Poisoned Politics (10 page)

Spying two young women standing together a few feet from a table laden with new canapés and delicious tempting appetizers, I figured they were Chertoff's staffers, clearly enjoying themselves.

“Molly, I'd like you to meet my chief of staff, Sonia Werner, and Natasha Jorgensen, who's newly come over from Quentin Wilson's office,” Chertoff said as we walked up to them. “Sonia, Natasha, meet Molly Malone. She's on Senator Russell's staff.”

Sonia offered her hand first, and we all exchanged greetings.

“Molly wanted to meet you, Natasha. She was Karen Grayson's aunt, if you recall. You may remember her if you attended Karen's funeral service last spring.”

The blond turned toward me immediately, her pretty face devoid of the happier expression. “Yes, I do recognize you from the service. Karen was a good friend and a mentor to me when I first came to the Hill. I was devastated by her death. It was simply tragic.” Her young face clouded over.

“As were we all, Ms. Jorgensen. Thank you for those memories of Karen. That sounds like her.”

“Ms. Malone has a few questions she wanted to ask you about Quentin Wilson's last research projects, Natasha. It appears Karen was researching some similar subjects. Molly wants to finish Karen's project, sort of in tribute to her. Do I have that right, Molly?” She glanced my way with a smile.

“I couldn't have said it better, Congresswoman. I promise I won't take more than a few minutes of your time, Natasha. I don't want to take you away from Eleanor's delightful surroundings very long.” I gave her a bright smile.

“I enjoyed talking with you, Molly, as usual.” Chertoff grinned. “And give my best to your old friend. I'm rooting for her.” She walked away, her chief staffer by her side.

“Which research project was Karen working on, Ms. Malone?” Natasha asked as we both edged away from an approaching group heading toward the canapés. Eleanor must be spending a fortune tonight.

“She was curious about some financial legislation that might be coming up before the House,” I said, heading toward one of the curving brick pathways that skirted the grounds of Eleanor's Cleveland Park estate. “I recall her mentioning it when we had breakfast together the last day she was alive. I know that may sound strange, trying to follow up on some vague comment.” I deliberately gave a little shrug. “Maybe it's my way of keeping Karen's memory alive. She was such a perfectionist and a stickler for finishing any project she started.”

“Yes, she was. Karen was a tremendous role model for me, Ms. Malone—”

“Please, call me Molly. We're all in this crazy business of politics and politicians. So, we all work for the same company, so to speak.”

She grinned. “Okay, Molly. As to those research projects, most of Congressman Wilson's legislative research concentrated on his Energy and Commerce committee work. But I do recall the congressman expressing interest in some financial legislation several weeks ago. I remember thinking it a little strange because he'd never been interested in that area before. He was very focused and targeted on what impacted his Ohio constituents.”

“Do you remember any details in particular?” I probed. “Was there a specific bill he was interested in?”

Natasha shook her head. “No, I don't. I'm sorry, Molly. But I can point you to someone who may have more specific details. She's a senior researcher in the Congressional Research Service. Congressman Wilson always tried to get on her schedule. I can't remember her name, but I can find it for you when I'm back at Congresswoman Chertoff's office. I have my day scheduler and records from Wilson's office in a drawer, because I can tell I'm going to be answering a myriad of questions when Sylvia Wilson is appointed to finish the term.”

I couldn't miss the brief flash of irritation that appeared on the young woman's face. “I'm sure you will be, Natasha,” I gave her a wicked smile. “Judging from that performance on the evening news Wednesday night, the Widow Wilson seems quite the diva.”

Natasha's smile escaped. “You have no idea.”

“It was also smart to keep all your records,” I added. “Protection, so to speak.” I decided to venture a little more. “You know, Samantha Calhoun is a very dear friend of mine. We grew up together here in the hothouse of Washington politics. Both our fathers were Senators. So, you can imagine my reaction to the Widow Wilson's performance on the evening news. Let's hope her fifteen minutes of fame are over.”

