Deadly Politics (11 page)

“Of course, of course,” Schroeder said. “I know this has been hard for you, Ms. Malone, and I do appreciate your cooperation. Just one last question …”

“Certainly,” I said, barely paying attention. All I could see was my family walking toward me, ready to take me away from the glare and the gruesome signs of murder. I could feel tears pressing inside, ready for release. I could hold them off until I was safe inside Nan and Bill's car. I had to.

“You said Ms. Grayson had argued with her boss. Was that Congressman Jackson from Nebraska?”

“No, no,” I said, starting to back away from Schroeder. “It was Jed Molinoff, the congressman's chief of staff. He was Karen's boss.”

Without another word, I turned around, ran to the open embrace of my family, and threw myself into their arms.

Six

“I probably won't find
a place to park around here, so I'll keep driving around the neighborhood until you finish,” Deb said as she turned onto Seventh Street.

I glanced around Karen's Capitol Hill neighborhood in Southeast Washington. Tidy brick rowhouses lined the street. Not a single parking space to be seen. Parking never changes in Washington.

“That's fine. I'll call you when I'm leaving her apartment. It shouldn't take me too long. I don't want to be up there any longer than I have to. It'll feel weird without Karen.”

“Want me to find a garage and park so we can go up together?”

I shook my head. “Naw, I'll be all right. I'm just going to check her closet and find one of those dresses she wore to a White House dinner. It was a beautiful azure blue. Gorgeous.”

“Oh, don't forget lingerie.”

“Right, right. Thanks for reminding me. And I've got to check her desk for legal files. Get a copy of her will and other stuff. We'll need that.”

“Poor baby girl,” Deb fell back on the same phrase that she'd been repeating for the last two days since Karen's death.

I didn't say anything. I concentrated on reading the addresses of the rowhouses as we drove past. Getting closer. I spotted the trim beige brick rowhouse, planters filled with blooming yellow and red tulips. Late March's sunnier days and frequent showers had turned Washington into a garden. The entire city was in bloom.

“There it is.” I pointed. “Pull beside that convertible and I'll jump out.”

Deb deftly moved the Jaguar beside the parked cars. “Okay, I'll see how long I can hang out here before I start cruising the area. Keep your fingers crossed that neighbors don't think I'm a stalker or baby snatcher.”

I grabbed the small suitcase I'd brought as I pushed open the car door. “Why don't you call that funeral home and make sure their office will be open tonight so we can drop off everything.”

“Good idea,” Deb said as she flipped open her phone.

I fished inside my purse for the key ring where I'd put all of Karen's keys while I raced up the concrete steps. Curved wrought iron railings graced either side of the steps leading to the front stoop. I sorted through the keys until I found the one that opened the navy blue entry door.

I stepped into a foyer with a long hallway accented by two wide columns. Doorways were on both sides of the hallway, and a staircase led to the upper floors. Like many townhomes, this one had been remodeled for separate apartments. Karen's was on the second floor. Not seeing anyone around, I assumed the other residents were at work, dutifully toiling away at some governmental agency desk. How would the government run without them?

I started up the stairs, sorting through the keys until I found the one for Karen's apartment. As I rounded the landing, I glimpsed a man leaving Karen's apartment above. Startled, I darted back around the banister, out of sight.
Who was that?

I peered through the railings and saw Jed Molinoff stuffing something into his jacket pocket before he closed Karen's apartment door.
What the hell is he doing here?

The familiar sound of a BlackBerry buzz caused Molinoff to pause in the hallway. I took the opportunity to stealthily back down the lower stairway.

“Hey, honey, what's up?” he said as his footsteps sounded above me.

I scurried away from the stairs and hid sideways behind one of the hallway columns.

“How'd Billy play last night?” Did he get a hit?” his voice came louder as he descended the stairs.

Son of a bitch
. He's talking to his wife while he's still in Karen's apartment building.

“Second base? Hey, that's great. Tell him ‘Good job!' I'll call after dinner, okay?”

I heard the entry door open and close with Molinoff on the other side. No more family banter.

I stepped from behind the column.
What was that bastard doing in Karen's apartment?
Hurrying up the stairs, I quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Karen's apartment looked as welcoming and inviting as it always did. The warm tones of rich cherry American Colonial furniture, soft green and blue plaids, colorful accent cushions, and everything in its place.

A lump rose in my throat, remembering the last time I'd visited Karen here. It was a year ago, and we relaxed and drank a good Aussie Shiraz while we talked. She recounted various “Hill stories” while I laughed. Politicians never changed, despite their promises. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Capitol Hill had them all.

