Deadly Politics (16 page)

“Yeah, I know. But he's also sent some creepy guy he just rehired to spy on the office.”

“Creepy guy?”

I accepted the new Cosmo the waitress offered. “Some guy who got in trouble earlier for harshly berating a female staffer. Larry something.” I took a large sip and felt the vodka fuel my righteous indignation.

“Larry Fillmore?” Samantha looked appalled. “Good Lord. That's not good for Jackson if Fillmore's skulking around the office.”

Once again I was grateful for Samantha's rolodex memory and ability to sort gossip along with gospel. “That sounds like the name. Talk to me. What have you heard?”

Samantha took a drink, then licked the mint. “Larry Fillmore is a smarmy little ass-kisser who's bounced around from one Hill office to another. He's a razor-sharp staffer, but has zero people skills and his set point is on confrontation, according to the buzz. That's what usually causes his reassignments. Certainly not lack of brains. Rumor has it his former wife put a restraining order on him a few years ago. She was also a staffer, and apparently he kept showing up at her place after the divorce, harassing her. She finally left the Hill and left town. He's lucky she never charged him with anything, or he would have lost his job.”

“Actually, he did lose his position in Jackson's office and was reassigned elsewhere. Apparently Karen caught him browbeating the female staffer and insisted Jed let him go. Now that Karen's gone, Jed's hired Larry again, according to Karen's friend. Jed claimed he needed Larry now that Karen was gone.”

Samantha didn't say anything at first, but I could tell from her worried expression she was thinking about what I said.

“Well, Molly, now you've raised my curiosity too. I may ask some of my mice to keep track of Jackson's office and see what's going on.”

“Mice?”

“It sounds so much better than spies, don't you think? They're simply good friends who're scattered about town, keeping their eyes and ears open. How else do you think I get all this information?”

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“And now that you're back, you can keep me apprised as to how the flamboyant Senator Russell is doing. Nothing confidential, you understand.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Just keep your ears open at all those receptions and if anything gives your antennae a buzz, I'd like to hear about it. You used to have good instincts.”

“Okay, anything that gives me a buzz, I'll pass along. As long as it doesn't compromise the senator, of course.” Remembering something that had buzzed a few days ago, I added, “By the way, what do you know about the Epsilon Group? I've heard its name mentioned. Apparently some international speakers or some such.”

“Well, that's an abrupt change from the tawdry Larry Fillmore and his ilk. Let's see, the Epsilon Group.” Samantha closed her eyes, clearly calling up her mental data files. “Oh, yes, it's a high-level think tank that sponsors forums on international finance mostly. Lots of brainpower. Distinguished university professors and academics or officials of the international financial community, like finance ministers. And investment bankers, too. They come up with policy papers. But their main purpose is to craft financial initiatives that can be incorporated into legislation that can then be introduced into Congress and the European Union. Apparently some filthy-rich old investment banker in New York funded it years before he died.”

“Whoa,” I said in wide-eyed admiration, then held up my glass. “That's even more than I got from Senator Baker and he's been going to their seminars.”

“I'm only as good as my sources.” She raised her glass in turn. “To my mice.”

“Squeak, squeak.”

“Now, enough about official Washington. Let's get back to finding
you
some companionship. Male companionship, that is. I think it's time you got off the bench and back into the game.”

I sank into my chair, laughing. Letting the vodka float take me. “Good lord, Samantha, I'm surrounded every day. You forget that Russell is still entertaining Congress, region by region. Believe me, I'm up to my neck in meeting people. And making new friends.” I flashed her my meet-the-client smile, which only made Samantha laugh.

“I know the senator is still working his way through Congress. That's a lot of receptions, and a lot of men. So, tell me truthfully, Molly, there must have been someone you've met recently who got your attention. If not, then I'm going to check your pulse.”

“Nope, no one,” I lied, glancing to the side before I took another large sip.

Samantha fixed me with her eagle's gaze. “I saw that.”

I widened my eyes as innocently as possible, given the vodka. “What?”

“Don't try to lie, Molly. I saw that look. You look to the left every time you lie.”