Natasha's eyes danced. “Don't bet on it. That woman has plans, trust me. And I certainly wasn't going to be included. Clearly, she's bringing her Ohio lackeys with her. Let's see how long they last on the Hill.”

I laughed. “You know, Samantha had very complimentary things to say about you. For the record, she's glad you're in Chertoff's office. She said Congresswoman Chertoff was lucky to have you. You were Quentin Wilson's right arm.”

Natasha glanced into her empty wineglass. “Samantha Calhoun is a lovely person. I've met her at some political fundraisers. Please tell her I appreciate her kind thoughts.”

I debated my next words. “Samantha told me she called you after Wilson's death. She said you were just as shocked by Wilson's pill overdose as she was.”

“Yes, we spoke. It was nice of her to call. She wound up reassuring me and said not to blame myself for missing a signal that wasn't there.”

“That sounds like Samantha. You know, I'm curious about something, Natasha. I'd heard that Wilson was using prescription painkillers too. That's a lethal combination with sleeping pills. How long had Wilson been using them?”

Natasha looked up, and her gaze turned anxious. “I'm not sure exactly. I just saw the pills on his desk.” Her glance darted away.

“That was a tragic mistake on his part,” I said, intrigued by her reaction.

“Yes
…
yes, it was,” she said softly, glancing into her wineglass again, clearly nervous.

I sensed there was something else she could have said, but chose not to. I didn't push it. “I'm sorry I asked, Natasha. I can see all of this brings back unpleasant memories.” I began to back away. “Go rejoin your friend and enjoy Eleanor's hospitality. You've been very kind to answer my questions. Thank you so much.”

“You're more than welcome, Molly.” Natasha's smile returned. “I've enjoyed talking with you. Let's hope Senator Russell has another reception for Midwesterners. Maybe I'll see you then.”

“You definitely will. Shepherding politicos at the Senator's various functions is one of the best parts of my job. Of course, getting to live in Georgetown is another perk, I admit. I live only a few blocks from the Senator's Q Street home, so I get to walk to and from the office.” I purposely started strolling in the general direction that Congresswoman Chertoff and her staffer Sonia had walked.

Natasha fell into step beside me. “Boy, are you lucky! I'd almost open a vein to live there. I was hoping to find a house to share with several roommates so we could afford it. I love that area. Plus all the great cafes and shopping all around.”

“I know what you mean. It's all too easy to go shopping after work. Of course, whenever I feel that urge and my bank account isn't cooperating, I go running along the Canal instead. Works every time. Of course, I don't take my credit card running.”

“Don't you love running by the Canal,” she said, waving at her fellow staffer Sonia across the rosebushes. “I run there every morning between Rock Creek and Key Bridge.”

“Really? So, do I. Funny I haven't seen you. I'm usually there around six or six thirty.”

“I confess I'm an early bird,” she said, backing away. “I try to start my run around five thirty or so. I'm at the Hill by seven.”

“I'm impressed. Take care, Natasha, maybe I'll see you there some morning,” I said as she walked away.

The string quartet struck a couple of short chords, indicating they were about to commence play once more. I noticed several of Eleanor's guests edge away from the food and meander across the grass toward the upper patio where the musicians were seated. Eleanor's mansion had an Old World style that suited her. The upper patio jutted out from the upstairs sitting room. The downstairs patio off the main room was filled with the catering staff who were carrying what looked like serving trays of desserts.

I debated leaving to avoid the temptation of what would undoubtedly be a wickedly sinful assortment of calories. I'd had a few moments when I arrived earlier in the evening to chat with Eleanor. I could tell from her expression she wanted to speak more but couldn't under the circumstances. As hostess of this grand fundraiser, she had no time for anything more than brief conversations with her many guests.

