Capitol Murder

by Phillip Margolin

  “Really,” answered Dana, who couldn’t care less.

  “The Angel was originally half of a two-part panel he painted around 1333. Imran Afridi will never be a model for any painting of an angel.”

  “And that is because?”

  “Afridi is from a very wealthy Pakistani family with diverse holdings. He was educated at Cambridge and returned to Karachi with a degree in finance to work in the family businesses. He lives in a walled estate in one of Karachi’s wealthier suburbs and keeps a low profile. Even so, he is suspected of financing terrorist operations.”

  “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

  “Afridi’s family is very influential. They have a lot of money, which means they have several politicians in their pocket. Two of his brothers are high-ranking military. No one is going to make a move on Afridi unless the evidence is indisputable.”

  “Is there anything showing a connection between Afridi and the attempt to blow up FedEx Field?”

  “The bombers have been thoroughly interrogated. The only person they could finger is your client and, as you know, he hasn’t given anyone the time of day.”

  “Jessica Koshani is on a board with Afridi.”

  “More than one, but she was conveniently murdered before she could be questioned by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

  “So that’s why she was in Washington.”

  “InCo, one of her companies, is suspected of laundering money for terrorists. She may have helped finance the FedEx operation, but there’s no way to prove that, now that Koshani is dead.”

  “Why isn’t there more intel on Afridi?”

  “He’s not associated with any recognized terrorist organization like al-Qaeda. My sources say that terror is a hobby for him and he likes to run the show himself, like a boy with a model train set.”

  “Is Afridi in Pakistan now?”

  “No, he has a home in northern Virginia.” The Spook gave her the address. “He was in residence on the day of the attempt at FedEx Field, and he’s still there.”

  “That seems odd. You’d think he would want to head home as soon as the plot failed.”

  “Something is keeping him here, but I can’t help you with that.”

  “Thanks,” Dana started to say but the Spook was already moving to another section of the gallery, where he commenced to study Joachim and the Beggars, by Andrea di Bartolo.

  The traffic was deadly, and it took Dana an hour and a half to find Afridi’s estate. It was in the countryside, approachable by a narrow country lane and sequestered in the middle of a forest of oak and maple. Dana drove along the wall that protected Afridi’s house and grounds from prying eyes. An iron gate sealed off the only entry from the road. Dana could make out a guard shack behind the gate and a guard wearing a blazer, a black turtleneck, and tan slacks. He looked fit and ex-military, and Dana bet he was armed.

  Dana parked at the far end of the wall and walked a circuit around the property. There were gaps where she could see the house, but she also saw other guards, and she bet there were security measures she couldn’t see. When she decided that she wasn’t going to learn anything useful, Dana drove home.

  A man wearing camouflage lay in a blind in the woods high up the tree-covered slope across from the entrance to Afridi’s estate. As soon as Dana’s car was out of sight, he lowered his binoculars and radioed in her license number. When he learned the name of the owner, he called his superior and told him that Dana Cutler had conducted surveillance of Imran Afridi’s property.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “I have great news,” Bobby Schatz told Ron Tolliver as soon as the guard closed the door to the contact visiting room. “The government is dismissing your case.”

  Tolliver stared at his lawyer as if he had not understood what Schatz had said. Bobby chalked it up to shock. He smiled.

  “By the end of the day, you’re going to be a free man, Ron.”

  “They’re letting me out?”

  Schatz nodded. “Remember our first meeting? The prosecutor was taping everything that was said in the interrogation room. When I came in to talk to you, I demanded that he stop because it’s illegal for the government to record a conversation between a lawyer and his client.” Schatz grinned. “We got lucky, Ron. Crawford broke the law. He kept taping our conversation. There are a ton of cases that hold that this type of conduct is presumed to be prejudicial. In your case, there’s no question that your case was prejudiced, because I laid out our trial strategy during the meeting.

  “This morning, one of Crawford’s superiors phoned me. He’s in big trouble, and the DOJ doesn’t want its dirty linen aired in public, so they’re not fighting my motion to dismiss. You’ll be out of here today.”