I do? I didn't know that. Not good. “I'm not lying,” I protested feebly.

“You met someone, didn't you?”

“No , I didn't …” Glancing to the left again.
Oh, damn.
Blame it on the vodka. I guess I couldn't drink and lie at the same time.

Samantha set her julep glass on the table with a thump.
“Mendacity!
All around me is mendacity,” she proclaimed in a melodramatic mezzo-soprano. A couple turned their heads from a nearby table.

I had to laugh. “Well, if you're going to quote Tennessee Williams, I guess I'll have to tell the truth.” I took another large drink and threw caution, and all attempt at mendacity, to the winds. “Yes, I've met someone, but he's just an old friend from high school. We've gone to dinner a couple of times and he took me sightseeing. And we've gone running along the canal a few times. That's all.”

“Old friend from high school, hmmmm.” Samantha closed her eyes. “I vaguely recall your telling me about some good-looking guy who had a motorcycle.”

Again, I marveled at Samantha's memory. “I can't believe you remember all that.”

Samantha grinned. “I also remember you were dying to finally get into a co-ed school in your senior year. I don't know how you endured that girls' school for so long. At least the nuns at Saint Matthews in Washington let us girls and boys be together.”

I had to laugh. “And I remember some of the trouble you got into with those nuns.”

Samantha examined me closely, her eyes not missing anything. “Let's get back to you and this old flame from the past. How did you two get together? Had you been keeping in touch with each other or something?”

“No, he tracked me down after seeing a charming photo of me in that rag, the
D.C.
Dirt
. We went out for coffee and caught up. End of story.”

“I'd say it was the beginning, Molly. If you'll let it. Tell me about him. What's he been doing all these years?”

“Serving his country as a career Marine. He went off to Vietnam right after high school. Stayed in and became an officer. Retired a few years ago. Lives here in Washington.”

Samantha's expression softened. “I like him already.”

“I figured you would. He's a good guy. And right now, we're just friends. And I'd like to keep it that way. I need friends right now, Samantha. My world has turned upside down these last few months. I'm still trying to adjust to it all.”

My pitch for sympathy seemed to work. Samantha relented. “I understand, sugar. Friends are what help us get through the tough times. I know how much I depend on mine. My guys. I depend on them to talk sense to me when I need it and escort me to the theatre when I need that.” She gave a rueful smile. “And I just lost one of my dearest sweetest guys last month. That's why I was still out of town when you arrived and when Karen died. I was still mourning for my dear Sol.”

Sol Karpinsky. “I was so sorry to hear about his death,” I said. “It's a huge loss to the Senate. He was the last old lion. The watchdog.”

“God rest his soul. He'd been doing much better after his last heart attack. Then, suddenly, he was gone.” She swirled the julep before she drank. “I still miss him.”

“I'd forgotten you and he had, had …”

“You can say it. We had an affair before he was divorced, but I wasn't the reason.”

“I'd forgotten the details. Boy, I also forgot that you can drink and still be sober. How do you do that, Miss Thing?”

She gave me a devilish smile. “You never could hold your liquor, Molly. Don't you remember some of the scrapes I had to rescue you from?”

Memories floated up through the vodka. “Good God, you're right.”

“And my beloved Beauregard taught me how to drink with the best and still hold my own. My Bojangles. Bless his heart and soul. Here's to you, Beau.” She raised her glass.

I followed suit, finishing off my Cosmo. “To Beau. And bless his taste in jewelry.” I glanced to the diamonds, rubies, and sapphires that adorned several of Samantha's fingers.

“That's why I called him Bojangles.”

“Bling, bling.”

“Oh, and sugar, please let me know if you need money. I don't want you doing without in this town. No need. You're closer to me than some of my own kin.”

“That's sweet, Samantha, but I think I'll be okay now.”

“Well, just keep it in mind. Thanks to my late daddy and my sweet Beauregard, I've got more money than God. And even I can't spend it all.”

