Discretion (20 page)

Madeleine Connor would be granted use and derivative-use immunity. Nothing she said about running an escort service would be used against her. This immunity would trump her Fifth Amendment privilege. There was no right not to incriminate yourself if the government promised not to use the statements against you.

Anna had one final step. Last night she’d drafted a motion seeking a court order compelling Madeleine’s testimony. Now she filed the motion electronically with Judge Redwood. If the judge issued the order, the prosecutors could require Connor to testify in the grand jury. Anna hoped Judge Redwood would sign the order upon
arriving in chambers. For now Anna packed up her laptop and put the madam’s testimony out of her mind. She had to focus on the next most important thing: their interview with Congressman Lionel.

Olivia ran into the kitchen, cupping her hands around a hidden treasure. Jack was still outside, putting away a hose. “I have something for you,” Olivia told Anna. “Hold out your hand.”

Anna did. The girl dropped a fat earthworm into Anna’s palm. It squirmed and writhed, leaving a dirty trail of slime on her skin. Olivia watched with wicked glee. But Anna had played with her share of earthworms as a kid; she wasn’t fazed.

“Cool,” Anna said. “That means it’s a healthy garden, right?”

“Yeah.” Olivia seemed disappointed that she hadn’t elicited a shriek. She plucked the night crawler back from Anna and ran it outside, where she set the creature down in the dirt. Anna sighed as she went to the sink to wash her hands.

Anna felt strange
as she boarded the Red Line train with Jack; they usually traveled to work separately. Jack sat in one of the double seats facing the front of the subway car. She hesitated, thinking it would look too intimate if they sat together, so she chose a seat across the aisle. A moment of hurt flashed across his face, and she felt heartless. When they changed to the Green Line at Fort Totten, she sat next to him and hoped that no one she knew would see her sitting thigh to thigh with the homicide chief.

They got off at L’Enfant Plaza. Although it was only eight-fifteen, the day was already uncomfortably hot. They walked into the Starbucks on 3rd Street, where Samantha and three more FBI agents were waiting in a dark-suited circle around a small table. Jack ordered two iced coffees, and he and Anna sat down with the agents.

Sam pulled two pages from a folder. She grinned and slid them across the table to Jack. “You’ll want to ask the Congressman about this.”

Anna peered over his arm and read the paper. “Wow!” She looked up at Samantha. “The computer guys found these in Lionel’s e-mail account?”

“Yep. In his deleted items.”

“Great,” Jack said. “Any other e-mails with Caroline’s name? Or Sasha or Discretion?” They spoke in low voices although this corner was empty.

“Not yet,” Samantha said. “But it’ll take a while to search through everything.”

McGee ambled up, holding a foamy pink Frappuccino that matched his shirt and tie. Behind him were three other MPD homicide detectives, all wearing five-button suits with bright coordinating shirts, ties, and pocket squares. “You all waiting for us?” McGee asked, coyly slurping his Frappuccino.

Together, the ten-person team walked to Lionel’s office. The Congressman and his staff had insisted they would plead the Fifth rather than testify in the grand jury. Grand jury testimony was under oath, went for as long as the prosecutors wanted to keep them there, and was done without counsel present. But the Congressman had agreed to be interviewed with his attorney, in his own office. He could tell his constituents that he was cooperating, but his lawyer could call off the interview if it started to go downhill.

Capitol Hill was dotted with massive federal buildings that housed the offices of members of Congress. Although the politicians went to the Capitol to vote, they did their work and housed their D.C. staffers in the sprawling office buildings surrounding the Capitol. The architecture of the congressional buildings varied: Russell and Cannon had been built at the turn of the century and were fronted with classical marble columns and filled with arched colonnades and rotundas. Hart was the most modern, in the blockish Cold War style. All had underground tunnels connecting them to the Capitol.

Congressman Lionel’s office was in the Rayburn House Office Building, one of the less glamorous structures. Rayburn was built in the 1960s but designed to blend with the more historic buildings. The result was a mash-up of neo-classical Greek architecture and sprawling Cold War box. The entrance had marble columns that resembled the Supreme Court, stuck in the middle of an enormous white office building in the shape of an H.

