Senate Cloakroom Cabal (24 page)

I had the feeling this was not a spur of the moment thing. “Oh?” I looked at her questioningly.

“Okay. There is someone waiting there for us.”

I grinned. “A mysterious person. How could I possibly turn you down? What hath murder wrought?”

“A lot of interest and maybe some cooperation.”

We headed for the elevator chatting amiably. I enjoyed how comfortable she was with me. We took the Senate subway to the Capitol. This was going to be quite a week for her, with the cosponsored bill being presented tomorrow, followed by her Style profile the following day. Senator Roanne Elizabeth McAllister Dalton was coming out.

We entered the dining room and weaved between tables. I saw a familiar gentleman with white hair and a permanent tan rising to greet us. Senator Dalton preceded me and hugged her father. I came next, but we only shook hands. Talk about a power move. “Governor.”

He had a glint in his eye. “Ms. Wolfe.” He had inserted himself where he ached to be.

The senator and I sat, Rufus McAllister followed. “Where's Michael?” I asked.

Roanne was still smiling. “Hopefully returning from police headquarters.”

Rufus turned to me sporting a wily grin. “You are one astute young lady,
Laura
.”

“Why, thank you,
Rufus
.”

He emitted a low laugh.

“Dad's here because he has something to discuss and intends to become a part of our
war room
.”

I enjoyed their being so relaxed with each other.

“Yup. Ro and I are doing a little horse trading. I want to thank you, Laura. I honestly had not intended for Ro to see the note I wrote to you. But I'm more than pleased she did.”

I nodded. The waiter arrived to take our orders. Rufus and Roanne ordered the Senate dining room's famous navy bean soup and prodded me to do the same. I gathered that this was to be a social hour before we got to the serious stuff.

Michael arrived as I was enjoying the soup. He ordered an entrée and then told us about being interviewed by Max, which had gone very well. When the subject got around to the presentation of the cosponsored drug bill, I learned that Rufus would be in the Senate gallery. Ro asked if I would please be her guest in the balcony instead of sitting in the press gallery.

That surprised me, but the offer of not having to mix in with a gaggle of Capitol Hill correspondents was too tempting to refuse. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Tomorrow's going to be a great step in Ro's career,” Rufus said. “Can you believe I never wanted her to run for the office?” he chortled.

I was right in thinking the real action was yet to come. I was invited to be at Roanne's apartment for a catered meal at 6:00. This was to be a strategy session. The combination of Mort's murder and the cosponsored bill was going to take a huge swipe at the power structure in the Senate.

Following lunch, Rufus went off to see Harold Raines, their state's senior senator and his former law clerk. I felt a little arm-twisting was about to take place.

I looked at Roanne. “I need to speak with you.”

She paused. “Something wrong?”

“No, but there may be areas we move into that might need legal advice,” I answered quietly. “Could we walk out, I wouldn't want . . . I'm told the congressional underground has ears most everywhere.”

“Certainly.”

Once in the great corridor, I softly resumed. “Jerry was a criminal defense attorney before moving over to corporate law. I think we may be entering into areas where a little legal advice may be useful. Jerry's very trustworthy.”

She smiled. “I wouldn't doubt that for a minute.”

“He's a great sounding board for me, and God knows I need one.”

She laughed lightly. She and I were almost the same height, she maybe being an inch taller. She looked at me, slightly cocking her head. “It must be wonderful to be in love with a man who is also such a good friend.”

That choked me. I cleared my throat. “More than I can tell you.” I sensed a little sorrow in her and wanted to touch her arm reassuringly but held back.

Roanne smiled. “I saw how he moved around last night. He observes well and stays out of the way, even though he and Captain Walsh are close friends.”

“We both know we're not the show. He is a great listener and remembers everything.”

“I'm sure it will be fine. I can't see where Michael would have a problem with it. I'll ask my father, too. It's his confidentiality with the Rogers information I'm thinking about.”

I rode back with her to Dirksen and then walked to Union Station.

At the paper, I stopped at my desk long enough to drop off my bag and to pick up my research files on the various Capitol Hill involvement I was encountering and went to Lassiter's office. I brought her up to speed with what was swirling around up there. She confirmed that the Style piece would run the day after tomorrow, following the introduction of the Szymanski/Dalton bill, and asked that I write a sidebar for Style, two or three inches, mentioning the bill.

I went to my cubicle and called Max. He had talked with Reed Davis, the special agent in charge of the FBI's Washington field office, and another participant from last year's case.

“Which means what?” I asked.

“We're using their computers and manpower to track the perp. He was definitely brought up here to do a job. He left Miami two days before . . .”

“That would be the day Michael, Tyrell, and I had drinks with Mort.”

“Yes. He flew back to Miami the night of the killing.”

“Sounds like a hit man to me.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he chided.

I was pumped. When he used that expression, it meant my instincts were right on, but there were no facts to support them.

“Because the Capitol Police don't like MPD cops wandering around in their buildings, we find it easier to involve the Justice Department—”

“Is that another reason for bringing Reed into this?”

“It helps more when we have already involved them. Mr. Horne and Mr. Ward were completely open about their covert operation on the late Mr. Stroble. Along with your corroboration, the picture is very clear as to what we are dealing with.”

54

M
ichael escorted Senator Crawford into Roanne's office. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“No thanks, Michael.”

Michael went out and closed the door.

“Let's sit in the comfortable chairs,” Roanne said. She grabbed a bottle of water off her desk, and they sat.

“Thank you for your time, Gavin. I have given considerable thought to what I'm about to say. I've discussed it thoroughly with Michael, and he's promised he won't quit over it.”

“My, you pique my interest. You're not planning a coup are you?”

She laughed. “I hadn't thought of that, but . . . I have strong concerns about Tutoxtamen and the outrageous cost of prescription drugs.”

