with your strategy. Loyalty is crucial around here. You shouldn’t jump ship until the very last minute.” He laughed nervously. “Of course on the Titanic, that meant getting sucked under.”

  The image of Leonardo DiCaprio hanging onto an iceberg jumped into my head. Before the Titanic theme song could form an earworm, I answered Stuart, a little louder this time. “Maeve Dixon didn’t kill Jack Drysdale. So while I appreciate hearing your views on loyalty, it’s not necessary.”

  I shoved my iPhone in my purse and stormed past Stuart, who appeared stunned at my response. As I hurried to the front of the room to catch up with Judy, he yelled after me, “Don’t worry! I’ll let you know if we decide to hire in our office!”

  Stuart’s riposte was loud enough to alert Judy. As I marched toward her, one of her twentysomething lieutenants whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened. Stuart had ruined my surprise attack.

  Judy smoothed her hair and extended her hand. “Hello, Kit. What can I do for you?”

  After politely accepting her gesture, I gave her some good news that would hopefully put her at ease. “I spoke with Representative Dixon and she’s willing to support the Majority Leader’s proposal. She may have a few minor issues she’ll mention to him on the floor, but in the end, she’ll vote for it.” I flashed my highest-wattage smile.

  Judy’s reaction wasn’t exactly what I’d anticipated. Her face scrunched up into something between a forced smile and a grimace. She almost looked constipated. “I appreciate your willingness to follow up after our meeting.” She fixated on me for a long moment. Then she tugged at my sleeve, pulling me several feet away from where her young minions were drifting about.

  Judy squared up to face me directly. “I’m going to be honest with you. A day ago, I would have been fighting for Maeve Dixon’s support on this bill. I might have even gone to my boss with your requests to change a few of the funding numbers.” Judy shook her iPhone with the Hill Rat blog displayed on the screen. “But today, thanks to her purported involvement with Jack’s murder, her political future is dicey. For Pete’s sake, she had the murder weapon in her hands a few hours before the police found her hovering over the body!”

  I could feel the heat of acute embarrassment in my face. Stuart had alerted Judy to my approach, but his obtuseness didn’t matter one bit. She’d already labeled Maeve Dixon a political liability. Considering the volatile politics surrounding the government shutdown, adding fuel to the fire made absolutely no strategic sense. My goose was cooked.

  The lady doth protest too much. I knew my Hamlet. Still, I couldn’t help myself. No matter what Doug, Judy Talent, Hill Rat, or the rest of the world thought, Representative Maeve Dixon did not kill Jack Drysdale.

  “You’ve got it wrong. It’s all circumstantial evidence. If you give me a few days, I’m sure the real killer will surface and Maeve will be exonerated.”

  She scoffed at my outburst. “Now you seem desperate. Your boss has enlisted your services as a detective?”

  I realized I had said “give me a few days.” I’d meant to say “give it a few days.” Judy’s comment stung. Sure, I wasn’t Adrian Monk. That didn’t mean I couldn’t solve a murder. I’d done it six months ago and there was no reason I couldn’t do it again. Her snide remark made me reckless.

  “As a matter of fact, I am conducting an informal investigation concerning the death of Jack Drysdale. Where were you the morning of his death? Do you have an alibi?” I stood with my arms akimbo in an attempt to deliver the message that I meant business. Just because Judy had seniority and rank didn’t mean she had license to bully me … although in actuality, seniority and rank did imply the privilege to bully someone on Capitol Hill. I shoved that dismal thought aside.

  Judy smiled, a less than friendly grin. She wrinkled her nose. “Why should I tell you my whereabouts the morning Jack was killed?”

  Was she trying to avoid my question? Leaning in, I lowered my voice for dramatic effect. “If you don’t have anything to hide, then what’s the harm, Judy?”

  She pursed her lips in obvious distaste. I’d cornered her. Either she’d ’fess up or give me good reason to think she’d murdered Jack.

  “If you must know, I was at Results Gym that morning for Gary’s famous Boot Camp class. Check with him or any of the other women who wake up before dawn to stay in shape.” She gave me a once-over. “I can tell that’s not your crowd, but believe me, I can come up with numerous alibis.”

  Ouch. Judy was revealing her true colors, and they were dark—not the kind that come shining through, as in Cyndi Lauper’s song. She hadn’t climbed her way to the top of the Capitol Hill hierarchy without the benefit of a sharp tongue. At least I’d found out she claimed to have a strong alibi for Jack’s murder.

  “I’m sure the police will check to make sure your story holds up. If you change your mind about needing my boss’s support, let me know.” I began to walk away.

  “Wait a second.” She jogged to catch up to me. “Sorry for being so rude. I’m not usually like that.”

  While I had my doubts, there was no reason to push the issue. “Apology accepted.”

  “When Maeve Dixon is cleared of all suspicion, then the Majority Leader will welcome her help to end the shutdown.”

  It wasn’t ideal, but given the circumstances, Judy’s proposition seemed fair. I nodded and presented my hand as a peace offering. She accepted it with a firm shake.