Streams of young people in khakis or sundresses flowed into the congressional office building. It was the August recess, so the junior staffers wore snappy-casual. The few members of Congress still in town would arrive later in the morning; most members were back in their home districts, with their families and constituents.

The Capitol Police officers at the entrance to the Rayburn Building allowed the MPD officers and FBI agents—and their guns—to pass through the screeching metal detectors, but Anna and Jack had to put their bags through the X-ray machine. As Anna was wanded by an officer, she understood that the location was a power play by Lionel. Usually, AUSAs conducted witness interviews on their own turf. But Lionel didn’t have to talk to them at all. He could call the shots in terms of where they met. Walking the long gray and white marble hallway, past American and state flags designating the entrance to every representative’s office, Anna felt the power of the legislature surrounding her on all sides.

They rode an elevator to the second floor and followed the signs to room 2136, Lionel’s suite. As the prosecution team turned a corner, they almost collided with a stanchion of reporters and photographers encamped outside the office. Jack, Anna, and the officers kept their heads down and walked silently past the shouted questions and flash photographs. At the end of the line, Detective McGee turned back and gave the cameras a broad, gummy grin.

The team crowded into Lionel’s waiting room, where two women sat at two desks. The older one had a nameplate that said Jamiya Henderson. Anna had read some articles about Lionel and knew Jamiya was his scheduler, the person in charge of running his calendar and one of his oldest and most trusted employees. At the other desk was a pretty, young receptionist, most likely a staff assistant right out of college. Both women regarded the investigators with silent suspicion.

As the door to the hallway closed, muffling the sounds of the press, Daniel Davenport emerged from another room. The silver-haired lawyer regarded the troops filling up the small reception area. “Good morning, Jack. You’ve made your show for the press.”
He pointed toward the door. “But there’s no need for half a dozen armed men to conduct these interviews.”

“Good morning, Daniel,” Jack said. “I’ve got four interview teams here. We’ll conduct simultaneous interviews.”

“No.” Davenport shook his head. “I intend to be at each interview.”

“That’s not how we’re doing it. You can obviously sit with your client while we interview him, but I can’t let you be present for the other interviews.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

Anna watched the two lawyers like a spectator at a tennis match. Physically they were well matched, both tall and imposing, although Davenport had the trim, patrician demeanor of someone who would win a regatta, while Jack, with his broad chest and shaved head, looked like he’d have the advantage in a fistfight. Davenport had put Jack in a tough spot again. The prosecutors would never get the unvarnished truth from staffers if the boss’s lawyer were sitting in the room. On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose the opportunity to interview the Congressman entirely.

“We’re not at an impasse,” Jack said coolly. “These are voluntary interviews. The Congressman said he was going to cooperate fully with the investigation. If he’s changed his mind, so be it. He either cooperates or he doesn’t.”

Davenport paused, then pursed his lips. “I’ll ask Congressman Lionel what he wants to do.” He went back into the adjoining room.

When Davenport was out of earshot, the team mumbled their two cents. Some of the officers approved of Jack’s hard line; others thought it was too much of a gamble, that they should take whatever interviews they could get. Jack and McGee bent their heads together and whispered. Anna walked a slow circle around the reception area, checking out the enormous color photographs of Lionel on all the walls. He looked like a joyful, caring grandfather as he shook hands, cut ribbons, and greeted constituents. She didn’t expect to see that side of him today. She noticed all the photos had a signature at the bottom of the matting:
B. Vale
.

“Are those pictures by Brett Vale, the LD?” Anna asked the scheduler.

The older woman seemed to consider the question and decide it harmless. “Yes. He has quite an eye, don’t you think?”

“Very impressive.”

After fifteen minutes, Davenport returned, looking unhappy but resigned.

“Very well,” he said. “But the Congressman can only spare an hour. I hope you’ll understand that he is taking time out of a very busy day to help you.”

Jack had won this round. Now came the hard part.