  If Schatz thought that Tolliver would thank him, the prisoner disappointed him.

  “Where am I going to go?” he demanded.

  “Maybe home to Ohio?” Schatz suggested.

  Tolliver looked incredulous. “Are you insane? You don’t know my father. He’s ex-military and a flag-waving patriot. I’d be lucky if he didn’t shoot me. And if he doesn’t, someone else is bound to. Everyone in America has heard that I tried to kill ninety thousand people. As soon as I step out the door, I’ll have a target on my back. Every nut job will be out to kill me, and I don’t think the CIA will take this lying down. They probably have a hit squad waiting for me.”

  “Ron, my job is to win your case. I did that. It’s your job to figure out what to do with the rest of your life.”

  Schatz lowered his voice and leaned close to his client. “Maybe you should call your friends. They got you into this. Maybe they’ll help you out.”

  Tolliver looked at the tabletop. Schatz could see he was thinking hard about his predicament.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” Schatz asked.

  Tolliver shook his head.

  “I’ve left clothes and money for you,” Schatz said. “I wish you good luck.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Brad had been questioned by the Capitol Police and the FBI for hours after the incident with the intruder, and Senator Carson had told him to take the next day off. Having a lazy day at home was terrific, but it also meant that he was behind in his work when he returned to the office, so he’d had to stay late to catch up. Brad was putting the finishing touches on a memo when Senator Carson appeared in his doorway. Lucas Sharp was standing beside him.

  “Good, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” Carson said. “You live near here, don’t you?”

  “Just a few blocks.”

  “I’ll give you a lift home. It’s too late to be wandering around Capitol Hill alone.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Nonsense. I insist.”

  Brad was exhausted and grateful for the ride. The trio took the elevator to the garage in silence. Lucas Sharp led the way to a black Lincoln town car. Sharp drove, and the senator sat in front. Brad told Sharp his address just before the car pulled out of the garage. Then he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at the street signs.

  “I think you took a wrong turn,” Brad said. “We’re headed away from my apartment.”

  “We’re going to my house first,” Senator Carson said. “There are a few matters Luke and I need to discuss with you.”

  Brad wondered why they had to go to the senator’s home to talk. He was also having trouble keeping his eyes open, and he was starving.

  “Can this wait until tomorrow, Senator? I’m out on my feet.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t really important. I have plenty of guest rooms. You can sleep at my estate when we’re through, or Luke can drive you home.”

  “Okay,” Brad said reluctantly. He wanted desperately to head for his apartment, but you don’t say no to a United States senator, especially if he’s your boss. “Let me call my wife to tell her I’ll be late.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Sharp said. “We won’t keep you long
.”

  There was an undercurrent of menace in Sharp’s tone, and suddenly Brad felt uneasy, but he didn’t insist on calling Ginny.

  Everyone was quiet during the ride from the Capitol to the Virginia countryside. A little less than an hour after leaving the Capitol, the car parked in front of a white colonial mansion with a portico shaded by an overhang supported by pillars. The estate had reminded Brad of Tara from Gone with the Wind when he’d visited for the staff picnic shortly after he’d started working.

  “My wife and the kids are in Oregon, and I’ve given the staff the night off, so we won’t be disturbed,” Carson said when Brad got out of the car.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Brad asked nervously.

  The senator opened the front door. “I’m interested in how much you know about Jessica Koshani’s connection with Executive Escorts and how you came by the information,” Carson said.

  Brad hesitated. “I told you I can’t talk about that, Senator.”

  “That’s not an option anymore,” Sharp said as he crowded in behind Brad and forced him into the front hall. Carson turned on the light.

  “What are you talking about?” Brad asked, suddenly frightened.

  Before Sharp could answer, a large man in jeans and a leather jacket stepped from behind the door and slammed a gun butt into Sharp’s head. Sharp slumped to the floor. Two more armed men appeared from the shadows. One man was as massive as Sharp’s assailant. The other was Brad’s height and slender.

