Bloody Politics Page 9

  “Then enter Congresswoman Wilson,” Trask said, in a sarcastic tone. “It looks like Malone’s trying to follow up on whatever Sylvia Wilson told her when they met at the Willard. Who knows? Maybe Wilson gave Malone her husband’s notebook. I never found anything that looked like that in his house when I checked last July. And it wasn’t in his briefcase either when I got the chance to check. He must have always left the notebook at his office.”

  “You’re probably right. Damn!” The cough was starting to tickle, so he took a drink. “That’s another loose end. Like the phone bug.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve covered our tracks. Nothing comes back to us. These women have nothing. Just notes in a book. Nothing definite. Nothing that implicates the higher-ups. And I don’t think they will. Let ’em research their asses off if they want to. We’ll keep an eye on them. And if anyone gets too curious, well … they’ll meet with an accident.”

  Raymond flinched at Trask’s brutal assessment. Funny. He’d never flinched before. Not in all the times he was carrying out the orders. “Too many accidents add up, Trask. That’s what bothers me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re little people, with the exception of Sylvia Wilson. No one pays attention.”

  Raymond released a sigh and leaned over to pour more Scotch into his glass. “I hope you’re right, Trask. I hope you’re right.” But his gut had other thoughts and he could feel it.

  Wednesday evening

  I rested my arms on the café table and sipped the rich, red wine Danny had chosen. The popular Mediterranean café had filled quickly tonight and noise from neighboring diners had risen.

  I watched Danny read both sheets of paper I’d handed him. Finally, he looked over at me. “And you got these names from Quentin Wilson’s notebook? I’m still surprised Sylvia Wilson let you see it.”

  “Yeah, I was too. But I think it was a case of each of us had information the other didn’t have. So it was mutually beneficial. Those last two names on the other paper, Montclair and Kasikov, came from my brother-in-law’s notebook. I took that to Loretta as well. I’m hoping she can figure out what Eric was looking for.”

  I took a sip of the velvet cabernet. Cherries, blackberries, and more. “By the way, I hope the security firm doesn’t mind, but I gave Sylvia Wilson their contact name and phone number. I advised her to have her townhouse gone over and locked down tight. Whoever bugged Natasha’s phone knows the congresswoman has her husband’s notebook.”

  “Too many notebooks floating around. Too many questions. I’m glad you finally put all of this information on the page in one file. You should do that with Karen’s and Celeste’s notes. And Wilson’s notes too. Put it all together, so you can analyze it better.” Danny retrieved his wine glass and leaned forward over the table, dropping the pages beside the candles. “I can tell you’re convinced that Natasha’s murder wasn’t an accident.”

  “Yes, I am. And the more I learn, the more sure I am there’s a connection. We know Karen was murdered, but we’ll never know for sure if Jed Molinoff did it to protect his reputation or if there was another reason. He was hanging around with Ryker and Holmberg that night at the Dumbarton Oaks reception. And he was handling the Epsilon Group’s contribution to Congressman Jackson’s reelection fund. Both Quentin Wilson and Natasha, asking questions about the same topic Karen was. Both dead.” I took another sip. “Too many coincidences to suit me.”

  “And then there’s Celeste,” Danny said with a frown.

  “Then there’s Celeste. Who was doing the same research. And she had her apartment broken into. She swore the intruder was messing around her computer and flash drive storage files. I remember your saying the guy was sending her a message because the break-in was so brazen and obvious.”

  “But who sent the message? That’s the key.”

  “Maybe Larry Fillmore. If so, he was definitely taking orders from someone else. Someone much higher up is behind all this. It’s way above Fillmore’s pay scale.” I stared off into the busy café.

  The waiter appeared then and poured the rest of the delectable cabernet into our glasses. Danny looked over at me as we both sipped the wine and smiled.

  “I’d hate to think we’re going to waste this superb vintage talking about the likes of Larry Fillmore. I had other plans for tonight.”

  I returned Danny’s smile and lifted my glass. “Larry who?”

  ten

  Thursday morning

  At the sound of my name, I paused at the glass doors leading outside into Senator Russell’s manicured gardens. The senator strode toward me, Peter right behind.