Certainly there was no time for a discussion about our mutual dear friend Samantha Calhoun's current predicament. That would take a great deal more time, indeed.

nine

Tuesday

Larry Fillmore took the
Metro escalator steps two at a time as he climbed upward, phone pressed to his ear. “I just had a call from Gary Levitz,” he said, moving away from the early morning crowds emerging from the Capitol South Metro station. “A friend at the
Dirt
called him last night and gave a head's up about today's issue. He's panicked and wants to get out of town fast. I told him to grab all the cash he could get his hands on, and I'd call him back in a couple hours. Meanwhile, he should take a cab to Reagan National Airport and wait for my call. Promised him I'd have an out-of-town contact lined up.”

“Good, good,” Spencer replied. “I'll call Raymond and get him on it right away. He'll handle arrangements. I'll let you know where to meet him so he can fill you in. So, make sure you don't get tied down in meetings this morning.”

Larry strode across New Jersey Avenue, the Rayburn Office Building two blocks ahead. “That will be tricky. Jackson's in committee meetings this morning. I'm supposed to go with him,” he protested, annoyed. “I'm his chief of staff, remember?”

“Send someone else. Call in sick, a dental emergency, whatever. Just be available, got it?”

Spencer didn't ask, he directed; Larry noticed. “Got it,” he echoed.

“I'll call as soon as I hear from Raymond.”

Trying once more to salvage his morning, Larry ventured. “Why don't you just have Raymond call
me
. He can give me the details over the phone. It'll be faster.”

Spencer's deep voice chuckled. “Raymond only calls me.”

Larry kept his mouth shut as he turned around and headed back toward the metro station. Meanwhile, he clicked on his office phone number. Dental emergency, it was.

_____

“Molly, there's some coffee left if you're interested,” Casey said, leaning inside my office. “Luisa made a fresh pot.”

Music to my ears. I grabbed my empty mug and pushed away from my desk. Only eight thirty-five and I needed to escape the computer screen already. It was going to be a long day. “I'll need another mug to finish all these e-mails.”

“Don't you just love mornings,” Casey joked as we walked down the stretch of polished walnut hallway.

“Ohhhh, yeah. It's been fun ever since I turned on my kitchen TV and caught the morning news. Boy, the Widow Wilson must have hit every news outlet in the D.C. metro Area. I expect to see her on the Shopping Channel next.”

Casey snickered over his mug. “Widow Wilson. I gotta admit, she's something else. She was everywhere these last few days.”

“Tell me about it.” I rounded the corner into Luisa's immaculate kitchen. The wide windows on the east side let the morning sun pour in. Morning sun always cheered me up.

“How's your friend holding up under the widow's media blitz?”

I pulled the urn's lever and watched the hot black stream pour into my mug, aroma wafting to my nostrils. The caffeine lobe of my brain responded on scent alone. “Pretty well, considering. She's basically staying home and keeping out of the public eye for a while. That's hard for her, because Samantha is someone who's always going somewhere. She's got groups and meetings all over town.” I took a sip, hot and strong.

“That's probably a good idea for now. Mrs. Wilson is bound to go back to Ohio sometime.”

“She'll go back, but she won't stay,” I jibed, taking another sip. “I hear she's going to be appointed to finish out her husband's term. So, the Widow Wilson will be amongst us. What a happy thought.” I made a face.

Casey looked genuinely surprised. “No kidding! Brother, she must have a lot of connections.”

“Old Ohio money, and she's tight with the Governor. I'd say that's a sure bet.”

“By the way, my old Marine buddy with the Fairfax cops gave me a call yesterday. He said that your friend Samantha has definitely gotten the attention of the detective who's investigating Quentin Wilson's death. And not in a good way. She's still not revealing the name of the person she was with the night Wilson overdosed. I don't have to tell you that didn't set well with those guys.”

I released a long aggravated sigh. “I can imagine. I remember how the Arlington cops used to scare me when I was a kid years ago. They'd ride past on their motorcycles, staring through their shades. All they had to do was look your way, and you felt guilty. I swear to God.” I shook my head as long-ago images of those tough-looking cops darted through my head.

