Homicide in the House Page 17

  “You can’t tell me the only reason you’d accept is to solve the mystery.” She waggled her index finger. “Don’t lie to me. You don’t find Trent at all attractive?”

  I fiddled with the crust of my sandwich. “I didn’t say that. But the only reason for me to go on the date would be to extract more information about his boss, Gareth Pressler.”

  Meg leaned back in her seat. “Fine. I see how you want to play this. I won’t argue with you. But at least remain open to the possibility Trent might be a good catch.”

  “Am I supposed to leave Doug in the dust and run off into the sunset with Trent?”

  Meg rubbed her chin thoughtfully, as if seriously considering my question. Given Meg’s oil-and-water relationship with Doug, she probably was. “Of course not. At least not yet. But keeping your options open is always a good thing, n’est-ce pas?” She gave me a devilish smirk.

  “Unless Doug finds out. Then it would be très mal.” Meg didn’t have the market cornered on basic French.

  Meg stuffed the remainder of her pizza into her mouth. “I guess so. But he hasn’t proposed. It’s something to consider, Kit.”

  Meg’s words were true, but they still hurt. She must have seen the pained look on my face because she retreated with lightning speed. “I didn’t mean anything by that. It was a stupid comment.”

  If I was honest with myself, Meg’s remark had validity. After all, Doug and I had lived together for almost three years. Still, I couldn’t imagine life without him. “Apology accepted. I know what you were trying to say.”

  Her face brightened. “Let’s move on. If you’re going out with Trent tonight, what’s the plan?”

  I grabbed my iPhone and scanned my email. A ton of messages waited for my attention. Sure enough, Trent Roscoe had contacted me an hour ago. I opened his email and read it aloud to Meg.

  Want to grab drinks tonight? Swing by my office at 5?

  Normally, that would have been way too early to knock off work, but considering that Maeve Dixon had no political input on the negotiations taking place, it didn’t make sense to burn the midnight oil. Meg gave the matter some thought before offering her opinion. “This could be the perfect plan. He invited you to his office.”

  I ate the last piece of my pathetic yet healthy turkey sandwich. “So what?”

  Meg narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Of all people, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind these days. Enlighten me.”

  “Kit, Gareth Pressler is a suspect. His office is near Trent’s, right?”

  “Yes, it’s around the corner.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is a perfect opportunity to snoop!”

  I shook my head. “No way. Last time we distracted someone to spy, you kept him occupied while I rummaged around. And that only worked because he was already in love with you.” I was referring to Meg’s current boyfriend Kyle. I still felt guilty that their relationship had begun with my deception, although it didn’t bother Meg one bit.

  Meg tapped the side of her iPhone while she mulled over the predicament. Suddenly her face lit up. “I got it! What if you had a better reason to excuse yourself from the conversation? Like an important phone call?”

  “You’ve got my attention. Tell me more.”

  “It would only work if I kept the conversation going while you were gone. Didn’t you say Trent loves to talk about security in the Capitol?”

  “Sure. It’s his job. He’s enthusiastic about it.”

  “Perfect. You can bring me along. Write him back and tell him one of your friends wants to ask a few questions about security. After we start chatting, your phone will ring and you’ll have to take the call. You can excuse yourself from the conversation for at least ten minutes. Of course, it will only work if Gareth isn’t in his office. We’ll have to take that chance.”

  “One problem, Meg. If you’re along for the ride, who is going to call me on my phone? As usual, Doug is acting weird about my investigation. I don’t think it’s a good idea to involve him. He doesn’t want me to get hurt. You know the drill.”

  “Yes, Doug is about as adventurous as my eighty-five-year-old grandmother. In fact, she might have him beat.”

  “No need to get personal, Meg.”

  “Sorry.” She waved her hand in an apparent attempt to dismiss her impolite remark. “It doesn’t matter. I have a solution.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Have you heard about the FAC app?”

  “Come again?”