  “You’ll be at the dinner tonight, won’t you, Molly?” Russell said with his teasing smile. “I’ve heard that you and your former Marine companion have been seen at several Washington cafés these last few weeks when we didn’t entertain. I believe Luisa refers to him as ‘the Colonel.’”

  I grinned at the senator and Peter. “I see that I’ve fallen into a nest of gossips. It’s not enough that Luisa keeps track of my social life, now there are spies throughout Washington watching me.” I shook my head dramatically. “You’re all conspirators at heart.”

  Russell chuckled as he turned to accompany Peter down the hall toward the front door where Albert stood waiting. “We’re your extended family, Molly. So think of it as ‘fatherly’ interest.” Just then the senator’s cell phone rang and he reached into his inner pocket. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he walked toward the living room.

  “It’ll be good to see you and the senator enjoying yourselves at home instead of working for a change,” I said.

  Peter sighed as he looked out into the gardens. “I’m simply looking forward to getting away from the Hill for an evening.” Suddenly he frowned and turned to me. “I just remembered something I wanted to ask you. Back in August you brought me a disc with Karen’s notes she’d made of subjects she’d researched. Her notes mentioned the organization Epsilon Group. I recalled that yesterday when the senator received a contribution from them. A significant contribution, I might add. Did Karen ever go into more detail about why she was researching them?”

  I chose my words carefully. “No, she didn’t. She indicated that she always checked out every new contributor to Congressman Jackson’s campaigns. Apparently they’re an organization that was established by some wealthy investment banker in New York years ago to educate legislators and others on global financial issues. In fact I went to one of their lectures at Dumbarton Oaks last spring. Former EU foreign minister Ambassador Holmberg was speaking. Lots of facts as I recall, but pretty boring.”

  “Molly, you amaze me. Even my staffers didn’t learn that much background about the group,” Peter said.

  “Thanks, Peter, but I have to give credit to Samantha Calhoun. Whenever I want to know about something or someone in this town, I ask her first.” I winked.

  Senator Russell finished his phone conversation and Peter started toward the door again. Feeling playful, I couldn’t resist. “I see Eleanor MacKenzie will be in attendance this evening. It’ll be good to see her again.” I gave the senator a devilish smile. “Eleanor makes a wonderful hostess.”

  Russell caught my drift and grinned, wagging his finger at me. “Now who’s being a conspirator?”

  I did my best to look innocent—always difficult for me—and replied, “It’s always a pleasure to see the Queen Mother.”

  Senator Russell threw back his head and let loose a basso roar of laughter that followed him down the hall. Peter simply grinned at me and shook his finger.

  I walked through the glass doors and down the steps leading to the gardens below. I enjoyed a few moments of mid-morning quiet before the catering trucks appeared in the driveway and the house sprang to life with caterers and assistants and wait staff. Luisa was in seventh heaven. Noise and hustle and bustle had returned.

  I sipped my coffee as I str
olled through the gardens, sunshine warming my back. It was a truly gorgeous autumn day, leaves already flaming with red and gold, yellow and orange. The sort of day that appears regularly during autumn in Washington. Mild temperatures still in the sixties and sometimes seventies. Sunny skies. No hint yet of the winter to come.

  Senator Russell’s gardener had already pruned the hedges and mulched the plants, preparing for winter. There was a bush in my townhouse backyard I needed to tackle. It needed pruning badly, having been neglected for quite a while. I’d found some pruning shears in the garage, so I had no excuse to avoid it except for my horrible track record at pruning. I tended to get carried away with the clipping and didn’t know when to stop. I could reduce a healthy full plant to a footstool in a few minutes’ time.

  My cell phone’s music interrupted my stroll; Samantha’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey, there, Miss Thing. Have you had a chance to contact that security company?”

  “As a matter of fact, they’re coming out tomorrow. I’m sure your good word helped speed up the process.”

  “Not mine, I’ll bet. Danny probably called them.”