  “Put your hands behind you,” Mustapha said calmly. “If you resist, we’ll hurt you, and the end result will be the same.”

  “Who are you?” Carson asked.

  Mustapha answered by slamming his gun into Carson’s face. The senator’s knees buckled and he looked shocked. Blood poured out of a split lip.

  “We aren’t in the Senate. I ask the questions, and you keep your mouth shut except when you’re answering them. Now put your hands behind your back.”

  Brad and Carson complied. One of the larger men wrenched Sharp’s arms behind him and secured his wrists with plastic cuffs. The large man who had been at Mustapha’s side stepped behind Brad and the senator and secured their hands. Then Brad, Sharp, and Carson were herded into the living room and lashed to straight-back chairs. Brad tested his ropes and found almost no give.

  “Go outside and stand guard,” Mustapha said to the man who had assaulted Lucas Sharp. He left the living room, and Brad heard the front door open and close.

  “Senator,” Mustapha said. “I need honest answers. If you don’t give them to me here, we will kill your friends. Then we will take you to a place where we won’t be disturbed and where I will have an unlimited amount of time to question you. If I have to resort to this backup plan, you will suffer an incredible amount of pain. Inevitably, you will tell me everything I want to know. Then you will die. Tell me what I want to know now, and all of you will live.”

  Carson was shaking. His brow was beaded with sweat.

  “Before we start, I am going to entertain you and your friends with a DVD Miss Koshani recorded.”

  Mustapha laid his gun on an end table and picked up a remote.

  “Please, no,” Carson begged. “They don’t have to see that. I’ll tell you want you want to know. Please.”

  Mustapha pressed PLAY. Brad felt sick when he recognized the man wearing the dog collar. He turned his head away from the screen. Mustapha let the DVD run for a few minutes before stopping it. He turned to Carson.

  “What happened at your town house on the day Jessica Koshani was murdered?”

  Carson’s head dropped so he was looking at his lap. “I can’t,” he whispered.

  Mustapha nodded. The man standing behind the senator took a knife and sliced off Carson’s left earlobe. The senator screamed as blood poured onto his shoulder from the wound.

  “Cauterize it,” Mustapha said. The large man took out a lighter and burned the wound until it sealed. Carson was screaming right next to Brad, and Brad had to fight to keep from fainting.

  “Senator Carson, what happened in the town house?” Mustapha repeated.

  “It wasn’t me,” Carson gasped. “Please don’t hurt me anymore. It wasn’t me.”

  “Explain.”

  Carson was weeping. His eyes were fixed on the floor. His teeth were clenched from the pain.

  “Lucas did it. He killed her.”

  Brad looked at the chief of staff. He was glaring at his oldest friend with unconcealed contempt.

  “Start at the beginning,” Mustapha commanded.

  “She made me come over. She asked about the plot, what the FBI knew. Nothing had changed. I told her Homeland Security knew there was something big planned but not what the target was or when the plan was going to be executed. Then she asked me about the hearing, what would happen, what questions the committee would ask. A little before noon, she told me I could go. She was staying on the second floor in the guest bedroom. She took out a cell phone and went upstairs. As I was walking to the front door I heard her talking to someone.”

  Carson paused and took a few deep breaths. When he started to speak again, his voice was ragged.

  “I crept up the stairs. I was hoping I would learn who she was talking to so I would have leverage to get the DVD back. I heard her mention FedEx Field. Then she stopped talking and closed the phone. She must have heard me, because the next thing I knew, she was in the doorway with a knife. I was shocked. She stabbed at me and I jumped back. She ran at me and stabbed me in the side. I don’t remember how it happened. It must have been reflex. I hit her. It was hard and right on the chin. She fell back and hit her head on the corner of the grandfather clock. It’s solid wood, and it stunned her. I hit her again and she collapsed.

