Poisoned Politics (13 page)

I laughed softly. “I figured you'd be pleased. I also think you'll get a kick out of Danny's rules for the weekend.”

“Rules? Something kinky, I hope? I'll have my lingerie shop send over something appropriate. Now, tell me. What are ‘the rules'?”

“Very simple, actually. No wine, no liquor. Just us.”

Samantha laughed so hard, I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Meanwhile, I snitched a chunk of juicy tomato and popped it into my mouth.
Delicious
.

_____

“On the evening newscast. Perfect,” Spencer's deep voice sounded over the phone.

“Yeah, I thought so. The kid's wallet and ID were right there. Houston cops couldn't miss it. I figured it would take until today for the local cops to pick up on it. They were already looking for him.”

“Yes, Larry Fillmore called and told me he'd heard various staffers were questioned last week, so police already knew Levitz left town.”

Raymond took another drag on his cigarette as he slowed his pace down K Street.
Damn!
He couldn't even talk and walk at the same time anymore. He veered from the sidewalk into Farragut Square's small park on the corner at 17th and K Street. “Things will start to die down now. Wilson is dead and buried. Widow Wilson has taken over his seat. And the sleazy staffer who sold drugs on the side has taken the same poison he was delivering. Nice and tidy ending.”

“Let's hope. I told Larry to start leaking info about photos of Wilson and Calhoun to his
D.C. Dirt
source. Let the press start to speculate about it. Were they blackmail photos? Then, drop hints about Wilson's widow. Gradually build suspicion that she was going to use the photos in a divorce. That ought to put the matter to rest. Logical conclusion that Wilson ended it all after learning about his wife's plan to divorce him and use the photos.”

Raymond chuckled. “Sounds good. I'll give my guy at the
Post
a heads up. Maybe he'll bite. See if we can get some mainstream coverage on that. At the least, it'll be fun to watch the Widow Wilson squirm.” Raymond relaxed against the green bench and laughed. Spencer's laughter already echoed across the phone.

thirteen

Tuesday

I switched songs on
my iPod as I leaned against the stone bridge wall on 31st Street that arched over the C&O Canal. The canal ran parallel between Georgetown's main drag, M Street, and the Potomac River only two blocks away. I checked my watch again: 5:35 a.m. Early enough so not many cars drove past me on the bridge. High-rise office buildings and condo apartments lined most of the two blocks between me and the river. Riverfront views were as gorgeous as they were pricey.

But I didn't even bother looking toward the river; my attention was fixed on the towpath, the half-dirt, half-paved trail that bordered the canal. Barge-pulling mules once trod that path three hundred years ago. Now, runners and tourists used the path, which ran all the way to Great Falls in Virginia.

It was a perfect early August morning—before the heat rose and there was only a whisper of humidity. Since I'd forced myself to get up an hour earlier than usual, I knew I should really take advantage of this gorgeous weather and start my morning run. Instead, I stood waiting and watching. Watching for tall, slender, blond Natasha Jorgensen to come striding along. She'd told me she ran along the canal every morning between Rock Creek Parkway and Key Bridge, starting at five thirty. Surely, I hadn't missed her. I'd gotten to my 31st Street stone bridge perch by five fifteen.

I peered down the stretch of canal towpath that led from the parkway, searching for signs of a woman running. I'd seen several runners since I'd arrived, but they were all men. All except a lone slender gray-haired woman, and I doubted young Natasha had suddenly decided to go gray.

Then, my eyes picked up a speck behind the overhanging trees. I waited, and sure enough, the figure of a woman appeared, running along the towpath. I yanked out the earbuds and shoved my little music player into my pocket as I headed from the bridge down to the towpath along the canal. The runner was tall, blond, and slender, so I gambled it was Natasha and waited for her to pass me to confirm.

A scant two minutes later, Natasha Jorgensen passed by and I set off in her wake, picking up my pace. I called out, “Hey, Natasha!”

Natasha jerked around and stared at me, wide-eyed, clearly startled. I waved and smiled as I closed the distance, and I watched a look of recognition flash over her face.

“Hey, Molly!” she said as I pulled beside her.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you,” I said, matching her stride. “I remember you said you ran really early here, so I thought I'd give it a try. Escape the summer heat, you know?” Thanks to my regular running with Danny, my stamina had increased these last four months so I could run at a good pace and talk without losing my breath.

“I love it early like this,” Natasha said, glancing around. “It's so pretty and you can really hear the birds without so many cars driving up above.” She pointed to the main thoroughfare of M Street above.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you,” I ventured. “Some people don't like to talk while they run.”

Natasha shook her head. “Naw. It's okay. I was just going through a lot of stuff in my head. There's a lot going on.”

