Murder on Capitol Hill (20 page)

After some fifteen minutes, he angrily placed one of the chairs in front of the window and plumped himself down on it. He patted his suit jacket pocket, reached inside and pulled out a cigar, lit it, put his feet up on the desk and wished he were back home in bed, even with Marie.

***

While Conegli waited in the rear office, Francis Jewel, executive director of the center, was in the midst of a difficult conversation with the cult’s founder and spiritual leader, the Reverend Sylvan Quarles. Quarles had arrived the previous evening and had stayed overnight. The discussion had begun immediately after the guru’s arrival and had lasted into the early hours until Jewel, exhausted, suggested they get some sleep and pick it up in the morning, which is what they did.

“…he’s here now,” Jewel said to Quarles.

“And I ask you again, Mr. Jewel, what he has accomplished besides taking our money?”

Jewel squirmed in his chair. The reverend stood larger than life in the center of the study. “We’re
doing all we can, sir,” he said. “It’s imperative that we proceed slowly and carefully so as not to arouse suspicion—”

“Perhaps you’ve been too careful and slow, Mr. Jewel,” Quarles said. “I sometimes wonder whether you truly understand the importance of this matter. You do understand, do you not, that if someone were to gain possession of the tape it would have severe and lasting consequences for our mission.”

“Reverend Quarles, we’re investigating
every
avenue to recover the tape. I’ve even gone so far as to send people to Iowa, where Quentin Hughes’s family lives. I expect a report within a day or two. We’ve kept close tabs on everyone leaving or entering Hughes’s apartment. And, of course, we’ve maintained a constant contact within the Caldwell family, as well as within Congress itself. You know that we have friends in high places, thanks, if I may say so, to my efforts. That, of course, was one of the reasons I encouraged the young Caldwell boy to join us in the first place.”

“And look where that has gotten us,” Quarles said. He crossed the study, reached up to the top shelf of a bookcase and pulled down a copy of Jimmye McNab’s book on brainwashing and mind control. He returned to the desk, slammed the book down. “This is what it got us, Mr. Jewel. You should have anticipated the problems the Caldwell boy would bring with him, having a sister or whatever she was who is a journalist, having a father who is a member of the Senate.”

“But that was the point, wasn’t it? You told each of us years ago that for the church to survive in a hostile
America we were to do everything possible to bring to our midst those men and women who were in a position to help advance our goals. Certainly the Caldwell boy fit that criteria, didn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it, Mr. Jewel? What you thought fit the criteria proved to be wrong.”

Jewel winced. “Actually, we’ve made strides toward solving this problem, have we not? The boy is gone from here and has confessed to two murders, including the sister you spoke of who caused us so much grief. I’ve no doubt that he will be found… insane… and spend the rest of his days in an institution. No matter what he might say in the future, no one would give credence to it.”

Quarles shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Francis. You seem to spend your life making mistakes and then trying to find a bright side for them. It certainly has not helped our image to have one of our members confess to murdering his sister and his own father, who also happened to be Majority Leader of the United States Senate.” His voice, which had lowered, now rose.

“Please, Reverend Quarles, I didn’t mean that—”

“I am tired of having my mission on earth thwarted by incompetence. I must leave now to attend to other matters, Mr. Jewel. I will leave you with a message that I trust will not be misunderstood. I suggest you listen very closely to me.” He came to the desk, leaned on it and thrust his face close to Jewel. “I wish this matter resolved immediately. I don’t know whether you understand that word, Mr. Jewel, but I understand it, and so does our God. Our God is a forgiving one, but he does not suffer incompetence
easily. I assure you that if the tape is not found and in our possession by the time I return, you will be subject to the divine punishment you will have earned.”

Jewel watched the self-chosen divine take up his cashmere overcoat from a coat tree, pick up his briefcase. He turned and asked, “Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Mr. Jewel. Good day.”

It took Francis Jewel several minutes to recover. Finally he summoned one of the cult members and told him to bring Mr. Conegli to the study.