  “I was in a panic. I called Luke. When he arrived, I was light-headed and in a lot of pain. Luke applied first aid, but he said a doctor should check me out. Koshani was still unconscious when he arrived, but she was breathing. I told Luke everything: the blackmail, the DVD. He said we had to force her to tell us where she had the DVD and who had copies so we could destroy them. He told me he’d been a DA when Clarence Little was killing people in Oregon. He’d seen the autopsy reports, he’d actually seen the body of one of the victims in person, and he’d read the opinion of the Oregon judge who reversed Little’s cases. The opinion described the method of torture in detail. He said he’d make it look like Little killed her.”

  The senator was babbling, and Mustapha listened patiently as Brad’s boss threw his oldest friend under the bus.

  “It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even mean to hurt her. He took off her clothes and tied her to the chair. He woke her up. She was very groggy. She could barely speak. She must have had a concussion. I tried to stop him, but he cut her until she answered all of his questions. She told him where she kept the DVD. She gave him the alarm code to her house. When . . . when he was through, he killed her. It wasn’t me.”

  Carson looked up at Mustapha. His eyes begged for mercy. Mustapha smiled and nodded to show he understood.

  “Go on,” Mustapha urged his prisoner.

  “Luke said I needed an alibi and someplace to rest until my wounds healed. We flew to Portland on my private jet so he could get the DVD. I told him about Dorothy Crispin. He paid her to let me stay while I healed. He knew a doctor with a drug habit from his days in the DA’s office. He took care of me for a price. It was Luke who called Dana Cutler with Crispin’s name. He said it made the alibi more believable if a reporter discovered her name.”

  “Did you tell the FBI or CIA about FedEx Field?”

  “No, I swear. I didn’t have time. I was in Oregon. I was hiding out. If I told, they’d know I was with Koshani when she was killed.”

  Brad couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Carson had known about the plot to destroy FedEx Field and he’d done nothing.

  “I swear I never betrayed you,” Carson said. “Please, don’t kill me.”

  Mustapha looked Carson i
n the eye. “You are truly pathetic. You are a pervert and a craven coward and a perfect example of the infidels who run your country.”

  He looked at the man who was standing behind the three captives.

  “Kill them.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  A driving rain pelted Ron Tolliver when he walked through the door of the detention center. He flipped up the hood of the sweatshirt and turned up the collar of the jacket Bobby Schatz had purchased for him. Then he checked the street for a tail. He couldn’t pick out anyone suspicious, but he was certain that someone was following him.

  Tolliver thought about his next move. He had money, a gun, and false ID stashed at a pawnshop that was owned by a shell corporation controlled by Afridi. Tolliver took a bus across town, then walked a circuitous path to shake the people he was certain were tracking him. He had very little confidence that he would get to the pawnshop undetected, but he had no choice.

  The shop was in a section of D.C. where a white man looked out of place, so Tolliver kept his hood up and his hands in his pockets. A bell rang when he entered the store. The owner, an elderly black man with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a flannel shirt, a threadbare sweater, and brown corduroy pants, looked up from a stack of paperwork.

  “I need my stuff and a disposable cell phone,” Tolliver said.

  “Are you crazy? You should have called. I’ll have every fed in D.C. in here as soon as you leave.”

  “I need my stuff, now.”

  The proprietor hesitated, then went into the back. When he came out, he was carrying a gym bag. He shoved it across the counter.

  “Now get out,” he said.

  Tolliver unzipped the bag and checked the contents. Then he left without another word and took evasive action until he arrived at a cheap hotel ten blocks from the pawnshop, where whores rented by the hour and winos occupied the lobby. On the way, he picked up two sandwiches, several bags of chips, and a few bottles of water at a convenience store.

  Tolliver registered under a false name and paid in cash for two days. Then he paid the desk clerk $100 to forget he’d registered. When he opened the door to his room, the odors left behind by the previous occupant made him gag. Tolliver didn’t bother to unpack. He threw his gym bag on a bed with a stained sheet that covered a mattress with sagging springs that had conceded the fight with gravity a long time ago.