Bloody Politics Read online

I smiled. “I don’t tell you about everyone I know, Casey. Loretta is a senior researcher at the Congressional Research Services. Natasha Jorgensen told me she was the researcher who helped Quentin Wilson, so naturally I called her up to find out what he was looking for back in July. And it turns out Loretta knew Karen and was close to Celeste Allard. So she’s helped me a lot whenever I’ve had questions.”

  Casey nodded. “Which is most of the time. You must have even more questions if you two are meeting for dinner.” His cell phone started to ring then. “Don’t worry. These guys are professionals, so they’ll handle the pub crowd,” Casey said as he reached for his ringing cell phone and backed out of my office.

  I turned my attention to the computer screen and all the new emails waiting for me. Professionals, huh? Then why did I feel like bait? They were definitely using me as bait. Trying to draw this guy out of the shadows. Who was this guy anyway?

  Monday evening

  “I’m going to cut through some other streets, ma’am. Get out of this Pennsylvania Avenue traffic. We’ll cut back over once we get closer to Eastern Market.”

  I caught Jeremy’s glance in his rearview mirror as I pulled out my cell phone. Might as well make some calls while we drove. “Do whatever you have to, Jeremy. Rush hour is wretched all over the city. It’s hard to escape. But if you’ve got shortcuts, go for it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I just sighed, giving in to the respectful “ma’am.” Clearly, Jeremy had been doing it for so long in the military, it was a permanent part of his vocabulary. Meanwhile, I figured if I was going to be driven around in a black limo, I might as well enjoy it. And make use of the time spent in the car.

  Unfolding a piece of paper I’d stuffed in my purse, I punched in the phone number that Loretta had given me for George Trudeau. I watched Jeremy weave through some of the numbered streets away from the main thoroughfares while I listened to Trudeau’s phone ring. He picked up after six rings. His voice was a quiet baritone as he answered.

  “Mister Trudeau? My name is Molly Malone, and our mutual acquaintance at the Congressional Research Services, Loretta Wade, gave me your name and number. She suggested I give you a call because I’ve got some research questions.” I deliberately left it at that.

  “Oh, yes, Loretta Wade. I remember her. She’s a charming woman. Smart too. One of the smarter researchers working there. And I should know. I worked there for thirty years—my entire career.”

  I decided a little flattery never hurt. “Thirty years? Well, now I know why Loretta suggested I call you. You see, my questions concern some research that former Congressman Eric Grayson did years ago. Loretta said you were a senior researcher then, so you might recall him.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Ah, yes. I remember Congressman Grayson well. Yes, I do recall his coming to the Library of Congress many times. As you said, it was years ago.”

  “Yes, well—”

  “Who did you say you were again? And why exactly are you

  inquiring about Congressman Grayson’s research?”

  His tone had changed somewhat, a little sharper, I noticed. “I’m Molly Malone, and I was Senator Robert Malone’s daughter. Eric Grayson became my brother-in-law when I married his younger brother, David. You may recall that David served six years in the House of Representatives too. Of course, that was several years ago.”

  His voice returned to the friendlier tone immediately. “Oh, my, yes … I do remember your young husband, Ms. Malone. And, of course I remember your father. He was quite a man. An exceptional senator.” He paused. “I’m afraid we may not see his like again.”

  I was touched by his comment. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Trudeau. It was another day, I’m afraid. But, I’m presently working for a newly elected senator who has some of my father’s strengths. Integrity and passion, for starters.”

  “Let me guess. Would that be Senator John Russell by any chance?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Spot on, Mr. Trudeau. I see Loretta didn’t exaggerate when she said you were the smartest one she’d ever met over at Research Services.”

  “Please call me George. And send your friend my thanks for her compliment. What area of research are you interested in? May I call you Molly?”

  “Please do. My niece Karen continued her father’s research into international banking and monetary issues and expanded it to cover any financial legislation that’s been passed recently. After Karen’s death, I decided to continue her research as a tribute to her. She was a very special young woman.” I didn’t say any more.