After a proper blasting of Conegli, Jewel demanded: “Well, Mr. Conegli,
where
is the tape?”

Conegli crossed his legs, exposing a large expanse of white calf between where his pants leg ended and the top of an ankle-length black silk sock began. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’ve been doing everything I could, have followed up every lead you’ve given me. I’ve kept tabs on who comes and goes at Hughes’s apartment. You told me that you figured that redhead who works for the committee might have been given the tape so I took a shot with her, but that didn’t work out—”

“And I was very displeased that you used violence with her, Mr. Conegli. You were told no violence unless absolutely necessary.”

“Violence? That wasn’t violence. So I tapped her on the head, so what? The kid is all right from what I hear, back to work and feelin’ fine. The point is that I’ve followed up every lead you’ve given me. I had the bug put in the piano teacher’s place like you said so we could get a handle on the James woman, but that
hasn’t turned up anything yet. I might bug her place, too, but it’ll be tougher to do. If you have any better ideas, just let me know.”

“Have you searched Hughes’s apartment?”

“That’s on my list. I figured I’d take a look where the girl who works for him lives, and maybe even bug into James’s place. But I can only do so much. I’m one man. If you want things to move faster, well, you’d better up the budget so I can hire some help.”

Jewel nodded grimly. “Yes, do what you must, spend what you must, but get the job done fast.” He thought of what Quarles had said. “
Immediately
.”

“Okay, Mr. Jewel, but I’m not about to lay extra money out of my own pocket. Besides, you owe me for last week.”

Jewel wearily left the study, returning minutes later with an envelope containing two thousand dollars in cash. Conegli counted it, nodded his approval and put it in his inside jacket pocket.

Conegli went to the door, paused. “Just what’s on this tape that’s so damned important?”

“Mr. Conegli, I told you when you first asked that question that—”

Conegli held up his hands. “Okay, you don’t have to explain again. It’s just that in my business, you’ve got to have ethics. I don’t like working on a case where I don’t know what the case is all about, if you follow what I mean.”

“I follow, Mr. Conegli. And spare me your ethics. I want a call from you at least twice a day from this point forward.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Jewel.”

Conegli spent much of the drive back to Rockville speculating on what could possibly be on the videotape. As he pulled into his driveway it occurred to him that the tape might be pornographic, scenes of cult people frolicking in the buff. It brought a smile to his face as he pictured Francis Jewel with a porn star.

“How did your meeting go?” Marie asked as he entered the house.

“Okay.” He remembered the envelope. “I got a bonus.”

She opened the envelope he gave her and counted the cash. “We can use it.”

“Not so fast. I need some of that to operate on.”

“And we need a new refrigerator. How come the bonus?”

“Because I do such a good job.”

“Who’s this client?”

“Makes no difference, Marie… now I want another bonus,” and he slapped her rear playfully.

True love had its way.

***

Francis Jewel dictated into a tape machine on his desk his recollection of what had occurred that day and the previous evening. He tried to recall in some detail the conversation with Sylvan Quarles, and also made comments into the microphone about what he had told Conegli.

He flicked off the switch on the microphone. One name stuck in his mind. It was the name he’d scribbled during the meeting with Conegli. He wasn’t sure what to do, whether to call the person now or to let it go until he’d had further time to think.

He picked up the phone and dialed. After three rings a voice answered, “Caldwell Performing Arts Center. May I help you?”

“Mr. Jason DeFlaunce, please.”

***

Later that day, Jewel received a call from one of two young cult members he’d dispatched to Des Moines, Iowa.

“It wasn’t there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. We went to the old lady’s house like you told us. No tape.”

Jewel took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. Then into the phone: “Come back immediately.”

He placed the phone in its cradle, opened the bottom left drawer of his desk, reached beneath some papers and withdrew a Colt .32 caliber automatic pistol. He looked at it, hefted it, checked that it was loaded. He went to where his topcoat hung near the door and slipped the weapon into a pocket.