I slowly walked through the living and dining rooms, looking for anything out of place. It didn't feel right being here without Karen. I pushed the bedroom door all the way open and glanced about the room. The Colonial style extended to her bedroom. A rich, red cedar chest sat in the corner of the room. All was neat and tidy, bed made with almost military-squared corners, nothing scattered about. Karen was a compulsive neatness freak. I spotted Karen's blue velvet jewelry box atop the maple dresser. Lifting the box's lid, I took brief notice of the jewelry inside then stored it inside the suitcase I'd brought along.

Checking her closet, I surveyed her wardrobe, going through hanger by hanger, until I found the beautiful blue gown. Karen had already safely stored it in a garment bag, neatly labeled of course. Remembering Deb's admonition, I returned to the dresser and searched through Karen's lingerie, until I found a luscious silken set. Stashing that with the gown in the suitcase, I left the bedroom.

Glancing about the apartment again, I still couldn't see anything out of place. What was Jed doing here, I wondered? Maybe he'd left some of his belongings, clothing or toiletries. I was about to hurry to the front door when I remembered Karen's will and legal papers.

I settled at the Colonial-style desk and started checking drawers. The first two on the left side held file folders, personnel and work-related. The bottom drawer held computer supplies. Her printer and scanner sat lonely on the desktop. Useless without her laptop and files.

Then I opened the top drawer on the right side. A jumble greeted me. Bright yellow photo envelopes were turned upside down, sideways, and wedged haphazardly. The drawer was a mess. There was no way Karen Grayson could leave a drawer looking like that.

Now I knew what Jed Molinoff had come looking for.
Photos
. Probably photos they'd taken of themselves when they were together, here in Washington or on his boat in Chesapeake Bay. Proof of their clandestine relationship.

I checked some of the envelopes. They held photos of family or friends, vacations in New England and back in Colorado. But there were also photos of my niece smiling at the camera, sitting at cafes and on boardwalks. Photos taken by someone else, most probably Molinoff. I straightened the packages in the drawer before closing it, that familiar lump returning to my throat, as well as a simmering anger at Jed Molinoff, who'd been brazen enough to come into his slain lover's apartment to remove all traces of himself and their relationship.
Bastard
.

Yanking open the bottom drawer, I finally found what I'd come for—an old-fashioned accordion-style folder marked “Legal Documents.” Inside were her life insurance policy, apartment lease, deed on her parent's land back in Colorado, and a legal file containing my niece's Last Will and Testament. Those words gnawed at me inside. Much too young to die.

Checking the center drawer, I found Karen's passport, checkbook, and bank statements. I shoved everything into the suitcase, then headed for the door. The uneasiness I felt being alone in Karen's apartment had grown into a creepy feeling. Molinoff had been here too, which meant he had a key. He could come back again. Time to install a bolt lock.

Passing the kitchen, I noticed the telephone and answering machine on the edge of the counter. The answering machine had the number “3” lit up in red. Three messages. I hit “Play.”

The first message was garbled, and I couldn't understand it. Another was from a solicitor, and the third was from a department store saying her order was ready. Ordinary calls except for one thing. The last call was received today, only two hours ago, yet it wasn't blinking as a new message. It had already been played. I stared at the bright red numeral “3.”

Jed Molinoff. It had to be. Who else would be brazen enough to listen to Karen's calls? The landlord certainly wouldn't. What the hell was Molinoff playing her messages for? Had he left an angry message on her machine after their last argument on Saturday?

Suddenly my cell phone rang, startling me. I jumped. The total quiet of Karen's apartment was really getting to me. Creepiness creeping closer.

“Molly, are you through yet?” Deb asked. “I've been around these blocks so many times, the neighbors are gonna think I'm casing the houses to rob them.”

“I'm on my way now,” I promised, hurrying for the door. Homing in on Deb's voice like a beacon, I slammed Karen's apartment door behind me, checking to make sure it was locked. Then I raced down the stairs.

_____

Raymond spotted the man the moment he entered the sports bar. His barely-seen-the-sun pale skin was a dead giveaway. Too many hours sequestered in Capitol Hill offices under fluorescent lights. Out of place with most of the weekend soccer and rugby jocks that filled the nearby barstools.

Motioning the man over to his booth, Raymond caught the eye of a passing waitress. “Can I get a refill?” he asked, pointing to the coffeepot in her hand.

“Sure thing, sir.” The middle-aged woman poured a black stream into Raymond's cup, then smiled at the man who approached. “Coffee, sir?”

