Homicide in the House Page 6

  Dan was a political ingénue, yet he wasn’t completely clueless. “If this detective is so great, why didn’t he solve the murder in the Senate?”

  I sighed. “Dan, I’d like to help Maeve out. I already recovered once on Capitol Hill from being labeled a murder suspect. I’m not sure having a boss accused of murder is much better. But what I said a few minutes ago still stands. I don’t know the players in Jack’s world. How would I come up with a list of suspects to investigate?”

  Dan stood up and towered over me. “That’s not my problem. You need to figure out who killed Jack Drysdale. I don’t care if you help the police or pull a Jessica Fletcher. Your job depends on it. Don’t worry about the press calls. I’ll take care of them. Just focus on clearing Maeve Dixon’s name.”

  “Dan, you’re being completely unreasonable—”

  He cut me off. “I’m the chief of staff here. I don’t assert myself too often, but I mean business. Either start sleuthing or find another job. Pronto.”

  As I stared into Dan’s implacable gaze, I recalled the catchy 1990s Paula Cole tune. Never mind the cowboys. Where had all the chakras gone?

  Chapter Seven

  I turned on my computer and consumed the headlines. Sure enough, the police hadn’t been able to keep a lid on Jack Drysdale’s murder. The Washington-based news outlets were reporting that a high-level staffer had become the first victim of the shutdown. One particularly salacious paper boasted the headline “Shutdown Slaughter.” Despite its macabre tone, I appreciated the admirable alliteration, no pun intended.

  The media hadn’t yet confirmed Jack was the victim, but a treasure trove of stories about him already existed online. My ignorance of Drysdale’s world was as thorough as I claimed. Luckily, Jack had never turned down an interview or press profile, especially when he was climbing the Hill ladder to his last position in the Speaker’s office. Although I didn’t live completely inside his world of political insider intrigue, maybe I could figure out the big players with enough Google searches.

  I stretched out my arms and my fingers flew across the keyboard. This type of research wasn’t as difficult as Doug’s academic inquiries. At times, he spent all day searching for an obscure historical document, ledger, or letter. More often than not, he came up empty-handed. In stark contrast, when I entered “JACK DRYSDALE CONGRESS” into the search engine, over a thousand hits came up.

  Would this take hours? I scanned article after article in various Capitol Hill newspapers. Slowly, a clear profile of Jack Drysdale emerged, along with a few tantalizing personal tidbits. Drysdale’s congressional career had spanned two decades, he’d worked under numerous political bosses. Slowly and methodically, Jack had crisscrossed the Hill, working for increasingly powerful members of Congress. Finally, two years ago, he’d picked the winning horse when his boss was elected Speaker of the House and Jack became the most influential staffer in Congress.

  Along the way he’d certainly ruffled a lot of feathers. Two recent conflicts in particular had received considerable press coverage. According to newspaper and blog accounts, Jack had developed a vicious rivalry with Judy Talent, another top staffer who currently worked for the House Majority Leader. Apparently Judy and Jack had risen on the Hill on parallel career tracks. Both were gifted, respected, and ambitious. Jack had managed to end up with the Speaker while Judy’s boss was the second-in-command.

  With Jack out of the picture permanently, wouldn’t Judy be a prime candidate to take his job in the Speaker’s office? Judy had emailed me shortly after the shutdown, requesting we keep in touch about various solutions. Given what I’d just read about her rocky relationship with Jack, a chat with Judy seemed like a good place to start. I replied to her email and asked if she had free time tomorrow to discuss the Majority Leader’s plans for ending the shutdown.

  The other promising lead involved the House Sergeant at Arms office. A series of articles described the ongoing disagreement between the Speaker’s office and the Sergeant at Arms concerning security in the House. As the head law enforcement officer in the House, the Sergeant at Arms was responsible for maintaining safety and order. With threats issued every day to destroy the Capitol complex, both from domestic and international sources, the Sergeant at Arms had a tough job. Recently, he had issued a proposal to increase security protocols for the House of Representatives and its office buildings, which would have made it more cumbersome for visitors and tourists to traverse the hallways. Representing the Speaker’s interests, Jack had strongly opposed the suggested changes. A man named Gareth Pressler, a senior aide for the Sergeant at Arms, had criticized Drysdale in several news stories. The latest story in the saga caught my eye, headlined “SPEAKER SERGEANT WAR.” In the article, Pressler and Drysdale had traded barbs, each accusing the other of undermining congressional operations.