I spotted another runner up ahead, coming our way. Sweating, T-shirt stuck to his chest. Notre Dame. Another runner right behind. Buzzed haircut said military. More runners would appear. Early morning was prime time to run before tackling rush hour traffic. Meanwhile, I figured I'd better ask the question I'd gotten up so early for. If I could find a way to ease into it.

“You know, there's another reason I decided to run early today. There's something I wanted to ask you, Natasha. You know that gossip in the
D.C. Dirt
about the Hill staffer supplying pills to people? Samantha said Quentin Wilson told her you had a friend who could get him pills. Was that the same guy?”

Natasha immediately lowered her head, staring at the ground as we ran rather than at the trail ahead. After a few seconds her quiet voice answered. “Yes, it was. Congressman Wilson looked so haggard and jumpy a few months ago, and he was starting to snap at people. I was worried about him. So, I told him about this guy I know, a friend from college, who worked over at Congressional Research Service.”

Natasha went quiet while we ran past the balcony of the café restaurant where Danny and I had lunch the day he first walked back into my life. The café was empty now. Too early for customers. I deliberately matched my stride to Natasha's so we would be in rhythm. Meanwhile, I chose my next words carefully.

“I don't know if you saw the local TV news last night, but it sounds like the young man they found dead in Houston is that same guy. This morning's news said his name was Gary Levitz, and they mentioned he worked on Capitol Hill.”

Natasha didn't answer right away, so we strode together in silence along the towpath, only the sound of our sneakers hitting the dirt path. Key Bridge lay up ahead, its shadowed underpass arching over the towpath and canal. My radar always went on alert whenever I ran beneath that huge bridge that stretched from Virginia across the Potomac River and the canal before emptying into Georgetown's M Street. Danny had warned me to be careful if I ran there alone. During the summer, drunks and vagrants would sleep off the previous night's binge beneath that protective concrete arch.

“Yes, I saw the news last night,” Natasha finally spoke. “And I knew it was Gary. I just knew it. It's so awful. First, Congressman Wilson. Now Gary. All because of those stupid pills!”

“I'm sorry you lost your friend, Natasha. Had you known him long?”

She wiped her hand beneath her nose as we neared the underpass. “I'd gone to school with him back at the University of Minnesota. We dated a few times. And we both came to the Hill the same year. Gary was a smart guy, and he never did any drugs that I know of in college. So I was really surprised when he told me what he was doing now. But Gary insisted his uncle was a doctor, and it was okay to fill extra prescriptions. So I told myself it was okay. I mean, his uncle was a
doctor,
after all. Surely, it would be all right.” She went silent for several long strides. “But it wasn't. And the Congressman is dead. And now Gary is dead. Part of me still feels guilty. I should never have told Congressman Wilson about Gary.”

“Don't do that to yourself, Natasha,” I consoled as we approached the underpass. “You were trying to help the Congressman. Quentin Wilson chose to take those pills that night. We'll never know if he did it deliberately or accidentally. Who knows what was going on in his mind? I think the police said he was drinking, so that had to cloud his judgment.”

My words echoed as we ran beneath the concrete span. The low rumble of tires vibrated on the asphalt above our heads, reverberating around us and side to side. I peered into the darker crevices beneath the span as we passed. No vagrants to be seen, just the distinct odor of urine rising in the early morning air to greet us.

“Maybe I couldn't have stopped Congressman Wilson, but I might have been able to stop Gary.” An anxious tone captured her voice now. “When police first questioned me at Chertoff's office, they asked if I knew anything about Wilson's Vicodin prescriptions. I told them I'd seen pill bottles on his desk. That's all. I admit I was scared. I didn't want police to think I was involved in Gary's business. But now I'm feeling guilty. If I'd told police what Gary was doing, then he wouldn't have gone running off to Texas. He'd be in trouble with the police, but Gary would still be alive!”

“You don't know that, Natasha. Gary knew exactly when the police started asking questions. You know how stuff spreads all over the Hill. No way were you the only one who knew about his side business. I'll bet Gary got texts the minute the detectives showed up on Capitol Hill. He probably took off for Texas the moment word spread.”

Natasha was silent as we strode along the canal, traffic noise of M Street getting louder and closer. “This is where I like to turn,” she said.

We slowed our strides and turned around to return the way we came. Traffic had increased on Key Bridge in the scant few minutes since we'd first passed beneath. Suddenly, something Natasha had said a moment ago came back into my mind.

“I'm assuming Gary had a car,” I asked, edging into my question.

“Yes. He'd just bought a new one. A Mazda. Really pretty. Bright blue.”

