Deadly Politics (22 page)

I wagged my head. “I disagree. I think the email searches are what made Jed send the burglar.”

“You don't know that. Look, you don't know what was going on in Celeste's life other than what she told you. Maybe that newscast was correct. Maybe she really did suffer from depression. Maybe this accident was really a suicide.”

I toyed with the steak Danny had also ordered. “I hear you, but somehow I still feel responsible. Even if it doesn't make any sense. Even if it sounds crazy.”

“I don't think it sounds crazy, Molly,” Danny said, leaning both arms on the table. “I just think you've suffered another horrible loss of someone you care about. You admitted you'd adopted Celeste. And now she's gone. A little over a month ago, you lost your niece.” His voice dropped. “Face it, you've had a helluva past few weeks. I don't think you're in any position to sit in judgment of yourself. You're simply trying to make your way through a really rough time.”

I sliced into the filet and let the rich flavors melt in my mouth. Laden with cholesterol and fat, but damn, it was good. Danny's reasoning settled over me as I savored the beef. Maybe he was right. I didn't know anything about Celeste's private life. Maybe she had problems I wasn't aware of. None of us really knows what's going on inside someone else. Sober mumbled in the background but didn't contradict.

“Any idea if Molinoff went to the police yet?” he asked, sinking back in his chair. Shirtsleeves rolled up, tie off, jacket over the chair.

“Casey hasn't said a thing, and I'm certain he'd tell me if his detective friend had called with information.”

Danny took a drink from his Scotch, then sliced into the filet. “So, what's your next move, Molly?”

I savored another bite while I let my mind shift from guilt back to the problem that I'd wrestled with the entire weekend. I took another bite, then sipped the black coffee I'd ordered for myself.

“I'll ask Casey tomorrow if he can check with Detective Schroeder. See if he's called Jed yet. If he hasn't, then maybe that will spur him to do so. If he has called him, then I'll wait to hear if Jed gave any new information.”

Danny paused, filet nearly to his mouth. “And if Jed hasn't complied?”

I sank back into the wire café chair, coffee cup in both hands while I stared out at the Potomac flowing past. “Then I'll have to explain my situation to Senator Russell and Peter and offer my resignation. I don't want my actions to reflect on people I've come to respect and care for.”

Danny returned to his steak while I stared out at that lazy river. A tidal river. Whenever bad weather whipped the Atlantic nearby, storm surges swept up the river on its strong currents. The Potomac was used to stormy weather, be it political or meteorological.

Glancing at me with a crooked smile, Danny pointed to my plate. “Better finish that filet. You're going need your strength.”

Twenty

I spotted Casey heading
toward the Russell kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I went down the hall after him. Better to get this process started. Delay would only eat away at my resolve. And right now, resolve and bravado were the only things I had keeping me on track.

“Casey, can I ask you something?” I said as I entered the kitchen. “Have you heard yet if Lieutenant Schroeder called Jed Molinoff ? I was curious if he learned anything new.”

Casey kept his eyes on the black stream of coffee filling his mug. “Matter of fact, I heard from Schroeder earlier this morning. He called Molinoff yesterday and tried to pry some more information out of him. But he didn't get anything new. Even when Schroeder asked him flat-out if he'd returned to Karen's car after leaving the reception.”

“What'd he say? Did Schroeder give a hint?”

Casey shrugged. “Sounded like Molinoff stonewalled. Told Schroeder that the kitchen worker had to be mistaken.” He walked toward me while he drank his coffee. “Sorry, Molly. I know how much you were counting on that.”

You have no idea
, I thought to myself, as I felt my gut squeeze. “Sorry is putting it mildly. Do you have a minute?” I beckoned him to the hallway again. “Let's go outside to the garden. Tonight the Pacific Northwest congressional delegations will descend on us, so this may be our last quiet minute.”

“What's up, Molly?” he asked, following after me.

I stepped out onto the patio and stared out at the roses for a minute, then confessed. “This will probably be my last reception for the senator. I'll be handing in my resignation tomorrow.”

No mistaking Casey's surprise. “Why? Has something happened? Is your mother all right?”

“No, she's fine and my family's fine. This is all me, Casey. My decision and mine alone.”

“I'm listening.”

“Last Friday I did meet with Jed Molinoff. He denied seeing Karen or anyone else on the streets. I knew he was lying, so I threatened him.”

“With what?”

“I told him if he didn't tell the police what he knows, then I was going to the press. I promised that by the time I finished telling the story of their tawdry love affair, he'd be the king of sleaze on the television tabloid news.”

“You didn't.”

“Yeah, I did. And I meant every word. Jed went white as a sheet. He saw someone that night. I'm sure of it. But he won't confess unless I force him to.”

“Was Danny with you?”

“He was the muscle that kept Jed from bolting.”