“No, thanks,” the younger man replied as he slid into the other side of the booth.

“I take it you're Larry.” Raymond checked his watch. “What took you so long?”

Glancing around the noisy sports bar, something that passed for a smile pulled the edges of Larry's mouth. “Do you know how many traffic lights there are on Route 50? I've been driving for nearly two hours. Whatever possessed you to pick Fairfax Circle?”

“I figured you'd enjoy a drive in the Virginia countryside,” Raymond said sarcastically. “You guys spend too much time in D.C.”

Larry gave a snort. “Countryside, my ass. It's shopping centers and condos all the way to Winchester. You should have found a place in Arlington. That way I could have taken the Metro and saved hours.”

“Oh, sure. Like some coffee house in Clarendon or Courthouse Road? You forget those places are nests of condos stuffed with government workers. You'd be spotted before you got your latte.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a white envelope, then placed it on the table between them. “Have you moved into the office yet?”

“I should be in this week. There's a rush on my paperwork.” His smile turned to a smirk. “He can't get me there fast enough.”

“Do you expect any blowback from fellow staffers? Considering your, uh … less-than-graceful exit.”

The smirk disappeared. “Nothing I can't handle. In fact, part of my new duties will be to oversee personnel and take care of any problems.”

“Watching over the straying sheep, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Talk about putting a wolf in the fold,” Raymond laughed deep in his throat until that pesky cough kicked in.

Larry waited until Raymond stopped coughing, then pointed to the envelope. “Is that the language they want inserted in the bill?”

Raymond nodded, then took a deep drink of coffee. He needed to get outside so he could smoke. “Think you can get it done?”

The smirk played with Larry's mouth again. “For certain. I've been feeding Jed data all these weeks I've been away. Believe me, he's eating out of my hand.”

Seven

“Goodness, Molly. We didn't
expect you so soon,” Luisa said as she stood in the open doorway. “We thought you'd be taking more time off to be with your family.”

“They're all gone, Luisa,” I said as I stepped inside the Russell mansion's foyer. Somehow the cool elegance felt welcoming, with its burnished woods and crystal chandeliers. I felt myself relax. “My two daughters and their families flew back to Colorado yesterday. Nan's and Deb's kids returned to their homes in North Carolina and Maryland last evening.”

“The senator said there was a large turnout at the church service.”

“Yes, I was surprised how many people came. It was truly heartwarming.” I stopped myself from saying more.

Both my daughters and their families had gathered, along with Nan's and Deb's children. Cousins all, they'd grown up visiting each other in Virginia and in Colorado. Since Karen had grown up with my girls, she was considered one of the cousins, too.

“Peter said you were the only family your niece had.”

“That's right. Karen's father, Eric, was my husband Dave's older brother. Both Eric and his wife, Alicia, died in a tragic auto accident several years ago while he was serving in Congress. Even the grandparents had already passed away. So, my cousins and I were the only connection to family Karen had left.”

“Well, I'm so glad they were able to be with you, Molly. We need our families with us in times of loss,” she said, looking at me with compassion.

I patted her arm and smiled. “You're right, Luisa. And we need time to heal. That's why I've come back to work. I'll heal faster if I'm busy. And I'm dying to see my office. Albert said it was being cleaned when all of this happened.”

Luisa nodded. “Well, then, let me show you. It's all ready, but there've been a few additions since it was cleaned,” she said as she walked down the long hallway.

“Additions? You mean computer equipment or something?” I followed after her, glancing into the formal dining room and living room as I passed.

“No, we had all of that. These additions are temporary, I'm afraid. They won't last long.” She paused in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Light shone through a lace-curtained window. “I'm glad you returned to see them,” she said with a smile as she opened a door.

I stepped inside the room, which was a miniature version of the wood-paneled library. Burnished mahogany shone on walls, bookshelves, and the desk. At least I think it was mahogany. It was hard to tell because my cozy wood-paneled office was filled with flowers. On the lamp table, on the bookshelves, and covering the desk. Even the corner file cabinet had a vase of flowers. Roses of every color, daisies, daffodils, lilacs, even sprigs of cherry blossoms.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, stunned by the beauty of it all.
Where did all these flowers come from?

Eleanor McKenzie had sent flowers to Nan's and Deb's houses. As had Senator Baker and his wife. So had the few old Washington friends who knew I was in town. And all my Colorado friends had Nan's address. Even my ex-husband Frank sent a spray. I wondered, who would have sent flowers here?