24

I
n some ways, Lionel’s office suite was less impressive than the chambers of judges in the local courthouse. In addition to the reception area, it held only three rooms. The Congressman and his Chief of Staff had their own offices; the rest of his staffers shared a bullpen-like office. Anna and Jack needed a moment to figure out the logistics for simultaneous interviews in the limited space.

They weren’t interviewing all of Lionel’s employees. Several had gone home for the August recess. Malik Jones, the press secretary, was on vacation in New Zealand. Terrance Williams, the campaign manager, was out working on the campaign. But even with the skeleton staff left, they didn’t have enough space for everyone.

They decided Jack, Samantha, and an MPD officer would take the Congressman into his office. Anna, McGee, and an FBI agent would interview the LD in the emptied-out bullpen. Teams of one MPD officer and one FBI agent would interview the Chief of Staff in his own office, and the lower-level staffers in the reception area. The rest of Lionel’s staff would wait in a committee room next door. Anna was reminded of something a law professor once told her: 80 percent of practicing law was logistics.

“Good luck,” Anna whispered to Jack.

He nodded wordlessly and turned to instruct the team. He was in the zone.

Emmett Lionel sat
behind an enormous wooden desk, scowling down at his hands. Jack’s eyes skimmed the office as he and his team walked in. Behind the desk was a large window overlooking the Capitol and a credenza holding photos of Lionel with his wife, children, and grandchildren. Flanking the window were glass-fronted
china cabinets showcasing political souvenirs. A side table held a computer that was turned off. Across the room sat a black leather couch, a small conference table, and a six-foot-tall wooden sculpture of intricately carved African animals. Photos of the Congressman in action hung on the walls, interspersed with plaques and certificates. It was the office of a man who’d spent his life doling out and collecting political favors.

When Lionel’s eyes landed on Jack, his face morphed into pure fury. He stood up from his chair and jabbed his index finger at Jack. “I am not talking to that man!”

Jack sighed. Hadn’t they just been through this? “You agreed to be interviewed by the U.S. Attorney’s Office, sir. I’m the Assistant U.S. Attorney handling this case.”

“I demanded an independent prosecutor!”

“Shall I call off the interview?” Jack said.

“This is a sham!” Lionel glared at Jack. “You want me hanged so your friend Youngblood can have my seat.”

“Let me assure you, Congressman, that my only goal is to follow the evidence. A woman fell from
your
balcony. It’s my job to investigate it.” Jack could hardly believe the man’s self-righteousness. A woman had been killed, and Lionel was acting like he was the target of a trumped-up political smear campaign. But Jack kept his tone mild. “We appreciate your ‘cooperation.’”

“I
am
cooperating! But you have an army of lawyers here. Give me someone else.”

“With all due respect, sir, you don’t get to choose who asks the questions. You can choose to answer them or not.”

The Congressman looked to Davenport, who just shook his head, as if to say, “You chose this course.”

Lionel sank resignedly into his chair. “Fine.”

Davenport introduced a young associate, who sat on the couch. Jack, Samantha, and the MPD officer sat in guest chairs before Lionel’s desk. Davenport pulled up a chair and sat next to Lionel, as if he could protect his client through sheer proximity.

Lionel’s Chief of
Staff, Stanley Potter, answered Agent Quisenberry’s questions but with little detail. His hands patted his round belly as he said he couldn’t remember the answers to many of the questions. He ate a king-size Snickers bar between answers, dropping chocolate crumbs on his shirt. His lawyer sat silently next to him, seemingly content with his client’s say-nothing tap dance. After a few minutes, Quisenberry concluded that Potter believed his boss was guilty and needed cover.

Potter claimed that all the staffers had access to the Congressman’s hideaway. The keys were kept in the scheduler’s desk, and the drawers were never locked. He claimed not to recognize a photograph of Caroline and never to have heard of the Congressman using escorts.

Potter recalled the events of Sunday night. “The Congressman and I had a dinner meeting at the Monocle with people involved in the redevelopment of the Anacostia River. I was staffing the Congressman, but he didn’t need me; he knows all about the issue. My job was really just to get him out of there in time to stop by the stakeholders’ meeting back at the Capitol.”