I laughed so hard I barely noticed the waitress serve our fresh lobster and scallops entrée. “Oh my God, Samantha. I didn't know how much I'd missed talking to you until now. Maybe if I'd had you around for advice, I wouldn't have made so many mistakes over the years.”

Samantha took another large sip. “We all fall down, sugar. What's important is that we keep gettin' back up again. And, incidentally, I saw that photo in the
Dirt
, and I thought it was cute as the dickens. And your wardrobe is lookin' a whole lot better now.” She gave a low chuckle.

“You know who wrote that little knife job? Diedre Turner from my old girls' school, St. Mary's. Apparently she's a part-time gossip columnist for that rag.”

Samantha gave a dismissive snort. “That little pissant? Phooey. She's gone after everyone in town. Trying to make a name for herself. She's aimed some of her little arrows at me. Ignore her.”

“She's got an acid pen, so watch out. She might get wind of your finishing school,” I teased.

This time Samantha threw back her head and let out her trademark sultry low laugh. “Oh, sugar, what could she possibly say about me that hasn't already been said?”

Thirteen

I drank my coffee
while I looked out the bay windows of my sunny kitchen at the people walking by the townhouse. Some hurried, briefcases in hand. Others strolled, dogs on leashes. Young mothers pushed babies and toddlers in fancy strollers that didn't exist when I pushed my little girls along these streets.

My cell phone rang on the table and I glanced at my watch. 7:35. Couldn't be Peter. He knew I'd be in the office in ten minutes. I saw Celeste's name on the screen.

“Hey, Celeste. Are you at work already?”

“No, I'm not. I just got off the Metro and thought I'd call before I reached the office. I wanted to update you on the latest searches and stuff.”

“Oh, good. What did you find?”

“There were several emails that mentioned Epsilon. Some that referred to recent contributions to Congressman Jackson's election fund. And another to a charity that Jackson sponsors back in Nebraska. It provides scholarships for low-income students.”

“Did everything look okay to you?”

“I haven't searched all the emails yet, but nothing has made my little buzzer go off yet. Which makes me feel better, to tell you the truth. I was afraid you'd found something fishy about the group.”

“No, not at all. I've asked several of my Hill contacts, and the Epsilon Group seems to be exactly what it purports to be. A policy group that concentrates on international financial issues. At least that's what their speakers seem to address from what I've heard.”

“There were several emails from Jed announcing Epsilon Group forums on different issues. And there were also a couple of emails about legislation and policy papers. Apparently Jackson has included a couple of their policy points in some legislation he's working on in subcommittee.”

“That's interesting. So, Jackson has been going to their forums, too, I guess.”

“I guess. I'll keep copying all of those emails onto flash drives so I can mail them to you when I'm finished. I want you to have them.”

There was an anxious quality to Celeste's voice that reached out. I couldn't miss it. “Is that creepy guy, Larry Fillmore, still spying on everybody?”

“Yeah, he is, the bastard. He's really pissing me off, too. I told him yesterday to stop hanging over me. He just stood there and smirked at me, like he didn't care.”

That gave me a bad feeling, especially after what Samantha said about Fillmore. “Listen, Celeste, I don't want you to get into any trouble on my account. You don't have to do any more searches for me. I think we've established nothing illegal or underhanded is going on in Jackson's office. Jed may be a son of a bitch, but he doesn't seem to be breaking the law.”

“That's okay, Molly. I want to finish those files. No matter what Creepy Larry does. I swear, he's even calling my home phone and leaving hang-up calls. Leaves them on the answering machine.”

“Whoa, Celeste. Are you sure it's him?”

“No, I'm not,” she exhaled a loud breath. “But who else would be calling me three times a day? The caller ID says ‘out of area' for the phone number. I figure it's gotta be him. Well, it's not gonna work. He's not going to threaten me like he did that junior staffer. She was the one he targeted when Karen caught him in the act. And he got really mad when Karen told him to back off.”

“He sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Oh, he is. He likes to intimidate women with his ‘look.' He's got these dark eyes that glare at you. Dark hair, pale skin. Like I said, really creepy. But he didn't intimidate Karen, not even when he threatened her.”