  I grabbed my trusty notebook and jotted down the most relevant information about Pressler and his conflict with Jack. I’d never interacted with the House Sergeant at Arms office. Without a solid contact or a good excuse for a meeting, tracking down this lead could prove challenging.

  Enough surfing the web. How else could I gather information about the complex world of Jack Drysdale? A lightbulb switched on in my brain and I immediately picked up my phone to dial one of the few House extensions I’d committed to memory.

  A familiar voice chirped in my ear. “Hello, Meg Peters, House Oversight.”

  “It’s Kit. Have you heard the news yet?”

  “If you’re referring to Jack Drysdale’s murder, of course. Everyone is buzzing about it.”

  I lowered my voice. Even though Dan had commanded me to investigate, I didn’t trust him. “Did you know my boss found Jack’s body?”

  Unfortunately, my news had the opposite auditory effect on Meg. She might as well be speaking into a megaphone. “Who did you say found Jack?” she bellowed.

  “Can you please not announce it to the rest of your office? It hasn’t reached the press quite yet and we’re trying to keep it on the down low.” Capitol Hill staff rarely had private offices. Meg was no exception.

  “Sure, I’m sorry,” she whispered. Now I could barely hear her.

  “Dan wants me to investigate the murder so I can clear Maeve as a suspect. But I don’t know anything about Jack Drysdale and his crowd.”

  “Did you know Drysdale recently got married?”

  “No. Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “Wrong gender, Kit. Jack was gay. After the District of Columbia legalized same-sex marriage, he and his longtime partner Jordan Macintyre got hitched.”

  “It’s sad that Jack died so soon after getting married.”

  “Maybe not. I heard a rumor that Macintyre was up to his eyeballs in debt. He owned a restaurant that went under. Now he’s going to inherit a lot of money from Jack.”

  Not a bad motive for murder. I’d add Jordan to my growing list of suspects. I could always count on Meg for an accurate download of Capitol Hill gossip. Her knowledge of the cocktail circuit was almost as vast as Doug’s scholarly expertise in American history. Both served a worthy purpose inside the Beltway.

  “Thanks for the tip. You’re not free for lunch today, are you?” Meg had been a resourceful ally last summer when we tracked down Senator Langsford’s killer.

  “I wish. We’re up to our eyeballs researching this White House investigation.”

  “Did you make any progress with your significant other?”

  Meg sighed. “Not really. He knows we’re moving forward with the hearings.”

  Meg was in a pickle, and I didn’t envy her situation with Kyle. “Just hang in there,” I said. “I bet things will resolve on their own. If not, several glasses of Prosecco might help.” Meg’s favorite bubbly drink usually lifted her mood.

  “More like the whole bottle.”

  I said goodbye to Meg and thanked her again for the juicy tip about Drysdale. I’d have to figure out a way to learn more about their relationship and his husband’s financial difficu
lties. That was going to require serious ingenuity since I’d never met Jordan Macintyre.

  In the tradition of Casablanca’s infamous Captain Renault, who else could help me round up the usual suspects? Doug didn’t know much about Hill politics, but he deserved a call. Even if he’d read about Jack’s death online, he wouldn’t know about my boss discovering the body. My fingers hesitated over the phone’s keypad. Although my boyfriend had been relieved when the culprits were caught last summer in the Senate, he’d never wanted me to engage in novice sleuthing. Doug wasn’t going to embrace a repeat performance of Kit Marshall, amateur detective extraordinaire.

  I commanded my digits to dial the familiar cellphone number. Maybe Doug was busy and a long voicemail would suffice. “Doug, this is Kit. Just wanted to let you know that another murderer is loose on Capitol Hill and I’ll be nosing around to solve the crime. Don’t wait up!”

