Poisoned Politics (8 page)

“Surviving,” Samantha's drawl drew out the word. “Trying to keep my head down and stay out of sight, if you know what I mean.”

I did. “I figure you've heard about the Widow Wilson's television interview. Nan just called me about it. I missed it.”

“Ohhhhh, yes. I had several calls alerting me so I was able to tune in. She definitely lives up to Quentin's description of her, I'll say that.”

“Apparently she insisted Wilson's death wasn't a suicide. What's up with that?”

“I have no idea. But I suspect we'll all find out shortly. I sense this woman has found she likes the spotlight and attention. I could just see it radiating off her. I mean, you and I have been around a long time, girl. Some people use tragic events to advance themselves. I recognized those signals coming off her. Big time.”

“Unfortunately, I know what you mean. Let's hope she revels in her late husband's reflected spotlight and then heads home.”

“Don't count on it. My sources tell me the Widow Wilson has been conferring with Ohio politicians. Word is she's lobbying to be appointed to fill Quentin's seat until the next election. Given how much Quent said she'd donated to the Governor's last campaign, I'd say she is a shoo-in. She must be, because my mice also said Quent's chief-of-staff Natasha Jorgensen has already left for Congresswoman Chertoff's office.”

I pictured the dynamic congresswoman from Iowa. “Well, that was a smart move on Natasha's part. Sally Chertoff is sharper than most. She'll go far, I predict. And her staff will rise with her.”

“Sally will be lucky to have Natasha. She's super smart and has great instincts. She was Quent's right arm.”

“Then she'll be better off in Chertoff's office. Listen, Nan said the Widow Wilson also made some reference in that interview about her husband's evening companion. I don't like the sound of that.”

Samantha made a genteel snort. “Nor do I. But, I'm bracing myself for more. You and I were guessing that she ordered those photos and had copies, so it looks like we were right. I have no idea how much this woman knows about me, but I have the feeling I'm about to find out.”

“Dear God
…
”

“Oh, yeah,” Samantha sighed wearily. “And if she's mad enough to turn vindictive, then it will get ugly. Quentin broke her cardinal rule. Keep it private.”

“Well, at least the photos have been kept out of the papers,” I said, trying to find something reassuring to say.

“So far. And pray that it stays that way. Like I said before, the police assured my lawyer that the photos were secured and sealed in their files. God, I hope so.” Her voice grew softer.

I could feel Samantha's vulnerability come over the phone, and I responded automatically. “Listen, Samantha, I'm coming over tonight. I know you're staying out of the public eye right now, but you also need someone to talk to who isn't on the other end of a phone line. And don't argue with me. I'll run home and pack a bag and come over as soon as traffic allows.”

“Aren't you and Danny going somewhere this evening? I don't want to interrupt anything.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, and that made me feel better. “Nothing to interrupt. Danny's still down south in Virginia, consulting. Apparently some additional meetings were scheduled. Then he's got a trip to the West Coast scheduled as soon as he returns. So he'll be gone for a while.”

“Well, that's sweet of you to come over, Molly. I
…
I appreciate it.”

I heard the telltale beep that signaled she had another call coming in on her line. “It's the least I can do, Miss Thing.”

“My lawyer is ringing. Talk to you tonight.”

“Later,” I said, hearing her click off. Mentally running through my schedule, I rearranged some errands I'd planned for tonight. Considering I had to return home to pack an overnight bag, that would allow the worst of the traffic to move over the bridge and up the G.W. Parkway to McLean. Another half hour would really help. Hmmmmmm, maybe I could pass that time checking the news channels. With luck, I could catch a replay of the Widow Wilson's interview on the evening news. I wanted to see her in action.

seven

Wednesday evening

“Did you see those
two interviews on the news?” Raymond asked. “One this morning and another a few minutes ago.”

“Yes, I saw them both.” Spencer's exasperated sigh sounded over the phone. “
Damn
. I have to admit I didn't see this coming. Who would have thought Wilson's widow would come to Washington and raise a stink. She's a grieving widow, for God's sake!”

Raymond stood beside his office window. The turn-of-the-centu
ry rowhouses across the street were being demolished for new buildings. Probably another high-rise condo to block out his view. He sipped his creamy coffee. Double cream to coat his ragged throat. He'd said to h
ell with cholesterol years ago. Calories be damned as well. “It's a tabloid TV world, Spencer. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes of fame.”

Spencer snorted. “Fame, my ass. I've been asking around ever since this morning's interview and it seems Sylvia Wilson has ambitions of her own. She wants to take over her husband's Ohio seat. And she's prepared to call in her markers to do it. Her family's money helped the governor get elected twice, so he owes her big time.”

“Sounds like she's a natural for Washington already,” Raymond observed, watching a crane lift a metal beam from the skeletal remains of the building across the way. “I'm sure the others won't be too happy hearing all this extra publicity. Would you like me to run a deeper check on Sylvia Wilson?”

“Actually sources are already coming out of the woodwork. It seems Sylvia is a grade-A bitch and has run roughshod over her husband's congressional staffers these last few years. So they're anxious to tell everything they know about Congressman and Mrs. Wilson. And they know a
lot
.” Spencer's good-natured chuckle sounded once more. “Larry Fillmore is taking extensive notes.”