“Boy, Texas is a long drive from Washington.”

“He didn't drive. He told me he flew to Dallas, then took a bus somewhere else.”

My little buzzer went off. “So you must have talked to him after he got to Texas.”

“Yes. He called me after he got there. He wouldn't tell me where he was, just some motel. I told him to be careful and stay in touch.”

“Why'd he take a plane then a bus? Did he run out of money or something?” I probed.

“You know, I asked him that. He said he couldn't use his car, but he didn't explain why. Just said he needed to fly into Dallas, then take a bus and pay cash for everything.”

The word “needed” flashed in my mind. “That's kind of weird. I wonder if he was meeting someone there?” I conjectured out loud. “Did he mention anyone?”

“Not exactly. But I got the feeling he was. When I asked how long he would be there, he said probably only a couple of days. He'd be moving someplace else as soon as he got a new ID. Of course, that really worried me.”

Hmmmm.
I pondered as we returned beneath the underpass. This time, another runner passed us by. Probably military from the look of him.

“A new ID, huh? Sounds like Gary might have been making a run for the border. Or, maybe simply start working some job with his new identity. There're a lot of big cities in Texas, and they're spread out. Lots of little towns surrounding them where he could blend in. A lot easier than in Mexico.”

“Oh, I wish he had! Maybe he'd still be alive and safe.”

“And maybe not. It sounds like Gary had more problems bedeviling him than you knew. Otherwise, he wouldn't have taken his own life.”

We strode past the Park Service barge used to give tourists a ride down the Canal in good weather. The sun was beginning its morning climb. I could feel the temperature and humidity rise together—in tandem.

“Oh, Gary
…
why did you do it?” Natasha asked sadly.

“We'll never know. None of us really knows what's going on inside another person's head, even if they're a loved one. My husband killed himself years ago during his third term. He was brilliant and passionate and cared so much for the people he represented in Colorado. Yet
…
he shot himself. After all these years, I still haven't figured out why. Why would he end his life like that? I have no answers. The reasons died with him.”

Natasha glanced at me as we approached the next access point to the connecting streets. “I'd heard about that, Molly. I'm sorry.”

“Keep the good memories of Gary,” I advised, not allowing myself to dwell with those sad memories from the past. They had a power of their own. “That's what I did, and I kept Dave alive for his daughters. Listen, I'm going to head back to my house so I can get ready for the office. Take care, Natasha, and let's stay in touch, okay?”

“I will. And thanks.” Natasha gave me a little smile before I turned off the towpath and headed toward Wisconsin Avenue and the streets above.

_____

“Good morning, Molly,” Luisa greeted. “There's a beautiful surprise waiting in your office. From the colonel.” She gave me that Cheshire cat smile of hers.

I had to laugh as I walked down the hallway toward my office. “Danny is retired from the Marines, Luisa. So, he's no longer a colonel. Technically.”

Luisa gave a dismissive wave as she walked beside me. “Once a colonel, always a colonel. That's what I say.”

It was hard to argue with reasoning like that, so I switched subjects. “How're those grandbabies of yours doing?”

“Getting bigger by the day,” Luisa beamed. “I've got more pictures I'll show you later. But right now, you'd best get to your office. There was a note attached to your gift, so I imagine you'll want to answer it. Oh, and I brought you a mug of coffee, so you won't be interrupted.”

I grinned at Luisa the Matchmaker. “Thanks, Luisa, you're a sweetheart. I'll read that note right away. And I'll send Danny your regards.”

Luisa simply grinned conspiratorially before she headed toward the upstairs stairway.

Sure enough, there was a vase of brilliant summer roses in the middle of my desk. Crimson red, coral pink, snow white, and sunshine yellow rimmed with red. Gorgeous. I settled into my desk chair and opened the small white envelope taped to the vase. The handwritten message was short.

“Thinking of you. Love, Danny.”

I read those five words and felt their message work through me. And their meaning.

Oh, God
…
the “L” word. Now what?

I experienced a brief flush of anxiety sweep over me. Neither Danny nor I had ever used the word. Not with each other. Now Danny had done it. Served the ball into my court. Thrown down the gauntlet.
Crap. Now what?

I stared at the little card, the words taunting me.
This is a test. I know it is.
Danny said it first just to see what I'd do. Sneaky. What could you expect from someone who'd spent years creeping around jungles, deserts, whatever. I put the card beside my cell phone and picked up my coffee, hoping the caffeine would settle my thoughts.

No such luck. All it did was allow the two competing Voices Inside My Head to have at it.

For God's sake! What are you agonizing about, woman?
Crazy Ass insisted.
Of course, you love him!