Casey chuckled. “Yeah, I remember some of those guys. Most of them were Korean vets and tough as nails. You didn't mess with them. My friends and I made sure we stayed way across the bridge in D.C.” His dark face lost its smile and that worried expression reappeared. “You gotta convince Samantha to tell the cops the truth, Molly. The stakes have been raised now. The medical examiner found opiates in Wilson's bloodstream along with the sleeping pills, and they found a bottle of Vicodin on the floor and an empty mailing envelope with Wilson's name on it.”

I leaned against the counter. “Samantha told me the police revealed the medical examiner's report when she and her lawyer went in for more questioning the other day. And they asked her a whole lot of questions about Wilson's pill habit. Samantha told them everything she knew.”

“Well, that's good, but she still has to come clean about her whereabouts that night.”

“Believe me, Casey, I nagged her a lot the other evening. I actually stayed over because I didn't want her alone that night after that awful woman had spouted off on all the news channels.” I scowled into my mug. “Dammit. Samantha is paying a high price for her brand of loyalty.”

Casey's worried expression deepened. “Well, let's hope she comes to her senses because she's still at the top of the Fairfax cops' list. All because she won't explain where she was. My friend says investigators are wondering if she stayed with Wilson that night. Of course, that opens up all kinds of speculation.”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, no
…
”

“Police can't rule out anything, Molly. Apparently, they're taking another look at all of the information they have. Including everything they found in Wilson's briefcase and his office.”

I considered what Casey said. Did that mean the surveillance photos of Samantha and Wilson? Wilson must have had them in his briefcase, so the cops found them right away. Samantha said the police told her lawyer the photos were being held in a safe place. “Did your friend mention any photographs?” I asked.

Casey's left brow shot up. “No, he didn't. What kind of photographs?”

“The very worst kind, Casey. Private investigator, peek-behind-bedroom-curtains kind of photographs. Samantha and Wilson, caught in the act at her Winchester estate. Samantha told me that Wilson received a courier-delivered package the morning of his death. He called her after discovering the photos. A little while later, Samantha received the same package. They decided to break off their affair immediately. That's why Wilson was at Samantha's that evening. He went to retrieve his personal belongings.”

“Any idea who sent those photos? Any information on the mailer label?”

I shook my head. “No, Samantha said Wilson checked on the company listed, something funny sounding, like Acme, Inc. It was bogus. No company listed with that name. And that Indiana address didn't turn up anything either. So it was deliberately misleading.”

“Someone's either very smart or very careful. Probably both.” He thought for a second. “Does she think it could be the Widow Wilson?”

“Yeah, both Samantha and I think his wife sent the photos. Mainly because neither Samantha nor Wilson received a blackmail message. Nothing, just the photos. If money was the reason someone took the photos, there would be a demand in a note or an e-mail. Neither one received a note. So, the only other reason would be to intimidate Wilson. Plus, the Widow Wilson has the money to hire professional investigators. Samantha said those photos had to have been taken from a distance because she has security fencing all around her property.” I paused. “Do you think the police found a message or something at Wilson's office or in his briefcase?”

Casey smiled. “I asked my friend the same thing. He said he wasn't at liberty to say.”

“Hmmmmm. That makes me curious. It sounds as if they did find something and maybe it implicates Widow Wilson.”

“Or, maybe it's vague enough to implicate your friend Samantha, too,” Casey said, giving me a stern look. “All the more reason Samantha needs to remove herself from this investigation entirely by telling police where she was that night and with whom. Her lawyer must be tearing his hair out in frustration.” He drained his coffee and refilled his cup.

“He's bald already, if I remember correctly. He's probably working on an ulcer right now. And so are all her friends.”

Casey reached inside his jacket and pulled out the notorious local rag, placing it on the kitchen counter. “There's a new story here I think you'll find interesting.”

“All the sleaze that's fit to print, right?” I drained my mug and followed Casey's example, refilling it to the brim.

“In the ‘Whispers & Rumors' column today, there was some anonymous tip about a Capitol Hill staffer who supplied prescription drugs to clients on the Hill. And it even mentioned Wilson as one of the so-called ‘clients.'”

