Senate Cloakroom Cabal (3 page)

I had selected an Italian restaurant run by Greeks and sandwiched between two Asian eateries a block from Clarendon Metro station.

I'd talked to Max a couple of times by phone since being back at work, but hadn't seen him, mostly because Lassiter had yet to send me out on a homicide. His job as MPD homicide captain was keeping him too busy for a drop-by lunch during the week. That was why we were having a Saturday lunch in Virginia. Recent snow falls had made parking on the street impossible, so Max was taking Metro and I was walking.

Jerry could get the SUV out of our driveway, so he had made plans for the day with Tyler. They were driving to Bethesda, Maryland, where Jerry's two teenage sons lived with their mom, his ex-wife Beth. The boys wanted to spend some time with their new half-brother.

I had my concerns, but Jerry didn't. He assured me that at three months, Tyler wouldn't be hurt by or even remember the trip. Beth was amenable, looking forward to it actually, and Jerry promised that no harm would come to our child. His dark humor aside, I grudgingly agreed.

Max was not officially on duty during the day on Saturdays, although realistically he was never off. As captain of homicide, he needed to be ready for what Saturday nights might bring. Still, I know he kept his fingers crossed for uneventful Saturdays, where he could restock his refrigerator and maybe even get in a nap. Some Saturday night cases could run well into Sunday mornings.

Nearly fifty, Max probably had hoped for better things from life, like raising his daughter. His bright and stylish wife, eight years his junior, had changed all that. She'd worked her way up in middle management at a bank and met a man who was moving up even higher . . . to a New York City bank.

Fed up with being a cop's wife, she'd filed for divorce. That had been just after Jerry and I married. Taking their then seventeen-year-old daughter with her, she moved to New York and married the banker.

I'd only seen Max sparingly since going on maternity leave last September. He'd visited Tyler and me in November at the hospital each day, and he'd joined us at our Christmas party. I know people found my relationship with an older, African-American cop odd. His being Tyler's godfather surprised people—like my folks—even more, but most people quickly adjusted their thinking once they met him.

A bear of a man, he could be intimidating. To us reporters, he could also be cryptic and tight-lipped, giving up nothing before he had all the facts . . . and maybe not even then. To my surprise, one day early on—at our first lunch in the park, in fact—he'd mentioned something about my past. He'd checked me out and learned about the police corruption case I had broken during my reporting days in a city down south. That was the beginning of our deepening friendship.

The little bit of my face that was exposed to the elements felt frozen as I trudged on sidewalks that had not been cleared, and I felt a little pooped when I reached the restaurant. Max was already inside; we greeted with a hug. Once seated, I scanned the nearly full room. There were booths down one wall and tables tightly spread around. It probably accommodated forty-five to fifty diners. I liked that the interior lighting was soft. It made for a nice ambience on a cold day. A neighbor had recommended the place.

“This is comfortable,” I said, turning my attention to Max.

“It does have a pleasing warmth to it,” he said, looking over his menu.

As I picked up my menu, I glimpsed a couple in the rear corner booth. A salt-and-pepper-haired man wearing large, dark-rimmed glasses and a red-checkered flannel shirt looked familiar. He was sitting on the inside of the bench seat, a young woman with long, light-brown hair next to him.

“Hmmm,” I involuntarily uttered aloud. The man's face, his complete demeanor, showed tenseness. His eyes were brooding, like a parent chastising a child in public, but not wanting to make a scene.

“Hmmm?” Max questioned, breaking my trance. He was looking at me over his bifocals and menu. “What has you so curious? Not that you're not always curious.”

“Don't look now, but in the far corner booth across from us is an oldish guy, who looks very familiar, having an intense moment with a young lovely.”

“Since when, in this town, have you been drawn to older men being intense with young ladies?”

“I wouldn't be if we were in a DC bar at night. However, being that we're in suburban Virginia on a Saturday afternoon, I am.”

He grinned. “Could this be a
tomorrow
headline?”

Our server appeared at that moment, blocking my view. We ordered coffee, and Max, true to form, ordered steak. He could not order it rare, so he settled for medium, which was well-done to him. I requested a grilled chicken salad with Caesar dressing on the side.

Max ordered onion rings as an appetizer, and the server departed. “Your Christmas party was very enjoyable. I was going to call . . .”

The server brought our coffee.

“I'm so glad your daughter could be there,” I said. “She's become quite a looker.”

“Yes, well-coiffed and dressed as only her stepfather can afford.”

“She seemed very attentive to her big, teddy-bear daddy. How does she like you being Tyler's godfather?”

“She thinks it's
cooool
.”

“Sounds like Jerry's boys . . .
cooool
.”

We chatted amiably until the server arrived with the onion rings and my grilled chicken salad, saying Max's steak would be ready shortly. He topped off our coffees and left.

Max had a swallow. “You, eh, over the holidays?”

I caught the unspoken meaning to his question, but didn't respond right away.

“Did Mr. Tyler hold up well after his days on stage with your parents?” Max prompted.

“With all the attention, all the holding and cooing he got, he came out of it quite well. I was afraid he would want more of the same constantly, and I'd be the only one around to give it to him. Fortunately, he settled into his previous patterns.” I reached for an onion ring.

“I enjoyed meeting your parents. And if I may say so without getting my head chopped off, I found your father a very interesting guy.”

I peered at him over an onion ring as if I would attack, but then lightened up. “Yes, he is. I never saw that part of him growing up.”

“Maybe he never expressed himself in a way that allowed for that.” Max picked up the last onion ring and held it up in a last-chance gesture.