  George Trudeau was silent for a moment. “I do remember Congressman Grayson speaking about her years ago. And I even met her when she first joined the House staff of Congressman Jackson. She was an impressive young lady.” He paused again. “I’ll be glad to help you with any questions you have, Molly.

  “As you know, I’ve retired from the federal government, but I am working part-time for the Arlington County Library system. After thirty years of commuting, I really hate to traipse into the District unless forced. Would you mind too terribly if we met over here at the library in Arlington? It’s right in Ballston. You could easily take the Metro.”

  “That’s not a problem at all, George. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday night? I might be able to leave my office here in Georgetown a little early and meet you there. Would either of those evenings work?”

  “Tuesday night would be better. I don’t have to work late. We’re always busy, but there are plenty of quiet corners where we can talk.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you there tomorrow night at five.” I clicked off. Prestige Security’s team would certainly get a workout. An Irish pub tonight and a busy library tomorrow. I glanced out the car window and was surprised to see us turning off Pennsylvania Avenue and onto Eighth Street.

  “We’ll be there in just a moment Ms. Malone,” Jeremy announced as he slowed to accommodate pedestrians and jaywalkers. They were probably going to one of the cafés and coffee shops along that historic section of Barracks Row on Eighth Street in Southeast D.C. The stately brick buildings housing the Marine Corps Barracks rose behind the brick walls surrounding them. This area was once the oldest commercial area in the District of Columbia, because it was so close to the busy Washington Navy Yard. Established in the early 1800s to house U.S. Marines, Barracks Row was now home to the Marine Corps Band.

  Jeremy pulled the Lexus to a stop, double-parking along the side of the street. “Don’t bother trying to open my door, Jeremy,” I said as I reached for the handle. “I’ll hop out here. You’ll just infuriate the other drivers even more. Shall I text you before I leave or are you coming inside too?”

  “I’ll be parked in the alley around the corner, ma’am. The security team will let me know when to bring the car around.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  Sure enough, car horns started to blow, so I exited the Lexus as quickly as possible. Scooting between two parked cars, I stepped onto the curb and looked up at the bright sign illuminated above the pub’s front door. My name in lights. Loretta did that on purpose I thought with a smile as I yanked the door open.

  _____

  “Where are you now?” Raymond asked as he steered his car through the traffic morass of I-66 heading into Virginia. What had he told Trask the other day? He actually preferred the congested interstate to the speedy Metro.

  “In front of an Irish pub over on Barracks Row. Named Molly Malone’s if you can believe it,” Trask snickered.

  “She still being driven around by the security guy?”

  “Yep. Looks like he’s fresh out of the service. He just dropped her off at the front door and he’s headed around the corner. Parking somewhere, probably.”

  “You got the cycle, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll park it and put on the shaggy professor look, then s
ee who Malone’s meeting.”

  “Okay, Professor. Let me know what you find out.” Raymond clicked off and sped up enough to cut off another driver from slipping in front of him, just as another round of coughing started.

  _____

  Loretta leaned over the plate of corned beef and sliced brown bread. “I checked all of those names you gave me.” She lowered her voice, so I leaned forward to hear in the crowded pub. “The ones in Wilson’s notebook—Ryker, Dunston, and Holmberg. And the names Eric Grayson mentioned in his notes—Montclair and Kasikov.”

  We were seated at a small table along the wall, directly across from the bar in the cozy pub. The owners had done a great job of re-creating that Irish pub atmosphere, and the place was packed.

  “Is Dunston’s son definitely working for a Stuttgart bank?” I asked, then took a drink of the delicious Guinness. My plate of aged cheddar and pear slices was barely touched. Loretta and I said we’d share, but we’d done more talking than eating.