It felt good to be running again. The morning had dawned bright and clear, the temperature having moderated overnight, which caused Lydia to wonder whether spring was within striking distance. She considered the day to be a good omen for her return to a jogging regimen that had been important to her but that had slipped on her priority list since she joined the Caldwell committee.

She wasn’t the only person who’d headed for the Reflecting Pool that morning. There were at least twenty other joggers, men and women, old and young, their outfits a contrast in style and personal preference. Some wore garish shiny jogging suits. Others were dressed in drab sweatpants and sweaters. Lydia wore one of two jogging suits she owned, this one a royal blue outfit with a hood on the jacket, which she wore up that morning.

She’d finished four laps around the pool, decided to do an extra. She was halfway through it when another runner came up beside her. “Hi, Lydia, where have you been?”

She turned without breaking stride and recognized Sanford Bain, a psychiatrist she’d been friendly with
for some years. In fact, they’d dated for a short time until he went the vocational route to matrimony and fell in love with a psychiatric resident.

“What’s new in the shrink world?” Lydia asked as they settled into a comfortable pace.

“Nothing that Freud would approve of,” Sandy said. “Couches are being thrown out by the hundreds. Short-term is
in
. And you? Don’t tell me, I read the papers. You’re a regular celeb.” They ran in silence for a quarter of a lap before he asked, “Do you really think the boy did it?”

“Not sure,” she said. “You?”

He shrugged. “
Seems
unlikely, though I hear he had his strong motives. Still, to take seriously a confession from an acknowledged cultist…”

They completed the lap and Sandy asked if he could give her a lift.

“No, thanks, I have my car… Sandy, you said something before about not putting much faith in a confession from someone like Mark Adam Caldwell. Could you develop that a bit for me?”

“I’ll try… We’ve been doing research for years now at Georgetown on mind control and brainwashing. Naturally the cults and the hold they seem to have over certain people have been a part of that research. In fact Jimmye McNab spent time with us when she was researching her book on the subject. There’s been a lot written about it ever since Korea but no one really has an answer yet. We’ve been trying to correlate all the available research into one data center but it’s been a long, tough job. All the leading thinkers in the field have different ideas about what causes one person to fall easily under another
person’s control while the next person is capable of resisting it. London and Spiegel in New York have one theory, Borne in Pennsylvania another. Researchers at Stanford have been looking at it for years. Anyway, no matter whose theory you take, the bottom line is that there are individuals who by virtue of their genes or upbringing or psychological set, or maybe all three, have a frighteningly enhanced capacity to be brainwashed.”

“Do you think that Mark Adam Caldwell is one of those people?”

“The fact that he could so thoroughly commit himself to something as questionable as that cult would naturally lead me to believe that he’s a highly suggestible individual. Someone in a trance, an altered state, might confess to anything… You look skeptical.”

“I guess I am, a little,” she said. “I can understand someone being suggestible and doing another’s bidding in certain situations, but to confess to a murder he hasn’t committed… God, that’s pretty extreme, isn’t it?”

Sandy shrugged. “Do you remember the Reilly case in Connecticut?”

She shook her head.

“He was a young man accused of murdering his mother. In fact, he was convicted of the crime. He’d made a full confession, which was the basis for his conviction. Arthur Miller, the playwright, got interested in the case and started a campaign to reopen it. He brought in psychiatric experts. After examining the kid and the circumstances of the confession, they came to the conclusion that he’d literally been brainwashed,
in this instance by the police. I’m not suggesting that it was done deliberately, nor were they. The point is that if you take a highly suggestible person, and I’m talking about someone who is at the extreme end of the scale, and place him in a pressure situation in which he’s faced with very imposing authority figures, he’s capable of slipping into a trance state as a defense against the pressure. Once he’s done that, he’s likely to go along with almost anything, including a suggestion that he did, in fact, murder someone. By the way, Reilly had a new trial and was acquitted.”

“Do you think that’s the case with Mark Adam Caldwell?”

“Who knows? All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t be too quick to jump on the MPD bandwagon just because someone with the Caldwell boy’s known capacity to be controlled has admitted to a double crime.”