I paused at each display and inhaled the fragrances, admiring the delicate and bold colors. Each tag was signed the same. “I was so very sorry to hear about the death of your niece. DD.”
Who in the world was “DD”?

“Aren't they beautiful?” Luisa asked from the doorway.

“They're gorgeous, Luisa, but I don't recognize the sender. Do you think there was a mistake?”

Luisa shook her head. “Not at all. The man who brought them said they were for Molly Malone.”

I puzzled over who “DD” could be, running through all the names of acquaintances and friends in Colorado and Washington. No faces came to mind.

“That's so strange. I don't know anyone who goes by the initials ‘DD.'”

“Maybe you have an admirer who followed you here from Colorado,” Luisa said with a mischievous smile. “He was very handsome.”

I had to laugh. “Believe me, I don't have any admirers back in Colorado who'd be besotted enough to follow me to D.C.” I looked around the room, admiring the display again. “Well, wherever they came from, we'll enjoy them while they last. But we'll have to move some of them because I can't find my desk.”

Luisa picked up two vases and resettled them on the windowsills. “I'll bring you some coffee, Molly, if you'd like.”

“Oh, yes, please. That would be wonderful.” Surely I had landed in accountant heaven. A gorgeous office, filled with flowers yet, and someone was bringing me coffee. It didn't get better than that.

I quickly familiarized myself with my surroundings, checking drawers and the computer, printer, and scanner. All ready to go, and so was I. I flipped the switch and listened to the reassuring hum of circuits firing up.

Technology had addicted us all. We were like Pavlov's dogs, waiting for monitor screens to come alive. We couldn't get information fast enough, so addicted were we to our many forms of instant communication. How did we ever manage before? Clearly, we'd forgotten how. Meanwhile, we were all dragging around an invisible electronic tether that required us to be constantly available.
We hadn't bargained on that, had we?

Watching the desktop icons pop into view, I was about to click on one when my cell phone rang. Stifling my annoyance at being interrupted, I reached for the flashing screen.

“Ms. Malone? Detective Schroeder, here.”

All traces of annoyance disappeared. “Yes, Detective. Do you have any news? Did you find any fingerprints in the car? Anything at all?”

“There were a lot of prints in the car, Ms. Malone, as you can imagine. Unfortunately, none of them matched any of our databases. Most of the prints belonged to Ms. Grayson. So, I'm afraid that's a dead end. However, we did find one neighbor who was walking his dogs that night. He said he was going down Q Street and saw a man get out of a car that was parked along the side. When he passed the car, he glimpsed a woman sitting inside, but he didn't take a good look at her. But he does remember that his dogs acted excited and started barking as he passed the car. That's why he remembered.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did he get a look at the man? Could he describe him at all?”

“Only from the back, I'm afraid. He said the man was medium build and was wearing jeans and a dark jacket with a hood covering his head. He also said the man walked away from the car very fast and appeared to be holding something under his arm.”

“That had to be Karen's briefcase and purse.”

“We thought so, too. I wish there was more to go on, Ms. Malone. But at least it seems to confirm our theory of a mugging gone bad.”

I pondered that for a second. “But wouldn't he run away? I mean, he just killed my niece. Wouldn't he be scared and run?”

“Most criminals who prey on people like your niece are pretty cold-blooded. And they wouldn't run because that would arouse suspicion in a passerby's mind. Walking away fast looks more normal.”

What Detective Schroeder said made sense, I had to admit. Even though there was probably no hope of finding that scum without an identification, I pressed anyway. “Is there any hope at all that you'll find him, Detective? Be honest.”

Schroeder sighed. “Honestly, Ms. Malone, it's slim to nonexistent. Unless he brags about the score, and we get a tip. Or we get lucky and happen to arrest someone he hangs with who wants to cut a deal. Otherwise, we have nothing to go on. I'm sorry.”

“I figured as much, Detective. Please let me know if you learn anything else. And thank you … for everything you've done. My family and I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome, Ms. Malone. And condolences to you and your family.”

Tossing my cell phone to the desk, I reached for the folders that lay beside the computer. I needed to get my head back where it belonged: working. Inside the folders I saw pages of budgets. Budgets and numbers. I needed those numbers right now. They were reassuring, soothing, somehow. I could disappear in them. Nothing like numbers to get me back on track.

I sank into my cushioned desk chair as I lost myself in the numbers. I barely even noticed Luisa bringing the coffee.

_____

Something brought me out of the cloud of Senator Russell's accounts. Was that the doorbell, I wondered? The doorbell sounded again, and I suddenly remembered I was on “door duty” while Luisa and Albert were away on an errand.