  “Yes, he is. It took a little searching, but I found the foreign employees list.” She took a sip of her lighter brew. “What fascinated me the most was digging into these other guys. We already know Ryker and Dunston are politicians. And Holmberg’s an economist, former EU Minister, professor, all that. But it took some searching to find the others.”

  She sampled a sliced pear. “I started off with Montclair. It took a little digging to find someone with that name and an international economic or banking connection. Turns out my money is on Anthony Montclair, who served in two British prime ministers’ cabinets at an auxiliary level, not appointed. But his career was mostly in the London banks. Investment banks in particular. He also no longer works for them on a full-time basis. Apparently he consults around Europe and Southeast Asia.”

  I took a bite of the rich cheddar and savored while Loretta was talking. “Who’s this Kasikov?”

  Loretta nibbled some of her corned beef. “Now, Kasikov was easier. His name jumped out immediately. I figure it’s got to be Dimitry Kasikov, who served as a kind of behind-the-scenes economic adviser to Russian leaders. He made his fortune in oil, then sold off his company several years ago. Meanwhile, he showed up on that Epsilon Group’s list of international members as a policy advisor.”

  “No more until you eat something. Meanwhile, I’ll talk. I called George Trudeau today.”

  “Really?” Loretta said, corned beef hovering at her mouth.

  “Keep eating. You’re so skinny I’m envious,” I joked. “Yes, he and I are meeting tomorrow after work at the Arlington Library. Apparently he couldn’t stay away from libraries after he retired. He’s working part-time.”

  “Sounds like George.” She took another bite of the delicious-looking corned beef.

  “He came across as a very nice man on the phone. Very gentlemanly in his tone. Hey, I’ll trade you a slice of cheddar for a slice of that beef.”

  “Help yourself.” Loretta took a deep drink of her beer. “But getting back to these guys, I started checking what kind of connection there might be with those three cities: Geneva, Milan, and Stuttgart. First off, they’re financial centers, so I checked the banks with all five names you gave me. I didn’t find much. Montclair was working in Geneva for a period of time, and Holmberg gave a talk at a bank in Stuttgart. I didn’t get any hits on Kasikov and the banks. Ryker and Dunston show up only as members of visiting delegations from the U.S. I made a copy of my notes for you.” She reached into her purse and handed me some folded sheets of paper.

  “Thanks, Loretta. I’m impressed. I think you really found out a lot.” I raised my glass of Guinness to her, then enjoyed the rich, dark Stout.

  “I told you I love puzzles. And I had that window of time to devote because my staffers were training some new hires, and all I had to do was provide advice. So my workload was greatly reduced for two days.” She bit into the cheese and closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord. My cholesterol is climbing already.”

  “One slice won’t hurt you,” I tempted.

  “You are evil, Molly. And a bad influence.” She laughed, then devoured the rest of the cheese.

  “I can’t help it. It’s too hard to be good.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  We both laughed out loud as we raised our glasses in a toast to being bad.

  Later that evening

  Raymond leaned the side of his face against the cold glass of the car window. He’d had to pull onto the side of the interstate highway, the coughing fit had been so severe. His cell phone started ringing. Raymond swiped his mouth with the bloody handkerchief, smearing phlegm and blood.

  If he could just make it home. The bottle of molten gold relief could help him get through it. Dark outside already. He always hated that abrupt change and early nights that autumn brought. The cell phone kept ringing until he snatched it.

  Trask’s voice sounded. “You’ll never guess who Malone is conferring with. Intense conversation.”

  “I’m too tired to play games, Trask. Who the hell is it?”

  “Loretta Wade. She brought Malone some papers too.”

  “Shit,” was all Raymond could say as he eased his car back onto the interstate.

  fourteen

  Tuesday morning

  I watched the stream of coffee pour from the coffeemaker spout into my mug. There were a ton of emails waiting for me, so I would need sustenance and caffeine to slog through them. Mostly caffeine. “So, how’d the surveillance go last night?” I asked Casey when Luisa left the kitchen.