Casey observed me for a long minute. “And that's why you're resigning?”

“I don't want my actions to reflect upon Senator Russell or any of you. So it would be best if I remove myself from the senator's staff beforehand, so you folks can have total denial that you knew anything.”

“Damn, Molly.”

“That about sums it up.” I took a deep drink of my coffee, while I watched Casey dig his ringing BlackBerry from his coat pocket.

“When are you going to tell Peter?” he asked as he scanned the phone screen.

“After everyone leaves tonight.”

Casey began backing away, phone to his ear. “Don't say anything yet, Molly.”

I took my time walking back to my office at the end of the hallway, admiring the antique-filled rooms and surroundings I'd become accustomed to these last few weeks. Clearly, working for Senator John Russell had provided the most comfortable and lavish office setting I'd ever experienced. I would miss it. But not as much as I would miss the people who'd become my “office family.” I was surprised how quickly I had assimilated into the Russell routine. Karen had been right. This was where I belonged. It was in my blood.

Who knows what kind of job I'd be able to land next. Probably not in Washington, and certainly not in politics. Not after I'd ratted out a congressional chief of staff. Speaking the truth was not necessarily considered a virtue in Washington.

I settled at my desk and reached for the mail that Luisa had placed beside the computer. Sorting through the usual letters, I noticed a larger manila envelope. It had a type-written mailing label addressed to me but no return address.

That got my attention. I turned the envelope over several times, checking for any powdery substances or anything else strange. Nothing was evident, so I used the letter opener to carefully slice the envelope open. There were photographs inside. Three 8 x 10 photos. I slid them from the envelope.

The photos appeared to have been taken at night because the light looked strange, harsh. The first showed a man standing beside a parked car, leaning over the driver's window. The next showed the man entering the front passenger side of the car. I stared at the photos, noticing the car's license plate. Karen's license plate. That was Karen's car.

Was that Jed? I wondered, scrutinizing the photos. Was that person in the driver's seat Karen? I flipped through to the last photo and stared at it. My heart raced. This photo had zoomed in closer so that I could definitely see Karen behind the wheel and Jed Molinoff in the passenger seat beside her. They appeared in the midst of conversation. No mistaking it.

Oh, my God.
That
is
Karen with Jed beside her. Glimpsing the small print in the lower left corner of the photo revealed the date and time. 10:08, the night of her death. I checked the back of all three photos for more identifying marks. Nothing.

Who in the world would have taken photos of Karen and Jed that night? The clarity of the pictures was excellent, despite the harsher light. Whoever took these photos was a good photographer, that was obvious. But who would do that? Was there some voyeuristic neighbor who spied on the senator's guests whenever there was a party? Even if that were true, why would that photographer send the photos to
me
?

I studied the photos again. Here was proof that Jed Molinoff deliberately lied to police. He had gone to Karen's car after he left. Proof that the kitchen worker was telling the truth. The police would have reason to question Jed now. And he couldn't lie his way out of it.

“Caterers will be here around noon, Molly,” Casey's voice sounded from the doorway.

I beckoned him inside my office. “You won't believe what I just received in the morning mail.” I held out the photos.

Surprise registered on Casey's face immediately. “Who sent these to you?” he asked in a low voice.

“I haven't a clue. There was no return address and no markings.” I showed him the empty envelope.

Casey examined it, holding the envelope up to the light. “Date and time on the photos. Proves Molinoff was in her car.”

“Who would take these photos, Casey, and why would they send them to me?”

Casey handed them over. “I don't know, Molly. But it certainly saved you and your family a helluva lot of trouble.” He peered at me. “No need to call in the press now.”

“You're right,” I replied, letting the realization settle over me. Somewhere deep inside my chest, a muscle relaxed. “But who would be taking photos? This photographer is a pro. And knows how to take night photos.” I peered up at Casey. “Are there surveillance cameras in this neighborhood?”

Casey gave me a little smile. “Who knows? This is Washington, remember? There are diplomats, international businessmen, government officials, and all the regular politicians who people these neighborhoods. In addition to the Old Establishment types.”

I studied the photos again. “That still doesn't answer the question why the photographer would send them to me.”

Casey's BlackBerry sounded, and he backed away toward the door. “Just be glad he did.”

There was a beep on my office phone indicating a text message had arrived. Peter, advising me about tonight's reception. I slid the photos back into their envelope and was about to return to my computer screen. But first, I sent a text message of my own to Danny.

_____

Danny's eyebrows shot up the moment he saw the photos. “Where's the envelope?”

I handed it over. “No markings, no return address. But whoever it was knew I worked for the senator and knew Karen was my niece. Why else would they send them?”

Danny held up the envelope, then scrutinized the photos again. “Well, whoever took them has done surveillance work because he knew exactly what kind of camera to use and how to capture these shots at night.”