  Just as I chuckled at my fantasy message, I heard Doug’s voice on the line. “Hello. Hello? Kit, is that you?”

  “Sorry. I thought it might go to voicemail.”

  “Should I not pick up the next time you call?”

  “Never mind. Did you hear about the homicide in the House today?”

  “I saw a headline in the Washington Post about a Speaker’s aide who was found dead. Did you know him?”

  “That’s not an easy question to answer.”

  “I don’t understand,” Doug said, his exasperation already evident.

  “I just met him yesterday. He’s the guy Maeve almost got into a shoving match with outside the Speaker’s office.”

  There was silence on the line. Now the wheels of Doug’s brain were spinning. No point in turning back now, so I kept talking. “Maeve found Jack’s body this morning. She had the opportunity to kill him, motive for the crime, and access to the murder weapon.”

  More silence.

  “Doug, are you still on the line?”

  His response was clipped. “I’m here. I heard what you said.”

  I tried to hide the annoyance in my response. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Quite frankly, I’m speechless. How could you possibly be involved in another murder on Capitol Hill?”

  “Beats me. It’s not as though I’m looking for these crimes. They find me.”

  “I suppose you’re angling for a reprisal of your Nancy Drew role?”

  Since my ordeal in the Senate, Doug had taken to calling me by the names of female amateur sleuths. He preferred Trixie Belden, young Miss Marple, and Veronica Mars. Nancy Drew was a new one.

  “If so, does that make you Ned Nickerson?” Two could play at this game.

  “I imagine it does.”

  “It might be a short-lived romance. I’m not sure I have many clues to solve this one. I hardly knew Jack, and even if I can identify the main suspects, they’re not people I associate with on a regular basis.” To put his mind at ease, I needed to make Doug understand how remotely I was situated to solve the crime.

  “You should talk to one of my former students who works in the House press gallery. She might be able to tell you about Jack’s world. She frequently mentioned dealing with high-level staffers and their egos.”

  My eyebrows shot up. The purpose of my phone call had purely been to provide information. I never expected Doug would offer to assist my investigation. “I’m surprised you’re helping me develop a lead. Did you change your mind about my sleuthing?”

  “I still think it’s dangerous and you should leave it to the police. But I know you’re going to poke around no matter what I say. Her name is Melinda. Just tell her I sent you.”

  There was no sense in arguing with Doug about the perils of snooping. He had a valid point. Last time I barely escaped the killer after a scary chase along a deserted underground passage in the Senate. I ended our conversation after a quick goodbye and a promise to exercise caution.

  Maeve still hadn’t returned to the office, so I clicked on my email inbox. There were several messages about proposed legislation to end the shutdown and notifications about staff meetings to negotiate other proposals. Nothing about Maeve being a suspect or involved in Jack’s murder.

  Just as I read the last email, the door connecting the outside waiting area to the staff office space opened. Maeve looked as though she’d seen better days. In contrast to yesterday, she was a mess. Her disheveled hair and wrinkled suit matched the strained expression of defeat on her face. A few years ago, someone had approached her in North Carolina and convinced her it would be a good idea if she ran for Congress. Did Maeve regret that decision? Was the strain of another rigorous campaign, a government shutdown, and a felony murder charge worth the privilege to represent over seven hundred thousand disaffected constituents?

  This wasn’t a good time to wax philosophical with Congresswoman Dixon. Instead, I needed facts. “What happened with the police?”

  Dan must have heard Maeve’s arrival. After one glance at her uncharacteristically ruffled appearance, he furrowed his brow in concern. “Is everything okay? You look a little—”

  Maeve cut him off. “I know, I know. I look terrible. It’s been a tough day, all right?”

  Dan fawned over Maeve as if she were a wounded puppy. After she sat down, he delivered a glass of water and her favorite nutrition bar. Despite the stress, Maeve didn’t deviate from her sacrosanct low-fat, low-carb, low-sugar diet. Her willpower dwarfed mine. One bad meeting and I reached for dark chocolate and a bottle of wine with no second thoughts.