Scrambling from behind my desk, I hurried from my office and down the hall, hoping the visitor was still there. What if it was a messenger from the Hill? How embarrassing if I left them standing on the doorstep my very first day at the office.

I yanked the heavy door open. No one was there. Then I saw the spray of flowers sitting on the front step. Glimpsing a man at the front gate, I raced down the steps.

“Wait! Sir! Could you wait, please?” I called after him, determined to learn if the floral messenger knew who the mysterious “DD” was.

The man turned at the gate, looked at me for a second, then began to walk back. As I approached him, I realized he didn't look like a delivery man at all. He was too well-dressed. Casual, but expensive casual. His brown leather jacket looked soft as butter.

Now that I was closer, I also noticed that Luisa hadn't lied. He was definitely good-looking. Very good-looking. His dark brown hair had flecks of silver running through it, and his face was tanned with an outdoors kind of tan.

“
Sexy
,” Crazy Ass whispered in my ear before Sober-and-Righteous smacked her.

“Did you deliver all those beautiful flowers this week?” I asked. “They're simply gorgeous.”

The man smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“I'm Molly Malone, and I wanted to thank the sender for being so thoughtful. This has been a difficult time for our family.”

“I believe the sender wanted to convey his deepest sympathy on the tragic death of your niece.”

“Well, I sincerely appreciate his kindness. But I confess I'm confused. I don't know anyone named ‘DD.' Do you know this person?”

His smile spread to his eyes this time. I stared back.
Where had I seen that smile before?

“He's an admirer of yours.”

I blinked. “You're kidding. I don't have any admirers who would send me that many flowers. Not in Colorado and certainly not in Washington.” I gave him a skeptical look. “Who is this guy, and how'd he find me?”

He pulled a folded newspaper from inside his jacket and opened it, then held up the page with my jacklighted deer photo. “Picture doesn't do you justice, Molly. You're much prettier than that.”

I stared at the
D.C. Dirt
, newspaper of infamy, and closed my eyes.
Great
. A stalker. A handsome stalker, but a stalker, nonetheless. And this day had started out so well.

I pointed at him. “You're ‘DD'?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you're a stalker. Great. Now I know I should go back to Colorado. Nobody cared enough to stalk me there. I haven't been in D.C. two weeks, and I've been insulted in the press, and now I'm being stalked. Wonderful.”

“I'm not a stalker, Molly. I'm an old friend.”

“Oh,
really
?” I allowed sarcasm to drench my voice.

“It was a long time ago, Molly.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded, clearly humoring him. Apparently my alluring photo had attracted a disturbed, good-looking stalker.
Where were all the sane men?

“We went to high school together in Arlington.”

I wasn't expecting that, and it must have shown, because he laughed softly while I remembered to close my mouth. Maybe he wasn't a stalker after all. “You went to Washington-Lee?”

“Well, I certainly didn't go to that prissy girls' school.”

That made me smile. “Yeah, I don't think you would have passed the physical.”

“You've got the same smile, Molly.”

That made me feel good for some reason I didn't understand. Maybe because it had been a really tough two weeks. I folded my arms and looked him up and down, allowing my memory to slip into the past again.

“Were we in the same class or something?” I approached closer, studying his face, hoping I'd recall. So far, nothing.

“Yeah, English and History, I think … I only remember
you
.”

I stared up into his face, knowing I'd seen that smile, that devil-be-damned look in those dark eyes before. A long time ago.

Suddenly—out of nowhere—a torrent of memories surged through my mind, images from that long-ago past flashing in front of my eyes, startling me with their intensity. The scent of cherry blossoms in the spring, a rust-colored setting sun reflecting off the Tidal Basin, a spirited argument on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Words of war and dreams. A kiss in the twilight.

My mouth dropped open again as I stared into his face. “Danny?” I whispered. “Danny DiMateo?”

The light in his eyes deepened. “You remember.”

Boy, did I
. The memories flooded through me now, bringing a strange sensation inside—a lightness I hadn't felt in a long time.

“My God, Danny …” I breathed. “It's been years ago.”

“Nineteen sixty-nine.”

I remembered it all. Years of fire and rage. And Vietnam. Danny and I had argued for over an hour beneath Abe Lincoln's statue. Danny was joining the Marines right after high school graduation. I couldn't believe it. The war was tearing the country apart, and Danny couldn't wait to get there. His dad had fought with the Marines in the Second World War.

“Nineteen sixty-nine,” I reminisced. “I was leaving for college, and you were leaving for Vietnam. How … how long did you stay?”