  She spelled out the acronym: “F-A-C. It stands for fake a call.”

  “I must have missed that one. Tell me about it.”

  “After installing the app on your smartphone, you can program it to make pretend phone calls. Let me show you.”

  Meg whipped out her iPhone and opened the app. In a few seconds, she had programmed her phone to ring. A few moments later, it buzzed, complete with a fake screen showing the fictitious name of the person who had supposedly called her. She swiped her phone open and answered. To my complete amazement, I could hear a voice conversing with her!

  I grabbed Meg’s hand. “Give me the phone. Who are you talking to?”

  I put the device next to my ear and heard a guy asking me when my report would be finished. A few seconds later, he barked, “It better be on my desk in an hour!”

  I must have looked utterly perplexed because Meg burst into laughter. “This is the deluxe call. It’s supposed to be from your boss. It gives you the extra cover of having a real voice on the other end of the line when you answer the phone.”

  “I get it. So I can program my phone to ring during our conversation with Trent. I’ll answer the call and excuse myself. After that, I can sneak into Gareth’s office.”

  Meg sat back in her chair with a satisfied look. “Precisely.”

  “What should I look for in Pressler’s office?”

  “Beats me. Anything that might give him the means or motive for the crime, right?”

  I gathered up my coat, purse, and trash. “Sure. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Part of the problem is there are really two related mysteries I’m trying to solve.” I raised one finger then two to tick them off. “First, there’s Jack’s murder. Second, who is Hill Rat?”

  Meg nodded vigorously. “This mystery is pretty complex. Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out and clear Representative Dixon’s name.”

  I stood up and gathered my coat and purse. “Thanks, Meg. I feel like I’m chasing a ghost.”

  “Ghosts aren’t real, Kit.”

  “That's the scary part. This one is very real.”

  Meg put her arms around me and gave me a quick hug. Then she peeled off in the direction of her office. I walked up the steps and entered the outer seating area of the cafeteria. As usual, my head was buried in my iPhone, trying to triage the mountain of emails that had arrived while we were enjoying lunch.

  This section of the cafeteria was less populated than the lower portion. Even though I was focused on reading my messages, I couldn’t miss a deep voice saying my name. “Ms. Marshall, how are you this afternoon?” My eyes darted upward, right into the steely gaze of Gareth Pressler.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I froze. After several moments of awkward silence, I finally stammered a pathetic excuse for a greeting. I croaked, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Pressler.”

  Meg and I had finished our lunches only moments ago in a completely different section of the cafeteria, all the while plotting an illegal search of his office. With the persistent din of fellow patrons, there was no way he could have overheard our conversation. I breathed a sigh of relief and mustered my friendliest smile.

  “Did Representative Dixon find the information Trent gave you about Capitol security helpful?”

  His question caught me off guard. I’d momentarily forgotten using Maeve as an excuse to set up the meeting with Trent. Recovering swiftly, I nodded my head vigorously. “Yes, sir. She understands now why e
xtra security protocols might be necessary.”

  Pressler ran his fingers through his short hair. Everything about him was immaculate. His pressed suit, straight tie, and freshly shaved face conveyed one message: I mean business and I don’t suffer fools gladly. He glanced at my coat. “Haven’t made it into the office yet today?”

  Damn. This guy was observant. This time, I couldn’t come up with a plausible lie. “I’ve been running around all morning with meetings. No rest for the weary.”

  “Especially when you work for Representative Dixon these days, as I understand.”

  I frowned in frustration. Pressler had turned the tables. He was interrogating me, not the other way around. “What are you implying?”

  Pressler didn’t blink an eyelash. Staring me down, he said evenly, “She’s the prime suspect for the murder of Jack Drysdale. At least that’s the story being reported.”

  His matter-of-fact proclamation of my boss’s probable guilt galled me. Calm down. He’s fishing for information. A deep breath steadied my voice. “She discovered Jack’s body. That’s it. She didn’t kill him and we’re confident the police will find the person who actually committed the crime.”