“Tell me about that again. What did he say exactly?”

“When Jed finally told him he was being reassigned, Larry was furious. He slammed around the office, throwing his stuff into a briefcase. Then, he stomped over to Karen's desk and told her ‘she'd be sorry.'”

Now I really felt uneasy. “You know, Celeste, I'm beginning to wish you didn't work in that office. The atmosphere there has deteriorated, badly it seems.”

“Don't worry about me, Molly. Jed used to intimidate me, but he doesn't anymore. I've seen him for the weakling he is. And those emails show that Karen was the one feeding him most of the policy information and data. He acts like he knows everything, and he doesn't. It's just show. I think that's why Jed has that attack dog, Larry, around. To scare away anyone who might threaten him.”

“Well, forgive me for sounding like a mom, but it sounds like you're in a snake pit there. And I think you should look for a transfer out.”

“We'll see. I've actually gotten used to it here in Records. It's quieter and less hectic, I'll say that.” Her voice sounded lighter, like she was trying to make a joke. “Listen, I'm in front of my building so I'd better go inside and get to work. Talk to you later, Molly.”

“Take care, Celeste,” I said as she clicked off.

Tossing the rest of my coffee down the sink, I grabbed my over-the-shoulder briefcase and headed out. Time for me to get to my office, too. Maybe the fast walk to Senator Russell's mansion would help dispel the uneasiness I felt about Celeste.

Maybe I
was
being a mom. Then again, maybe my antennae were more acute than hers. Maybe I should call Samantha and ask her to find something more on this Larry Fillmore. Alert her mice.

Closing my front door, I noticed the enormous tabby cat sunning himself beside my flowerbeds again. “Good morning, Striped Kitty,” I'd taken to calling him. “Leave the birds alone,” I warned as I raced down the steps.

Striped Kitty meowed in reply, which probably translated to, ‘No promises.” Predators. They were everywhere.

_____

I bent over the railing overlooking a stretch of the C&O Canal. Water was pouring overtop one of the locks.

More out of breath than usual after my run, I vowed that one of these days I'd be able to talk and run and not break my stride. Of course, running with Danny meant I'd already ramped it up. The way my heart was pounding right now, I figured my cardio workout was on maximum.

“You okay?” he asked as he stretched out one long muscular leg, then the other.

I followed suit and stretched, noticing Danny had a healthy sheen. I was dripping. “Why do I get the feeling you're slumming when you're working out with me? You barely broke a sweat. Look at you. And I'm beat.”

“You'll be okay. You're getting faster. I can tell.”

“Flattery, flattery.” I bent upside down with my palms flat on the ground between my legs.

“You just got all caught up in talking about this Celeste and all the weird stuff happening with her.” He grabbed his wrists and stretched both arms behind himself.

How could anybody look that good in a worn-out tee shirt and shorts? All muscle. “Property of U.S. Marine Corps” was stamped across his olive green chest. Well,
semper fi
. I just hoped I looked halfway decent. Of course, my tongue was probably hanging out as far as the one on my Rolling Stones tee shirt.

“Be honest, Danny. Do I sound crazy?”

“No, you don't sound crazy. But I'm not sure about this Celeste. Listening to your description, she does sound a little paranoid. Who knows why Molinoff transferred her? Maybe her work was unsatisfactory. And her story about this Larry guy skulking around her office, spying on her. I gotta tell you,” he said, shaking his head. “That does sound pretty off-base.”

He unzipped the small pack he carried on his back and offered me a clean towel, which I took gratefully. “Well, I ran the longer version past an old friend of mine—”

“There's a longer version?”

“
Yes
.” I flicked the towel at him. He caught it mid-swat, his hand moving so fast I barely saw it. “I ran it past an old friend who has her finger on Washington's pulse. She knows everybody in Washington and everything they're up to, good or bad. And she confirmed this Larry Fillmore was a bad actor. He's gotten into trouble in several Hill offices. Likes to intimidate women.”

Danny arched a brow. “Really. Well, that changes the whole picture.”