“I'll bet. Well, let me know when you need additional services,” Raymond said, settling back into his desk chair, his desk spread with papers and books.

“Absolutely. Meanwhile, relax and enjoy the melodrama. The Widow Wilson may not know it yet, but she's given us the perfect way to counter any suspicions about her husband's suicide. With the sleaze media's help, of course. Watch for it.”

“Welcome to Washington politics, Widow Wilson,” Raymond laughed, aggravating that cough, despite the cream.

_____

I rang Samantha's doorbell and instinctively glanced up toward the carved floral medallion above the two double doors. Unable to resist, I smiled and waved in the general direction of the hidden camera.

“Come on in, sugar,” Samantha said as she opened the door. “I've got your Cosmo chilling even as we speak.”

Music to my ears. “Now, that's the kind of welcome a girl appreciates. Especially after evening traffic.” I set my purse and travel bag on a nearby table. “First, let me give you a hug. You need one.”

“You are so right,” she said, squeezing me as we hugged. “Thanks so much for coming over tonight. I appreciate it more than you know. Especially after watching the latest news.”

I followed Samantha into her huge kitchen. “What do you mean? I caught the evening news at six. Did that woman give another interview or something?”

“Ohhhhhh, yes.” She handed me an iced martini glass with the divine pink mixture, then sipped from her crystal glass, filled, most likely, with her favorite bourbon. “I recorded it so you could see for yourself.”

I could tell from her tone of voice that this interview would not be pleasant to watch. So I took a large sip of my Cosmo as I followed Samantha down the hall to her library office. On an empty stomach, the vodka would hit me fast. “I have a feeling I'm not gonna like this.”

She picked up the television remote control. “Friends have been calling all day. They're mad as hell. Unfortunately, I've stepped on a lot of toes in this town over the years, so all those folks are rubbing their hands in glee, no doubt.” She pushed more buttons and the TV video footage ran backwards for a few seconds, then started to play.

I sank into a moss green velvet upholstered armchair near Samantha's and watched as a news anchor appeared. “What channel is this? I don't recognize the people.”

She leaned back in her chair. “That's because it's not local, it's a tabloid TV program. All the sleaze that's fit to broadcast. If it's on tape, it's good enough.” She took another sip. “And here we go.”

I watched as another reporter appeared beside the woman I recognized from the local evening news program I'd seen earlier. Widow Wilson, looking as composed and professional as before. “Great outfit, by the way. I can smell the money over the airwaves.”

“Oh, yeah,” Samantha smiled. “Quent was always making jokes about her clothing bills. Now, it starts.”

The reporter held the microphone toward Widow Wilson and she proceeded to repeat the concerns she'd expressed earlier. She'd spoken with the police and wanted her husband's death “fully investigated” because she had “questions.” The reporter probed, asking her if she doubted it was suicide. At that point, Widow Wilson looked straight at the camera and answered, clearly addressing more than the reporter.

“I do not believe my husband committed suicide. That's why I want police to thoroughly question the woman who owns the home where Quentin died. I have no doubt this woman was with him when he died. And this woman needs to tell police what she knows. Quentin confessed to me about their affair that very evening. And he was flying home to Ohio to see me the next day. Those are not the actions of a man who's about to commit suicide.”

“Do you have any idea of the identity of this woman? Could you share that with us?” the reporter asked.

“I know who she is. And this woman owes it to those of us who're grieving Quentin's untimely death to confess what she knows. Tell the police the truth.”

With that, Widow Wilson spun around and walked away between two men, who were hired security from the look of them. The tabloid reporter, clearly salivating for more, sputtered and called her name again and again, only to be ignored. Then he turned to the cameras again.

“Well, there will certainly be more to this story. Back to you, Miranda.”

Still stunned by what I'd seen, I stared at the television as Samantha clicked off the screen. “Good God
…
” was all I could manage. Then I took a really large gulp of my Cosmo, feeling the vodka rush through my veins.

“That's what I said,” she agreed then took another drink.

I looked over at my friend. “You know what you have to do, Samantha.”

She closed her eyes and closed her hands around the crystal glass. “I won't do it, Molly. I won't compromise my dear friend.”

The vodka egged me on. “Dammit, Samantha, be sensible. If this dear friend really cares about you, then he won't want to see you dragged through the mud. That's what's going to happen now, and you know it. Sneers and innuendoes won't be enough for the vultures. They're waiting in the trees ready to swoop down on you. You can't simply stand there and let them do it. Protect yourself! Give the police his name,
dammit!
”

Samantha looked over at me and smiled. “You're cute when you get mad. I know you're trying to protect me, sugar, but it's already too late. Word is spreading around town even as we speak. I can almost hear the buzz. Too late to stop it.” She took a deep drink.

“That's the cicada outside,” I countered, frustrated that she wouldn't listen to reason. “You know police are going to question you again. If for nothing else than to humor the grieving widow.” I gestured toward the blank television screen.

Samantha stared into her glass. “They already have. That was why my lawyer called when we last talked. He and I went over to the police department in Fairfax this afternoon. It was quite an experience, I'll say that.”