  Pressler laughed softly. “You have a lot of faith in the police.”

  He appeared surprised when I took a step closer. The cafeteria was full of eavesdroppers, but Pressler needed to know I meant business. “You bet I do. Justice will be served.”

  Pressler maintained the impassive demeanor of an expert poker player. Several seconds of silence passed. Finally he picked up his lunch tray. “I’m glad we agree that the safety of the United States Capitol complex is critical. If your boss is cleared of any wrongdoing, I would be happy to answer additional questions about our security operations.” He nodded politely and strode toward the nearby exit.

  What an odd duck. He reminded me of Wilford Brimley shilling for Quaker Oats. His cool, calm, and collected demeanor might mean he had nothing to hide. On the other hand, weren’t psychopaths eerily hard to read?

  Instead of following Pressler out the door, I sat down at his table to plot my next move. Unexpectedly running into him had thrown me off my game, and I needed to refocus.

  I had several hours at my disposal before meeting Trent at his office. But first, I needed to accept his offer of drinks. My reply to Trent’s email was short and sweet.

  Free for drinks after work tonight. Can I bring a friend to your office first who wants to ask questions about Capitol security?

  That settled my evening plans. Right now, I was running out of leads. Then I remembered Trevor’s suggestion about the gavel. If I could figure out where it was constructed, then I might be able to determine if multiple gavels existed. That would at least pave the way for the possibility that someone else could have had access to the murder weapon.

  I couldn’t wander the bowels of the Capitol looking for the carpentry shop. I needed to use my desktop computer to find the location. Sighing deeply, I texted Dan.

  Reporters still outside?

  Dan replied: Gone. Are you coming back?

  Yes I was, but not to see him.

  Be there in 10.

  Luckily, I didn’t run into anyone else in the short walk to the Cannon Building. Dan had told the truth. No reporters were camped outside the main door. When it became clear Maeve Dixon wasn’t showing up for work today, the press contingent must have decided it was a waste of time to stake out her office. I pulled the door, but it didn’t budge. Locked up as tight as Fort Knox. As I scrambled to find my key, I heard a familiar voice from the other side. “Who is it?”

  “What do you want, Dan? A clever knock-knock joke? It’s Kit, of course. I told you I’d be here in a few minutes.”

  The door cracked open and one eye peered through.

  I waved my hand. “See, it’s me. I’m alone. No worries.”

  He opened the door and whispered hastily, “Get in! I don’t want anyone to know there’s someone in the office.”

  After I stepped across the threshold, he hurriedly shut the door behind me. The gravity of the situation notwithstanding, I couldn’t resist an attempt at humor. “Are you running Fight Club again? You know that’s not allowed on federal government property. Don’t make me turn you in.”

  He grimaced. “I’m glad you find this whole situation amusing. Do you know what it was like to be trapped inside the office all day with bloodthirsty reporters outside?”

  I approached my desk, hung up the coat I’d lugged around all day, and turned on my computer. A clever retort was on the tip of my tongue, but I resisted. Dan was clearly upset and fueling the fire would only make the situation worse, if that was at all possible. Instead, it was better to commiserate and find out if he knew anything about Maeve’s status.

  “That sounds like a terrible way to spend the morning. I’m glad you survived.” It took every ounce of concentration to remove all semblance of sarcasm from my voice. Before he had a chance to chime in, I added, “Do you have an update on our boss and her meeting with the police?”

  Dan buried his face in his hands. Not a good sign. I grabbed his arm and tugged it. “What’s wrong? Dan, you have to tell me.”

  He took several deep breaths, as if to keep from hyperventilating. “She called a few minutes before you texted. The interrogation isn’t going well.”

  Odd that she called Dan, not me. Then I remembered her saying that she didn’t want me to investigate the murder because she thought it was too dangerous. Bad news provided an excuse to kick into high gear.

  “Are the police going to arrest her?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

  He shook his head. “Not today. Unless she blows a gasket and confesses.”