“Doesn't it now? Apparently this Larry guy threatened Karen after she insisted that Jed transfer him. He told Karen she'd be ‘sorry.' Then, as soon as Karen died, Jed Molinoff rehired him to spy on the office staff.”

“This Larry guy is the one who keeps prowling around Celeste?”

“Yeah. It sounds like Molinoff wants to drive Celeste out of the office and is using this Larry to do it. I think she needs to change positions, the sooner the better. Transfer to another Hill office like Karen was going to. But it sounds like Celeste is digging in her heels, refusing to be pushed out.”

Danny motioned me toward 31st Street, heading up the hill to the main drag, M Street. “Is she still doing those email searches for you?”

“Yes, even though she hasn't found anything incriminating. I told her she didn't need to do them anymore. I don't want her to get into any more trouble, in case they're checking on her. She says she's covering her search tracks, whatever that means.”

“It means she's a clever girl. Let's hope she's clever enough to stay out of trouble. Because it sounds like that Larry guy is looking for anything he can find to get her in trouble with Molinoff.”

“You know, it makes no sense that Jed Molinoff would act this way. Why would he care if a staffer was reading those emails? They weren't confidential. From what Celeste said, there's nothing in any of those emails Molinoff wouldn't want known. They sound like ordinary business, even the ones about the Epsilon Group. Other policy groups try to influence legislation and make political contributions.”

“What was that group again?”

“It's a high-level policy think tank called the Epsilon Group. Emphasis on international finance. They give a lot of speeches around the country.” An idea came to me as I stepped around a large sidewalk planter full of tulips. “I was going to attend one of their presentations next week. Would you like to come with me? It's at Dumbarton Oaks on Tuesday. It'll be a pretty setting at least, even if the speech is dry.”

Danny grinned. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Only if we can have dinner afterwards. If it's like most of those affairs, it'll be mediocre wines and dry appetizers. International finance or no, we can do better than that.”

He paused right below the busy intersection of M Street and 31st. Reaching into his small pack again, he withdrew two small water bottles, offering me one. I gratefully accepted and drained it while watching the crowds walk by.

It was Friday night and everyone was out, heading to restaurants and cafes. And they looked way better than Danny and I did in our sweaty workout clothes and our healthy sheens. Even the tourists were starting to stare at us.

“I'm sorry I messed up your plans for tonight. You probably had another great café already reserved, and then I called and asked you to go running instead.”

“That's okay. The café will wait.” He drained his bottle. “Besides, it sounded like you needed to talk.”

“Well, you're right about that. Running always helps me sort through things when I'm worrying. And it helped to bounce this stuff off you, too. You're a good sounding board.”

“Anytime, Molly.” Then he motioned me through the tourists and locals and headed toward the curb, arm outstretched. He signaled a taxi. “C'mon, let's go to dinner.”

I stared at him perplexed. “We can't go to a restaurant looking like this.”

“Sure we can. We're having dinner with the tourists along the Mall. Burgers and brats from a truck, cold drinks, ice cream on a stick. Gourmet fare.” He motioned an approaching taxi to a stop in front of us.

“Well, at least we'll fit in,” I said with a laugh as he opened the door.

“When's the last time you ate hot dogs on the Mall, Molly?” he asked, climbing in after me.

“It's been years.”

“Okay. Let's start where most of the tourists are. Lots of food trucks there. Washington Monument, please,” he said to the cabbie.

_____

“She's persistent, I'll say that,” Larry Fillmore said into his cell phone as he drove through early evening traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. “And cleverer than most.”

“Too clever,” the man's deep voice replied. “And she's much too curious. We don't want her stumbling across information she shouldn't. Especially since we think she's talking.”

“What're you going to do?” Larry paused at a traffic signal. The gleaming white Capitol building lay straight ahead, the tip of the Pennsylvania Avenue arrow.

“First, we need to find out exactly how much she knows. And who she's talking to. Then we'll turn up the heat.”

Larry continued down the avenue. “Let me know what you want me to do.”

“Count on it,” the man said before he clicked off.