“It's all yours,” I said graciously.

He took it in one bite and looked at me softly, tilting his head questioningly.

“Okay. I was guilty back then, too, focusing only on myself,” I said. Max had a way of drawing me out without verbally asking. “Dad and I never had the opportunity to become close.”

The server appeared with Max's steak. We both reordered coffee, this time decaf for me, and fell into eating. There wasn't a whole lot I wanted to say about my youth. I peeked at the corner booth while digging into my salad. “Things seem to have relaxed down at the corner ring.”

Max couldn't resist and turned to glimpse in that direction. “He does look familiar. I know we're in a low-traffic area for Washington big shots, but doesn't he know that snoopy reporters are everyplace?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you very much,” I smirked. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Personally, I'd rather talk about young Mr. Tyler Fields.”

“He's a wonderful, playful, happy guy. And believe me, I count my blessings.”

“I'm looking forward to the christening.”

I had fallen way behind Max in the eating department and I concentrated on that, but my mind went back to Mom, Dad, and their four-day visit over Christmas. Their first-ever trip to see me—anywhere.

“You look like you're off someplace. May I ask where?”

“Christmas.” I sipped on my coffee.

“Ah. Not with the couple in the corner?”

“No.” I looked in that direction. They were just leaving.

Max looked at the departing couple. “Do you know him now?”

“Only as someone familiar.”

“If I said Senate majority leader, would that—”

“Oh my God. Kelly! He definitely looks different out of a suit.”

“It's the plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses.”

I picked up my purse. “I promised Jerry I'd call when we finished. Your godson will want to eat soon.”

Max shook his head. “I can't get over Beth wanting to see Tyler.”

“It was her idea as much as the boys'. This was a good time for them. Evenings were out. You know how bad traffic is during rush hour on the American Legion Bridge and going out 270. When Jerry and I first dated, she didn't want the boys near me . . . us. It got a little better after we married. Besides, the boys really love going out on
Scalawag
.”

“Ah yes. When single, you were, eh, living in sin.”

“I forgot that. I enjoy the boys, and they me, especially . . .” I let that hang.

“Since you became a celebrity.”

“I was the stepmother they never wanted.”

“Can't blame them for that, but life doesn't always work out the way we want. They're coming around. I saw that at your Christmas party.” He abruptly changed subjects. “Have you and Ms. Lassiter discussed the type of assignments you're going to have?”

“She's given me a couple of research projects right now. No street stuff, although I told her I was okay with that. I'd get to see you more,” I teased and went back to finishing my salad.

“I would think with your new stature they might have other things for you to do.”

“I find nothing wrong with me showing up at one of your crime scenes.

If I remember correctly, I increased the percentage of solved crimes in the District last year,” I said with a smirk.

“Yes, well it helped that you were on the right track and could cross jurisdictional lines that I couldn't. Plus, we all realized it was safer staying out of your way.”

I extended a hand across the table and squeezed one of his, saying earnestly. “You made me know I was still very much a part of that investigation, even when others didn't.”

“I think I worried more about you losing your baby or your life.” He rested his free hand on mine. “I'm just hoping we won't be confronted with anything remotely like that in the future.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

I nodded my understanding. “I've got to call Jer.” I took the cell phone from my bag and punched in Jerry's number. I glanced around the mostly empty restaurant and wondered about Senator Kelly and the young woman. The glasses and flannel shirt were a good disguise without looking like one.

“Hi,” Jerry said.

“Hi. We're just finishing up. What's happening?”

6

T
he Senate bells signaled an upcoming vote. Senators and staff left meeting rooms and offices and headed for the Senate subway that connected the three Senate office buildings to the Capitol.

Forty-two-year-old Gavin Crawford was his state's junior senator— twenty-five years younger than his senior senator, who definitely thought of Crawford as young and junior. However, now beginning his second six-year term, he was no rookie.

Crawford and his family lived in McLean, a close-in Virginia suburb. His kids ranged from preschool to a high school junior. All five kept the family minivan constantly on the road.

He had met his wife Mariel in a university art class during his senior year. She'd been a sophomore. They'd married the spring that Mariel had graduated, even though he'd still had another year in law school.

“Hey, Gav,” a middle-aged man called out to him, as they arrived simultaneously at the subway. “Harry in good shape for tomorrow's game?”

“Hi, Fred,” Crawford replied as he slid into the seat beside Senator Fred Pembroke. “Yeah, we did some one-on-one last night. He should be ready.”

“Harry's a damn fine point guard and a dead-on three-point shooter. Tell him for me, I wish him the best,” Pembroke said.

Senator Roanne McAllister Dalton waited on the subway platform for the Senate train to arrive from the Hart Building. Dalton's offices were in Dirksen, the middle of the three Senate office buildings, with Russell being the third and oldest. She had initially come to the Senate by appointment, filling out the last ten months of her deceased husband's second term—her father's idea.

Rufus McAllister, a former two-term governor, was very much the power behind the throne in their state. Dalton had been against taking the appointment. In fact, after H.T.'s death, she hadn't even wanted to return to Washington to close up their condo.

“It will be a boon to your career. It's a piece of cake,” her father had told her.

She'd ultimately given in. Being a former beauty queen and the wife of a two-term senator, she'd been instantly added to Washington hostesses' must-invite list. Heretofore, those invitations had read
Senator H.T.
Dalton and wife.
Three months after taking H.T.'s seat, the once-reluctant PhD and associate professor of history had experienced a change of heart. She'd announced her candidacy to stand for election on her own right.