  “Well, thank him for me, please. I wanted to give you an update on what has come in so far on your information requests. I have to leave in a few minutes to meet with Sister Bernice and the Walter Reed group for lunch.”

  “Wow, you’re really getting involved with them.”

  “Well, once I saw what a difference they were making in the lives of our returning wounded from Iraq, I knew I had to join their efforts. I tell you, Molly. My heart went out to them.”

  I could hear the compassion in my dear friend’s voice come over the phone. “I’m sure it did. And I’m not surprised you’ve become more involved.”

  “I even met an old acquaintance I’d known at Ole Miss years ago. He’d gone to West Point and had served in Vietnam as well. He’s retired now and has been donating his time to these military charities. I told him I’d thought of contributing money toward a small foundation to help these wounded veterans, and he promised he’d help me organize it.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Samantha. You know, Eleanor is someone else who would be most interested in participating. Have you shared this with her?”

  “Absolutely. She’ll be attending one of their meetings with me next week. In fact, the old girl has even loosened the leash lately, if you can believe.” Samantha’s amusement was obvious.

  “Doesn’t surprise me a bit. You’ve shown her Sensible Samantha was still there. The Merry Widow merely chased her away for a while.”

  Samantha gave a genteel snort. “Sensible Samantha. Gawd. That sounds so dull. I’m not sure I can stand it.”

  “Sensible, surviving, call it what you want. It’s simply your personality, Samantha. You’ve always been smart and savvy, ever since we were teenagers. That’s who you really are. Not the ‘let’s see how I can shock them today,’ Samantha.”

  She laughed softly. “All right. I’ll take smart and savvy. Now, let me tell you what my mice have found out so far. I’ve heard from several since we talked the other day. The general consensus about Ryker is what we’ve already heard for a while. He’s gotten richer over these last few years. Word is he invests in some pretty high-level hedge funds. The same is true for Senator Dunston. But there’re more details. It seems Dunston has invested a lot of money in European banks in addition to American hedge funds. And there was a rumor that his son works for a bank in Germany. Maybe that’s where he invests.”

  “That confirms the notation I saw in Quentin’s notebook. He’d written the word ‘son’ beneath Dunston’s name and then Stuttgart. Quentin was right.”

  “Yes, he was. Bless him. So now, I’ll ask my sources specifically about that Dunston family connection to Stuttgart when I talk with them. Meanwhile, the stuff on Holmberg is what we already know. A former EU finance minister, professor at the Sorbonne, he has a list of credentials as long as your arm. Mostly he gives lectures and speeches all over the country about international monetary policy. Stuff like that. He’s become a fixture in Washington and even has a house over near Woodley Park. That’s all I’ve got for now. I’m sure the mice will come up with more, but I have to leave for that meeting.”

  “Nothing on that Spencer name?”

  “Nope, not yet. That will take more time. One name is kind of vague. Talk to you later.”

  “Thanks, Samantha. Enjoy the meeting,” I said, listening to her click at the other end of the line.

  I drained the last of my coffee and headed back up the steps. My nature escape was over. Spreadsheets were calling.

  Thursday evening

  Larry Fillmore edged around the International Hotel’s ballroom, eyeing the crowd of politicians, donors, lobbyists, staffers, and various camp followers. He spotted Congressman Jackson, immersed in conversation with two other Midwestern congressmen. He’d leisurely stroll over to join them in a few minutes. But first, he needed to find Spencer.

  Being tall was an advantage, especially when it came to crowded rooms. He could easily scan over heads to find someone he was looking for. Like now. Spying Spencer Graham standing between two West Coast senators, Larry weaved his way around clusters of people who were talking and drinking, arguing and drinking, cajoling and drinking. Finally, he edged to the outskirts of the threesome. Larry deliberately positioned himself so he could catch Spencer’s eye. After a couple of minutes, Spencer glad-handed both senators, guffawed at a joke, then moved away, angling toward Larry. He stood about two feet away.

  “What have you found out so far?” Spencer asked, not looking at Larry but smiling out into the room instead.

  “Thanks to the photo, I was able to run a search in the Congressional employee database. And I struck paydirt.” Larry couldn’t help bragging.