My stomach clenched despite the vodka. “Oh no. What kinds of questions did they ask this time?”

“In addition to asking me where I was that night and who I was with, they wanted to know more about Quentin's prescription pill habit. Particularly what I knew about the young man my surveillance video captured on the day Quentin died. They said the medical examiner found opiate-based prescription drugs in Quentin's system along with sleeping pills. I told them everything I knew, which was exactly what I told you. It isn't much. I never knew his name, just that he was some research staffer who delivered Quentin's pills.”

“Did they act like they believed you?”

She shrugged. “It's hard to tell. But I did notice their tone of voice was decidedly colder this time. Chilling, actually. I definitely felt they were looking at me with suspicion.”

I leaned my head back on the chair. “Damn, damn, damn
…
”

“That's about what my lawyer said. Not in so many words.” She gave me a wry smile.

I scowled at her. “This isn't a joke, Samantha. Your lawyer is as worried as I am. More so, I'm sure.
You're
the only one who's not worried. I'll bet your army of mice are chewing their little mousey toenails off, worrying. Everyone who cares about you is panicked. Everyone but you.” I drained my glass and pictured Samantha's bevy of confidantes and informants spread throughout the city. Unfortunately, this situation called for more than gathering info.

“Believe me, Molly, I'm not laughing. They also asked me how often I saw Quentin taking the Vicodin. I told them I didn't know for sure since I wasn't with him all the time. He kept the pills in his briefcase. But I had seen him use them occasionally when he was all wound up and couldn't get to sleep. With that terrible insomnia problem he had, anything that got Quentin all riled up would set him off. And between you and me, Quentin had been pretty wound up those last few weeks.” She drained her glass. “Here, let me refill that.” She reached for my empty glass as she rose from her chair.

“What was Quentin all wound up about? Was his wife starting to give him hell? Do you think she'd learned about you and Quentin a few weeks ago?”

Samantha walked over to one of the tall cherry wood bookcases and opened a discreetly concealed liquor cabinet. “No, Quentin would have told me if she had. He was all upset about something he'd overheard about a month ago. He was at some function in the State department and had stepped into a sitting room to nurse a headache. Quentin said he was seated in a tall armchair on the other side of the room, massaging his temple, when a Congressman and some European man suddenly came into the room. They must have been at this reception, too, because they started talking about a banking bill coming up in the Congressman's committee.” She reached into the small fridge and withdrew another martini glass, already filled with my beverage of choice and handed it to me.

I took a sip of the yummy drink. “I can't believe you kept another Cosmo in there for me.”

“Always prepared, you know me,” Samantha smiled. “Anyway, Quentin said this foreign guy was really concerned about when the bill would be passed in committee. Well, that got Quentin's attention, and he figured he'd better stay quiet so they wouldn't discover he was there. God forbid the powerful chairman of an important congressional committee found a lowly Midwestern congressman eavesdropping on him.” Samantha poured a couple of fingers worth of bourbon into her glass.

Meanwhile, her last sentence stopped the martini glass at my lips. The words
powerful chairman
of an important congressional committee
got my attention, even through the vodka. “Who was the congressman? Did Quentin say?”

Samantha walked back to her chair, sat down, then took a drink before answering. “I'm afraid he was your old nemesis. Edward Ryker.”

That name and the memories it evoked burned through the vodka in my veins. Old nemesis, indeed. “What was that bill they were talking about again?”

“Some banking bill is all Quentin heard, but the fact that this European guy was so anxious about it captured Quent's curiosity. That, plus the way Congressman Ryker was talking to this guy. Quent said it sounded like Ryker was reassuring him, saying something like, ‘it's going to be fine' and ‘don't worry.' Oh, yes, and ‘tell them I've got it under control.'” Samantha gave a little shrug. “That caught Quent's attention, and after that, he was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn't leave it alone.” She took a deep drink of her bourbon.

I pondered the words Samantha remembered Wilson saying.
Don't worry. Tell them I've got it under control.
What was the “it” they referred to?

“They had to be talking about some bill in Ryker's committee,” I said after a moment. “He's Chairman of the House Financial Services Committee. But why would Wilson get so interested? Banking bills were not his area, were they? He wasn't on any congressional financial committee, was he?”

“Nope. He was on the House Energy and Commerce Committee. In fact, I asked him the very same thing. Suddenly, Quent started researching banking legislation and all sorts of stuff outside his area. I told him he shouldn't be wasting his time.” She shook her head. “But Quent was like that. He'd get all wrapped up in something and couldn't let it go. He was obsessive that way. I'd warned him to be careful, because he could step on powerful toes. But he wouldn't listen.”

I sipped my Cosmo as old memories beckoned to me from the past. Old enemies and old battles. I'd had some obsessions of my own years ago after Dave's death. But I'd finally been able to break free of that anger and resentment and live in the present. I wasn't about to step into that quagmire again. Still, I couldn't help wondering what Quent Wilson overheard that fascinated him so much? Who was Congressman Ryker talking to? Could it have possibly been Ambassador Holmberg? He'd been a European Finance Minister.