  Casey stood beside me, mug in hand. We were like thirsty jungle creatures at the watering hole.

  “Pretty well. Danny said the team was able to scan the entire pub between them.” He took his turn at the coffeemaker.

  “That would take some doing. It was pretty crowded. How do they manage that, anyway?”

  “He had a camera in a book on the table aiming one direction, and she had a camera in her purse aimed the opposite direction.”

  That surprised me. “A woman? Wow. I thought it would be two guys.”

  Casey filled his mug, then turned with a smile. “Nope. A couple is a helluva lot less noticeable. More normal to see a couple having dinner together. We don’t want to set off this guy’s antennae. He’s obviously skillful or you would have spotted him hanging around you before.”

  I leaned against the counter and sipped my hot, hot coffee. Meanwhile, some stray memories sprang forward from the back of my mind. “You know, when Loretta and I met for lunch in that little park off Constitution, she made a comment about some guy sitting on a bench across from us. She caught him looking at us. Twice she said. We figured we looked like we were conspiring about something and laughed it off.”

  Casey’s expression changed. He looked at me intently. “Exactly when was this?”

  “It was last week. I had called her and asked if we could meet. I wanted to give her Eric Grayson’s research notebook so she could get a clue about what he was looking for years ago. And I also gave Loretta a piece of paper with some names I’d seen in Quentin Wilson’s notebook.”

  “You said you met Congresswoman Wilson at the Willard, didn’t you? Did you notice anyone particular around you two? Or sitting too close?”

  I shook my head. “No, no one was seated close to us. Frankly, most of the people in that lobby looked like relaxing visitors or guests, and some obvious tourists with fanny packs and maps. I didn’t see anyone suspicious lurking around.”

  “Well, ordinary is the best disguise of all. We don’t pay attention. Tell me, what do you remember about that guy sitting across from you in the park? Anything at all?”

  I closed my eyes and reached for that brief glimpse. “I think he had dark hair … and a mustache. Yeah. A dark mustache. That’s it. He was having lunch and talking on his cell phone.”

  “Okay, that’s something. I’ll tell Danny.�
�

  I eyed him. “Why not tell Prestige? They’re the ones doing the surveillance.”

  Casey smiled. “Yeah, but Danny is directing them. He’s got people going over those Irish pub photos already. They’re studying faces, getting a file going. So the next time you go out, they’ll have something to compare. Facial recognition software.”

  “Interesting.” I was impressed but didn’t want to show it. Why, I wasn’t sure. Just my contrary nature, I suppose.

  “Do you remember any other time you were meeting with Loretta or Natasha Jorgensen and noticed someone? Anyone at all?”

  “Oh, boy. Natasha and I often met to run along the Canal before work. I would just be starting my run, and she would be finishing hers. We passed a lot of people. And I never really paid attention to any of them.”

  “And you two met regularly to run there?”

  “Yes, usually when Danny was out of town, and I already know what you’re thinking. The killer was probably running there, too, and learned both her schedule and mine.” I stared off into the kitchen.

  “There’s no way you could have known that. We’re dealing with a professional. That much is clear. Never leaves a trace. No fingerprints. Nothing. Probably wears a different disguise every time. Smart.”

  I changed the subject, before those memories of Natasha’s body being carried out from under Key Bridge returned to haunt me. “So, will that couple be there tonight? I’ll be meeting George Trudeau, Loretta’s former boss at the Congressional Research Service. Five o’clock at the Arlington County Library in Ballston. He retired a few years ago and is working part-time at the library. Peter already said it’s okay for me to leave early. Jeremy and I still have to fight our way across Key Bridge in rush hour traffic. Then up Wilson Boulevard. Stop and go.”

  “Yeah, that couple will be there. Disguised, this time, of course. Target won’t even recognize them. They’ll be a gray-haired elderly couple.” He gave me a wink.

  “Two can play the surveillance game,” I said and raised my mug to him in salute.