“I racked my brain all morning and afternoon trying to figure out who the photographer is, and the closest thing I can come up with is a ‘voyeuristic neighbor' theory. They would know about Karen's death and that I work for the senator.” I leaned back into my office chair and took a drink of lukewarm coffee.

Danny placed the photos back on my desk. “You know, it doesn't really matter who sent them. The question is, what are you going to do with them now?”

I stared at the photos beside my computer. That question had also been bouncing around my head in between working on Russell accounts. Clearly, I needed to turn them over to the police. But …

“I'm going to take them to Detective Schroeder. But first, I'm going to scan them into my computer. Then I'm going to send copies to Jed Molinoff and suggest he reconsider his refusal to cooperate with police.”

“Giving him one last chance?”

“Let's see what he decides to do.” I turned on the scanner at the far corner of my desk. Clicking on the icon that popped on my desktop screen, I started the copying process while I wrote a short and succinct email to Jed. Attaching all three photos to the message, I sent it through. Danny watched without a word.

Albert paused at the doorway. Spotting Danny, he broke into a smile. “Colonel, it's good to see you. Molly, if you two were planning on dinner, I can tell Peter you'll be a little late tonight.”

“Call me Danny, please,” Danny said, extending his hand to Albert. “And dinner sounds like a good idea. What about it, Molly?”

“Why not? Maybe I'll be able to stay away from the buffet table then.”

Albert retreated with a big grin. I could tell he couldn't wait to report to Luisa. “Okay, then, I'll let Peter know. See you later, Molly. Good to see you again, Col, uh, Danny.”

Danny checked his watch. “Nearly five o'clock. We could leave now so you won't be late for the reception.”

Just then, I heard the familiar beep of a message coming through on my BlackBerry. Scrolling down, I read the message to myself and stared at it for a second before reading it out loud.

“It's from Jed. ‘Please talk to me before you go to police. My apartment tonight 10:00 p.m. 1137 New Hampshire Avenue, number 1410.'” I glanced up at Danny. “What do you think?”

“I think you got his attention.”

_____

“Did you send the email?”

“Y-yes, just now,” Jed said, pressing the cell phone closer to his ear. The phone slipped against his damp cheek. He hated that the sound of the man's voice made him sweat.

“Go to your apartment straight from the office, Jed. I'll drop by around seven o'clock.”

“You're coming to my place? But why?” He was unable to conceal his panic.

The deep voice paused. “We need to talk, Jed. We need to make plans.”

Plans
. Plans were good. He grasped at that. “O-okay. Seven o'clock. I'll be there.”

_____

“When are you two going over there?” Casey asked as he scanned the clusters of congressman and staffers crowding Senator Russell's reception.

A light rain earlier had sent everyone fleeing from the garden, and the Russell mansion was packed. Living room, dining room, hallways, and doorways to the patio for those who didn't mind the drizzle. Only the caterers' closed door kept them from wandering into the kitchen. I was glad I'd locked my office door.

I sipped the Pinot Blanc. “Danny's coming over about nine thirty. It sounds like Jed's building is near Washington Circle, so it shouldn't take long to get there.”

“Don't let him talk you out of it, Molly.”

“Not a chance.”

“I'll be glad to take you to see Schroeder first thing tomorrow,” Casey added before he returned to his routine prowling of the edges of the crowd.

“Sounds good.” I sipped the tart, fresh taste and returned to my own prowling of the perimeter. There were fewer familiar faces in this crowd tonight. Consequences of the last election turnover, no doubt. Fewer conversations meant more time to think, and my thoughts were still churning, wondering about the mystery photographer.
Who and why?

Wandering the edges of the living room, I spied Aggie smoothly serving drinks, moving about the crowd in a pattern. Ryan had his tray filled with appetizers as usual. And Bud was at his regular spot at the bar, efficiently filling the glasses of politicians who clustered around the rim.

As I watched and sipped, a long-ago memory inched from the back of my mind. Something my father had once said about Georgetown cocktail parties. Another sip brought it forward and into focus.
The spy network
. That was it. My father told me years ago that CIA spooks regularly worked political parties in Georgetown—wherever influential politicians and government officials gathered. Waiters, servers, kitchen staff moved freely about the crowds—invisible. No one noticed them, so it was easy to eavesdrop and report back everything they overheard.

Remembering more clearly now, I pictured my father shaking his head in wry amusement when he told the stories of colleagues who drank too much. Espionage professionals knew that it was easy for secrets to slip out wherever liquor was flowing. Influential congressmen, senators, ambassadors, and diplomats liked to think they were careful, but the truth was they frequently slipped—and didn't even remember.

Another thought wiggled forward as I watched Aggie efficiently working around clusters of congressman and staffers. Replenishing drinks, removing empty glasses, moving through the room, pausing at each group.