  Maybe Dan was losing faith in Maeve’s innocence. “Wait a second. If they don’t have enough to arrest her, then why is the news so terrible?”

  Dan raised his right hand and wiggled his fingers. “The evidence is mounting.”

  “Is that a secret signal? I’m not following.”

  Dan sighed impatiently. “I can see it was ridiculous to put my faith in you to solve the crime. What kind of detective are you? Fingerprints, of course!”

  “Whose prints? Maeve’s?”

  “Yes! What else would matter? If they belonged to the Queen of England?”

  “Calm down. I’m not the Mentalist. Her fingerprints were found at the crime scene?”

  “Now you’re getting warmer.” Dan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Oh, no. This was bad news. I almost whispered the question, “The murder weapon?”

  “Bingo! Give this woman a prize! Guess what you’ve just won? A one-way ticket to the unemployment line.” In a fit of uncontrolled anger, Dan picked up the first object in his path and threw it against the wall. Unfortunately, it was Maeve’s North Carolina Woman of the Year Award. It shattered into several pieces.

  Dan stared at me for a long moment. Finally, I broke the silence. It was unfortunate information, but all was not lost. “Her fingerprints were on the gavel that killed Jack. Is that correct?”

  Dan nodded.

  “It looks grim, but I think there’s more than one gavel. If that’s the case, Maeve might have been set up.”

  “Or she pocketed the gavel after presiding, replaced it with a new one, and then killed Jack with it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Maeve Dixon. The woman who survived Iraq and Afghanistan uses a world-famous symbol to kill a well-known political adversary? Then she leaves the weapon alongside the body with her fingerprints on it? Come on, Dan. It doesn’t smell right.”

  “I’m not sure what I should think anymore. But I’m certain about one thing: if she’s arrested and I’m still her chief of staff, I’ll never work in politics again.”

  Dan’s reasoning was accurate, yet his obsession with self-preservation bugged the heck out of me. Didn’t he care that an innocent woman could go to prison for a crime she didn’t commit?

  It was time to bring this conversatio
n to an end. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” I turned toward my computer, which was booting up.

  Before returning to his office, he issued a final jab: “Do yourself a favor. Add polishing your resume to the to-do list for today.”

  Oh, ye of little faith. There were hundreds of emails to read, but that work could be avoided until Maeve Dixon had been cleared. The government shutdown would have to wait. Unless I figured out what happened to Jack Drysdale, the country would lose a dedicated public servant—permanently. In that light, wouldn’t Uncle Sam agree I was faithfully discharging my duties, as I’d promised when taking the federal oath of office on my first day as a congressional staffer?

  This morning’s breakfast conversation with Trevor rattled around in my brain. He’d called Trent about the carpentry shop in the Capitol. If I could locate it, then perhaps someone who worked there might be able to tell me more about the supply of gavels for the House floor. How many were made? Would one missing gavel attract attention? If Maeve’s fingerprints were on the gavel and she didn’t kill Jack, then a switch had somehow occurred between the time she presided over the House of Representatives and the next morning when Jack had been killed. Any details about the plausibility of such a switch would help Maeve Dixon establish reasonable doubt.

  It took a little digging online, but I finally found the location of the Capitol carpentry shop. A quick check of the clock indicated there was plenty of time to squeeze in a call to Doug before heading out on my latest quest.

  My so-called “date” later on made me uneasy. Meg clearly thought I should play the field and see what developed with Trent. There was no denying he was eye-catching, yet his appeal was the complete opposite of Doug’s. The man of action versus the man of intellect. How could I find total opposites sexy? I shoved thoughts of Trent aside. No matter what Meg thought, my motivation for having a drink with Trent tonight was purely the desire to find out more about Jack Drysdale’s dispute with the House Sergeant at Arms office.

  I punched in Doug’s cell number and waited for him to pick up. After a few rings, I heard a sleepy “Hello?”