  I retraced my steps back through Emancipation Hall, up the Capitol Visitor Center escalator, and toward the Cannon Tunnel. It wasn’t quite time for lunch with Meg so I took my time walking in the tunnel, admiring the high school art competition entries that populated the drab corridor. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Doug. Are you OK?

  Obviously, Doug had seen Hill Rat’s latest dispatch and wanted to check in. I clicked the “return call” button on my phone. I didn’t have the energy to exchange a chain of texts with him on the topic.

  Doug picked up immediately. “How are you doing? I read the blog about your boss.”

  “It’s getting ugly around here. The Democratic leadership is starting to distance themselves from Maeve.”

  Doug’s voice was filled with concern. “Maybe you should follow their lead.”

  “I can’t abandon my boss at a time like this. Besides, I know she didn’t do it.”

  There was a brief silence on the line. “Kit, I’m concerned about your safety. Working in Congress shouldn’t be life threatening.”

  His point was valid. “Doug, I’m always careful. I’m having lunch with Meg so I have to run. Talk to you tonight.” Doug’s circumspection sometimes annoyed me, but it was obvious his caution arose out of a desire to k
eep me out of harm’s way. That realization buoyed my spirits and warmed my heart. Yes, Trent Roscoe was easy on the eyes. Was that a fair trade for Doug’s genuine concern for my well-being? Doubtful.

  When I reached the Cannon basement rotunda, I stopped to look for one of my favorite Capitol Hill employees who had operated the shoeshine stand for the past twenty years. As I peeked around the corridor, watching for my buddy, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  “Ms. Marshall, are you lost?”

  I turned to face Detective O’Halloran. “No, sir. I thought I’d chat with Martha. She also operates the key cutter.” With a sheepish grin, I explained, “I lose the key to my condo on a regular basis. I help keep her in business with all the requests for duplicates.”

  “Why am I not surprised to hear this? Perhaps if you spent less time trying to solve murders in the United States Capitol, you’d have better luck locating your keys.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Detective. But I don’t think the two activities are connected.”

  After a chuckle or two, he turned serious. “I’m afraid we’ve asked your boss to speak with us today about the murder of Jack Drysdale.”

  “I’m aware, Detective. Is she an official suspect?”

  O’Halloran sighed. “At this time, she’s voluntarily answering questions, which we appreciate. She’s not under arrest.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding. O’Halloran heard my audible exhale and added, “Yet.”

  “Detective, I’m sure that once you examine the facts of this case, you’ll arrive at the same conclusion as I did. Clearly, my boss was set up to take the fall for Drysdale’s murder.”

  “I’m listening. What evidence substantiates that theory?” O’Halloran had given me a shot to exculpate Maeve. I had to take it.

  “First, the supposed phone call from Jack the morning of the murder to our chief of staff doesn’t make sense. The call was made from a random phone in the Capitol Visitor Center. Anyone could have made that call. If Jack had done it, why not use his cell?”

  O’Halloran waved his hand dismissively. “He might have left his phone back in his office. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone to know he wanted to speak with Maeve Dixon to patch things up after the fracas the day before.”

  “But why would Jack call Dan instead of me? Maeve had instructed Drysdale I was in charge of the shutdown negotiations. I even went with her to the Speaker’s meeting the day before.”

  “I see your point, but that’s easily explained. He might have forgotten your name so he simply defaulted to calling the chief of staff who runs the office.”

  I shifted my bulky coat to my other hand so I could emphasize my words to O’Halloran with an emphatic gesture. “That doesn’t make sense, Detective. Remember, you found my name on Jack’s desk. He certainly knew who I was. He’d recently emailed all his friends to make sure my dog Clarence would win the Capitol Canine contest. There’s no way he would forget I was Maeve’s point person on the shutdown.”

  O’Halloran’s eyes met mine for several seconds. “Your logic does call into question some of the circumstantial evidence against Representative Dixon.” I grinned triumphantly. He quickly continued, “But it doesn’t get her off the hook. Remember, we found her standing over the body. If that isn’t enough, she had access to the murder weapon the night before. We all know she served as the presiding officer on the House floor less than ten hours earlier.”

  “Lots of people had access to the gavel, Detective.”

  He shook his head. “That’s where were disagree, Ms. Marshall. It’s the exact opposite. It’s not an object that’s left lying around.”

  I pursed my lips. That damn gavel again. “I’ve done some research, and there are several gavels, not just one.”

  “That is correct. Your boss contends she didn’t touch anything after she discovered Drysdale’s body. So if another gavel was used to kill him, we won’t find her fingerprints on the murder weapon, correct?”

  O’Halloran’s reasoning seemed sound. Nonetheless, I didn’t want to concede any point that could implicate Maeve’s involvement in the crime, so I maintained a poker face as best I could. Time to go back on the offensive. “Speaking of the gavel, I’d appreciate it if the police didn’t leak information about the case.”