  Maeve took a long drink and then launched into her own interrogation. Turning toward Dan, she asked, “Why did you send me to the rotunda this morning?”

  His face twitched. “I got a call early this morning on my cellphone. It was Jack Drysdale, and he said he wanted to meet you at seven to talk about a deal on the shutdown. He apologized for everything that happened yesterday so I told him I’d get you there.”

  Maeve sighed. “How did you know it was Jack Drysdale?”

  Dan shifted his weight from one leg to another. “I assumed it was Drysdale. Why wouldn’t I?”

  She continued peppering Dan with questions. “Did you recognize the number? Or his voice?”

  Dan shook his head. “No, but Drysdale had never called me before.”

  Maeve kept her head cradled in her right hand, as if the stress of the day had made it impossible to keep herself upright. Despite her skewed posture, she fired more inquiries at Dan, who had now turned from flustered pink to a darker crimson shade of trepidation.

  “Do you realize this was a setup? The person you spoke with murdered Jack Drysdale. He called you so I would appear conveniently at the scene of the crime. Do you understand the ramifications of what you did, Dan?”

  The poor guy visibly flinched when Maeve screamed his name at the end of her tirade. The scene gave me a small sense of satisfaction. Dan had proven barely competent since I’d been working in the office, yet Maeve always gave him a pass. His cluelessness had finally manifested in a screwup of epic proportions. However, any selfish smugness on my part was soon put aside given the horrendous seriousness of the situation. Both of our necks were on the chopping block.

  It was time for cooler heads to prevail. “Can I see your phone?” I asked.

  Dan handed over his iPhone. I navigated to the “recent calls” directory and found the incoming call at 6:03 this morning. After the D.C. area code, the first three numbers were 225. That was important.

  “This extension means the call was made from a phone somewhere in the House. We might be in luck.” I dialed the House of Representatives operator and gave her the number from Dan’s phone. After listening to her response, I thanked her and hung up.

  “The number is from a phone in the Capitol Visitor Center. It’s located within an information desk inside the CVC. Anyone who has Capitol complex access could have used it to make the call.”

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “So much for that lead.”

  “Not so fast. We know the call w
as placed around six. The only people allowed in the building that early are members, congressional staff, and journalists with all-access badges.”

  Maeve stood up. “Terrific. We’ve just narrowed down the suspect pool to ten thousand people.”

  As she walked toward her office, I yelled after her, “Not really. A lot of the staff has been furloughed!”

  Chapter Eight

  If Dan had been a dog, he would have put his tail between his legs and run. Despite his humanity, Dan’s body language mimicked the universal sign of canine defeat. With a sulking posture, he returned to his office and closed the door, likely lighting a double dose of incense to combat the negative vibes sent his way by our boss.

  Several online news sources confirmed that Jack’s murder was the trending story in the local media, but so far, Maeve’s name hadn’t appeared in connection to the crime. O’Halloran was undoubtedly responsible for the tight lips. The less they said, the more evidence the police could gather without reporters breathing down their necks. Unfortunately, in this instance, the cops were marshaling resources to build a case against my boss.

  With the police focused on Maeve, who would search for the real killer? The crime wasn’t going to solve itself. If I wanted to find the person responsible for Jack Drysdale’s demise, I’d have to do some serious pound-the-pavement snooping. Sitting on my duff was nothing but a waste of time. Dan’s directive wasn’t my primary motivator. If Maeve was convicted, Dan was irrelevant. We’d both be collecting unemployment.

  The phone call to Dan’s cell was an important clue. That had been a clever ploy, pure and simple. Why would Jack Drysdale place a call from a phone in the Capitol Visitor Center to Dan? He’d met me the day before and had personally requested I work on the shutdown for the congresswoman. If he needed to speak to Maeve early in the morning about a proposal, he would have called my line. Furthermore, unless his own phone was lost, he would have used his cell to call, email, or text—not some random phone in the tourist enclave of the United States Capitol.