  “Excellent. Who is she?”

  Now came the tricky part. Spencer was not going to like the answer. “Loretta Wade. She’s a senior researcher for the Congressional Research Service. A career employee. She’s been with them for over twenty years.”

  Spencer turned to stare right at him. Larry could see a mixture of anger and apprehension in his eyes. Spencer spit out a raspy whisper. “Dammit to hell!”

  “Yeah, I figured that was not good news. Do you think Malone got this Wade woman to follow up on the same research Quentin Wilson was doing? You said Raymond’s guy saw Malone hand her a notebook.”

  “It looks that way.” Spencer leaned back his head and drained his glass.

  That huge diamond Spencer wore on the little finger of his left hand caught the lights overhead and sparkled, flashing with its brilliance. Damn, that was big. Larry wondered how much that ring had cost Spencer. He’d seen it on Spencer’s hand ever since Larry had met him a few years ago.

  “I sent you an email right before I came here with all the info from the employee database. Loretta Wade’s fifty-six years old, a D.C. native, grew up here and went to American University, degree in history. Then got her master’s at George Washington University. Was married, now a widow with three sons. I did a separate search to find out that one is an officer in the Navy, serving on the destroyer USS Arleigh Burke. Another is at Cornell, and the youngest is a junior at Gonzaga High School. She lives over on Potomac Avenue. I Googled it, and it’s across the street from that Harris Teeter grocery store.” Larry felt like thrusting his chest out but restrained himself.

  Spencer eyed Larry and a small smile crooked his mouth. “Impressive, Larry. You didn’t get all that from the employee database, I’ll bet.”

  Larry couldn’t hide a small smirk. “As you know, I have my own sources.” He couldn’t conceal his self-satisfaction.

  “That’s why we use you, Larry. You bring value.” Spencer looked over his shoulder. Probably searching for the bar, Larry figured. “We can definitely make use of that.”

  “I figured you could.” Larry was fe
eling so good about himself, he couldn’t help adding, “You know, that’s one helluva big-ass diamond you’ve got there.” He smiled and pointed to Spencer’s ring.

  Spencer glanced briefly at his hand. “Yeah, it is. And it never leaves my hand. Couldn’t even get it off for surgery.” Pointing at the corner, he said, “I’m heading for the bar. You coming?”

  “Naw, I’d better rejoin Jackson. I don’t want him to think he can get along without me.”

  Spencer gave a snort. “Amen to that. We’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, why don’t you keep checking into Loretta Wade. Discreetly of course. Keep track of her. We’ll let you know if she meets with Malone again.”

  “You know where to find me,” Larry said as they both turned and went in opposite directions.

  Later that evening

  I stood in the side hall leading from the kitchen to the main hallway of the Russell mansion, sipping an excellent white wine. Ever since I’d taken over the Russell entertaining accounts, I’d made it a point to oversee the expenses of what Luisa referred to as the “wine cellar.” It was more of a temperature-controlled closet, but its contents were outstanding. Thanks to my cousins Nan and Deb, and their advice, I’d been able to save the senator a good deal of money. Since they had their own entertaining business, their counsel on wine suppliers was spot-on. The senator didn’t need any advice as to vintages. His taste was excellent.

  The caterers were their normal organized, well-oiled machine. Various tempting appetizers appeared on trays as the serving staff from Preferred Professionals worked their way through the distinguished guests mingling in the Russell living room and spilling out into the gardens. Since Daylight Saving Time was in effect until this weekend, there was still enough light to beckon people outside.

  Servers Aggie and Ryan smoothly brought appetizers and refilled drinks, moving effortlessly around the rooms. Bud, the bartender, was his usual quiet, efficient, speedy self as he mixed drinks and poured expensive whiskies, Scotch, and other liquor. I’d chatted with all three, Aggie, Ryan, and Bud, as they set up the dining table as a buffet table. The International Trade and Finance Subcommittee had twenty-two members. Add spouses and staff and ex-officio members, and the number swelled. I didn’t even want to think about how many would be in attendance if the senator decided to entertain the entire Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.