  O’Halloran appeared surprised at my accusation. “We have an ironclad policy about speaking to the press informally. We take it seriously because so many of our cases involve sensitive subjects.” He added pointedly, “And sensitive people.”

  “You might want to reexamine the policy and how it’s working. This morning, Hill Rat published a blog in which he revealed the gavel as the murder weapon and linked it to my boss.” I whipped out my iPhone and showed O’Halloran the online post.

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry about this, Kit. I will double-check, but I’m confident no one in the police gave this information to the press, especially Hill Rat. No one even knows who Hill Rat is.”

  “Precisely, Detective. So it’s entirely possible that Hill Rat might have overheard one of your officers talking about the case. His anonymity gives him or her a lot of power around here.”

  “I can’t disagree with you there, Ms. Marshall.”

  It was almost time to meet Meg at the cafeteria. “Thanks for the chat. I hope you’ll think about the evidence you’ve collected against my boss. It’s circumstantial and it doesn’t add up.”

  “You may have a point. But she’s our best suspect, and you know what they say.”

  “What do they say, Detective?”

  “The simplest explanation is usually the best one.”

  Damn. Occam’s razor strikes again.

  Chapter Twenty

  During the shutdown, discontented souls, or excepted staff, wandered the hallways in search of any news about a viable solution. Bathrooms were shuttered, wastebaskets overflowed, and abandoned committee rooms added an extra creep factor.

  The Longworth cafeteria was an exception. The only available lunchtime eatery inside the House, it had the gravitational pull of the Death Star. Everyone, no matter who they were, migrated to Longworth from their desolate, depressing office suites to find sustenance and solace.

  On a typical workday, Longworth was swamped with diners. Those who built the Capitol Visitor Center had included a cafeteria to accommodate tourists. But the fancy bill of fare at the CVC had prices to match. The cost of the visitor center food mirrored Washington’s economy of scale, yet most sightseers had much more modest lifestyles. Aunt Dottie and Cousin Fred took one look at the sophisticated menu in the CVC cafeteria and immediately complained to their congressman they couldn’t afford the trip. In an attempt to help out cash-strapped constituents, every House office promptly directed visitors to the Longworth employee cafeteria, where the food was cheaper. Even though the visitor center planners had meant to keep the vacationer crowd at bay by attracting them to the fancy CVC cafeteria, the unintentional result had been to increase traffic in the cramped Longworth cafeteria.

  I scanned the upper section of the seating area, looking for my dining companion. Not spotting her, I moved to the main section of the cafeteria, which included tables and several food service lines. A familiar hand shot up in the corner. Meg had scored the perfect seat. Given the high volume of staff, lobbyists, and journalists who frequented Longworth, even during the shutdown, nothing was private within its confines. At least Meg had found us a table on the perimeter.

  “Happy fourth day of the shutdown!”

  “Thanks, but the way things are going, who’s counting?”

  “Every news organization and interest group in town is counting, Kit.”

  She was right. Meg’s prediction at Tortilla Coast before the murder seemed like years ago. She’d said this would be no short-lived crisis, and apparently she was right.

  “Should we get some lunch before we chat?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I followed Meg into the food court-style cafeteria. Toda
y’s outfit was tan riding pants, a black sweater sheath, and a blazer, paired with stylish boots and a silver barrette in her blonde bob. She looked ready to go fox hunting with the Queen. I, on the other hand, awkwardly toted a cumbersome winter jacket and a monstrosity of a purse. Did we make for an endearing pair, like Alvy Singer and Annie Hall? I hoped so.

  Five minutes later, we were seated and ready to dish. Meg wrinkled her nose.

  “Is there something wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing. We all have to make sacrifices during the shutdown.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ve had to cut back on the number of cafeteria workers, and there’s no supreme pizza today. Just cheese.” Meg pouted and stared at her two plain slices.

  Compared to my turkey on wheat sandwich, Meg’s lunch looked positively delightful. It wasn’t worth an argument. Better to commiserate so we could move on to the matter at hand, namely Trent Roscoe. Chewing on a big mouthful of sandwich, I barely managed an audible reply. “Yes, it’s really tough these days.”

  Meg nodded solemnly. Her food diatribe over with, we could proceed to meatier topics, no pun intended. “You texted me a 911 message about Trent Roscoe? It must be important. You used the distress call.”

  We tried not to overuse the emergency code so that when we did resort to it, we both understood the severity of the situation. Once she heard what I had to say, she would fully understand my decision to employ 911.

  I took a long sip of my Coke Zero, cleared my throat, and said, “Trent Roscoe is going to ask me out on a date.”

  The look on Meg’s face resembled my free-spirited parents’ when I’d told them I had a job working in Congress. For once, Meg was speechless.

  “Go ahead, say something. What should I do?”

  Slack-jawed shock was swiftly replaced with a wide grin. “Kit Marshall, I’m shocked you would even consider going on a date with Trent.”

  “The situation isn’t what it seems. How am I going to solve Jack Drysdale’s murder if I don’t meet with suspects? Or the people who know them?”