“I believe you mentioned both to me over a lovely lunch.”

Gavin's very engaging, she thought. “I have been asked by Al Szymanski to cosponsor his extensive and thorough drug bill, doing away with Howard/ Wasserman. I've spent hours with Al and three of his colleagues and find the bill to be comprehensive and very workable.”

Gavin's expression had not changed, and he had made no effort to interrupt.

She continued, “It also speaks to controlling the costs on drugs initially developed by government-supported organizations.”

“In other words, rewrite how the pharmaceutical industry does business.”

“Would that we could. I realize this will meet with an explosion of opposition, but somebody has to take the first step and who is lower on the rung than I? The pharmas are the tail wagging the dog, and this dog wants to bite back.” She felt flushed and took a drink.

“Is this your way of asking me to be your pallbearer?” he asked seriously, before breaking into a big grin. “This isn't fair, you realize that, don't you? You can always go back and teach history in a nice, plushy university. I'd have to learn how to work for a living.”

She felt warmed by his free and easy style. “True, I have little to lose. But I'm not interested in losing. That happened to me once, and I didn't like it. I want to win this even more than I did my first pageant's crown.”

“My, you must be serious. So, I'd make it fifty votes. You counting on the vice president?”

“No. There are two others. Harold Raines and Jean Witherspoon.”

“They've agreed?”

“Jean and I have had casual conversations over the plight of seniors and the poor. She told me she admired my stand against the leadership over Tutoxtamen. Harold is on the cusp, but he used to work for my father, comprende?”

“Plus two makes it fifty-two. That's a safe margin. Anyone else?”

“According to the
Washington Daily Star
's Senior Congressional Reporter—”

“Claire?”

“Yes, you know her?”

“She did a piece on me two years ago. She was looking into earmarking. I got my piece tacked onto the late September HHS budget. I had a plan to entice developers into building some low-cost housing units for low- or no-income seniors. We based the rental schedule on the Section Eight HUD rent reimbursements. I got $37 million.

“The deal required my state to match the federal grant with money and/or in-kind real estate owned by the state, counties, or municipalities, which all had to be convenient to shopping. No small task.

“We began our first construction a little over a year ago, and hopefully the building work won't stop as teams of negotiators all around the state work with the local authorities to procure land for more units. Habitat for Humanity took over one project, with us supplying all the materials. That savings in labor stretched our dollars.

“Former President Jimmy Carter and his wife spent a week there, as did hundreds of volunteers who rotated in and out. A cadre of professionals has been able to provide much of the construction supervision while training House Captains to fill in where needed. I'll tell you this, those buildings are solidly built . . . lots of nails.” He smiled. “That's an inside Habitat joke.”

“This is astonishing. Everybody should be doing it,” Dalton said awestruck.

He nodded. “When we finish, we're projecting we'll have over 9,000 units of 600-square-foot apartments . . . a bedroom, kitchen, bath, and living room . . . in a low-rise campus setting. Each senior community will have 300 units or so. The local jurisdictions will be responsible for the common building: a place for residents to commune, play cards, dance, a sort of clubhouse. Local Social Services will interview applicants, who must have been a full-time resident of the state for two years and a continuous member of the community where they apply for one year. Newcomers go to the bottom of the list.

“We don't want to be flooded with people from other states, as happened when new homeless shelters were built. We have a large population of poor senior citizens, and they come first. Some people back home want to up the restrictions to five and three years, respectively.”

Roanne Dalton was in total admiration of what she'd just heard. Afraid she was gaping, she took a long drink from her water bottle, and then asked, “I'm sorry, was that a yes or a no?”

“Did I go off topic?” He laughed. “It's a yes, and I'll begin convincing a few of our waffling colleagues. We could easily top sixty and nuke the thing through.”

She was overwhelmed with emotion. He made it sound so simple.

55

I
hadn't yet reached Jerry, so I called Anna to make sure she would be available for tonight. Her English and my limited Spanish were both improving. We communicated a lot better in person than on the phone, but we worked it out. An absolute dear, I believed her to be a wonderful mother to her two grade-school daughters.

I sat down and began scoping out what Mort had given us. The tape might not get played in court with all the technicalities, but it would give Max and the FBI a good picture of what he'd done for Kelly, Pembroke, and the others. I put a third call into Pembroke, telling the phone-answerer that Mort Stroble was the subject of my call. She said they'd get back to me.

I called Claire Rowley. After the preliminaries, I got right to it. “I'm interested in Senator Pembroke.”

“Pembroke?” came her startled reply. “He's an easy-going, open sort. He stays out of the public eye as much as he can. He's a respected third-term senator, a family man, kids in college . . . why Pembroke?”

“It's the Tutoxtamen thing. He fought alongside Kelly for party unanimity in supporting the FDA's
not approvable
decision.”

“I hate to bust your bubble, but the senators weren't involved in that. They only supported the FDA's decision for further testing of possible side effects.”

I'd been here before. The newsperson closest to the action not acknowledging there could possibly be something wrong on their beat. `However, I decided to let it go.

“That's why I'm calling you, Claire. You know these people. Is there some sort of compromise brewing between the pharmas and the Senate?

Tutoxtamen goes down the tubes, and now they're willing to negotiate a few discounts.” I hoped I sounded incredulous.

“That's been going on, the talking, for a long time.”

I could tell by her tone that my minor mea culpa had its effect.

“Do you have any insight into Kelly and Pembroke, other than leader to chairman?”

“Not really. They are very different types—Kelly bombastic, Pembroke soft.”

I almost said opposites attract, but refrained. “Did you know Mort Stroble?”

She let out a guffaw. “Any woman that got within sniffing distance had a Mort experience.”

“He ever lust after you?”