“Oh, brother. Now, they're going to trash Quentin Wilson's reputation. Next, they'll sharpen their knives and slice into Samantha.”

“They've already started. I thought you'd seen it. Otherwise, I'd have said something.”

“
Damn
. And this day was stressful to begin with.” I took a deep drink of steaming coffee and felt it burn all the way down my throat. I picked up the newsprint and scowled. “I don't believe I'm gonna have to read this every day.”

Casey chuckled as we left the kitchen. “Join the rest of us, Molly, and keep up with the gossip.”

“You haven't been in this rag, Casey.
I
have
,” I countered, waving the tabloid as we turned down the hallway. “I'm going to read this garbage, then call Samantha.”

“Give her hell, Molly. No more protecting Mister No-Name. It's getting dangerous out there,” Casey warned as he walked in the opposite direction.

_____

I started in on my friend the moment she answered the phone. “I don't want to hear any more excuses, Samantha. You need to call your lawyer today and tell those Fairfax cops exactly where you were the night Wilson died.”

“Well, hello, Molly,” Samantha's contralto voice answered. I could hear the amusement in it.

“Don't argue with me. You have to protect yourself. The sharks are in the water now. Did you read that local rag,
D.C. Dirt?
They've already named you and called Wilson the latest in your list of numerous liaisons! Good God, Samantha! They even hinted you were there with him the night he died!”

“I know. I've been hearing from my friends all morning. They're convinced Sylvia Wilson is behind all those rumors. Apparently she was making the rounds of every party and gathering she could these last few days. I doubt the woman slept from the sound of it.”

I heard the tiredness in Samantha's voice, so I pressed again. “It sounds like that woman has a personal vendetta against you. It's gotten more than nasty out there. Sylvia Wilson is vicious, and the only way you can stop her is to tell police where you were that night and with whom. Once you do, you'll shut her up for good. And the Widow Wilson will look like the vindictive bitch she is.”

Samantha's soft laughter came over the phone. “You're such a fighter, Molly. You always stick up for your own.”

“Always. And I've got the battle scars to prove it,” I joked.

She laughed louder. “Bloodied, but unbowed, the two of us. Bless your heart. You can rest easy. When my lawyer called to give me hell this morning, I told him to schedule a meeting with the Fairfax County Police this afternoon. I'll tell them exactly where I was that night and with whom.”

I released a long loud sigh. “Thank God, Samantha. I know you were giving Jefferson Carter ulcers. What'd he say to convince you? All of your friends have been pleading with you for days.”

“Well, he reminded me if I thought my life was unpleasant now, that was nothing compared to what would happen if I became the chief suspect in a murder investigation. But it wasn't Jefferson who convinced me, actually. It was Julia.”

I pictured Samantha's daughter, Julia Monroe, a talented pianist, supporter of the arts, and as unassuming and low-profile as Samantha was flamboyant. “Excellent. I'm curious. What'd she say?”

“Julia came to my house early this morning, right after she'd dropped both girls at school. I was still in my dressing gown, so I was surprised to say the least.”

“And?”

“She announced we were going to have a ‘Come to Jesus' meeting. Her words, not mine. She told me she'd been able to laugh off all the various whispers and rumors about my affairs over the years, but this incident was
not
laughable. Some of the things she'd read and heard this weekend brought tears to her eyes. And then
…
then
she said someone at school had already whispered something ugly to Peyton. Well, I tell you, Molly, that did it. If anyone had tried to hurt my precious girls, I'd tear their throat out with my bare hands. And to think that I did it myself
…
well, I couldn't bear it. I dissolved in tears.”

My heart ached for my dear friend. All of us had trespassed in one way or another over the years. Regrets and recriminations had become part of everyone's baggage. If we were fortunate, we learned how to lighten that load over time. But repentance wasn't for everyone. And redemption, only for the lucky few. Forgiveness
…
well, that was even harder. Often sought, seldom found. Especially for ourselves.