by Diane Kelly
“Yes,” she said. “He had me log in as myself.”
But he’d done it on his computer, in his private office.
The prosecutor, Detective Jackson, and I exchanged knowing glances.
There it is. The proverbial smoking gun.
If Paige had been at her own desk, the senator might have been able to pretend he wasn’t aware what Paige was doing. But given the fact that he’d had to let her into the office with his key, as well as the fact that the removal of the information took place on his desktop computer, he’d have a hell of a hard time refuting the allegations. Of course he’d obviously never expected things to get this far, for anyone to be examining him with such scrutiny.
The prosecutor spoke now. “This might be circumstantial evidence, but it’s a crapload of it, more than enough for charges to be filed. Of course, we’d have to collect the evidence first.”
Detective Jackson stood. “Officer Luz and I are on it.” She turned to Paige. “If we have more questions we’ll be back in touch.”
“Done so soon?” Giacomo said, holding aloft the spoon he’d been using to eat Paige’s blue Jell-O. “I was hoping I could convince the nurse to bring a second helping.”
* * *
A couple of hours later, Jackson, Brigit, and I entered Senator Sutton’s office armed with not only our department-issued weapons, but two other things, as well. The first was a search warrant we’d obtained in the interim. The second was a crime scene tech who specialized in computer crimes. The detective and I would have no clue how to access cyberevidence, but this guy was a known whiz with all kinds of technology. Spalding had come along to continue watching our backs.
Jackson stepped up to the receptionist’s desk, which was a built-in model situated behind a half wall and enclosed in what was likely bulletproof glass. Government officials couldn’t be too careful these days. There were lots of crazies out there. Too bad my Smart Car’s windows hadn’t been bulletproof.
The woman looked up, quickly assessing us before sliding the glass open. Looked like we’d passed muster. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Detective Audrey Jackson with the Fort Worth Police Department.” The detective angled her head my way. “Officer Luz and one of our tech specialists are assisting me in an investigation. We need to speak to Senator Sutton. Immediately.”
“May I tell him what this is regarding?” the woman asked, attempting to play her role as gatekeeper.
“It’s a criminal matter involving an intern,” Jackson said.
Her words were vague, but sufficient to let the woman know our business was serious. Paige had told us that she wasn’t due back at work until the next day, and that she hadn’t been in contact with anyone at Senator Sutton’s office since the shooting. The news reports regarding the event had been cryptic, primarily because the information released by the Fort Worth PD’s public relations office had been purposely so. The TV news and Star-Telegram newspaper had reported only that an “unidentified TCU student” had been shot three times in the back, the culprit and motive unknown, the victim’s condition also unknown but presumed critical. Nobody here at Senator Sutton’s office should yet be aware that Paige McQuaid was the unidentified student.
“You say this involves an intern?” The wide-eyed woman looked both bewildered and wary, her contorted expression belying the thoughts running through her mind. She was probably wondering whether there had been some type of sex scandal or bribe, but finding it hard to visualize the esteemed senator engaged in any such illicit activity. “One moment, please.”
Rather than contacting the senator on her intercom where we might be able to overhear her conversation with her boss, she pushed back from her desk and scurried through an open doorway behind her. A minute or so later, a door that led from the foyer back to the offices swung open, the receptionist appearing in the doorway. She looked calmer, holding out a hand. “This way, please.”
She led us to the end of the hall, where the senator’s door remained open. On the way, we garnered concerned and curious glances from other seasoned staff members and young interns who sat at desks in the various offices and cubicles along the hallway. Clearly a visit from law enforcement wasn’t a regular occurrence around here.
Sutton stood behind his desk, his American flag pin affixed to the lapel of his navy blue suit, a smile plastered on his face. Unlike his usual friendly, sincere smiles, this one appeared strained and forced. When his gaze moved from the detective and the tech to take in me and Brigit entering the office behind them, a look of utter surprise skittered across his face.
Hmm. Had he expected us to be dead? Or at the very least hospitalized?
As for me and Brigit, the news reports said only that an off-duty officer and her K-9 partner had been gunned down on a local highway. No clarification was provided, the listener or reader forced to draw their own conclusions.
My gaze quickly roamed the senator’s office, taking in the colorful rug on the floor, the bookcases lined with tomes on politics and biographies of former presidents, as well as the Asian art hanging on his walls. Classy digs.
“Let me know if you need anything, sir.” Sutton’s receptionist stepped back out of the office, closing the door firmly behind her as if to hide his dirty secrets.
SIXTY
SIXTH SCENTS
Brigit
Brigit smelled a lot of things from the doorway. The acrid scent of the coffee in the mug on the senator’s desk. The peppermint scent of arthritis cream. The smell of the man’s shoe leather. Those loafers would make for some fun chewing.
But there was something else she sensed. She didn’t scent it, not exactly. It was more like she smelled it with her brain.
Something here smelled rotten.
SIXTY-ONE
ABOVE THE LAW
Senator Sutton
The two cops, the dog, the detective, and the computer tech stood shoulder to shoulder on the other side of his desk as if playing an adult game of red rover, forming a human barrier.
He forced a smile. How dare they? These local yokels had no business confronting a United States senator, in his own office, no less. They’d been told in no uncertain terms that the federal government had taken over the drug case.
Why the hell were they here, wasting his time? Probably they wanted to ask about Paige, whether she’d been close to anyone on the staff who might know something that could lead them to her shooter. But that stupid girl and her problems were small potatoes. Didn’t these people know he had more important things to do? Things of international significance?
Didn’t they know he was above the law?
SIXTY-TWO
COMING CLEAN
Megan
Though his eyes were bright with alarm, Senator Sutton continued to smile and when he spoke it was with a practiced calm. Hours of media training and decades of speaking off the cuff under stressful circumstances had prepared him for this moment. “I’m surprised to see you folks.”
I believed him. He seemed especially surprised to see me and Brigit, alive and well. Though his gaze roamed over the ugly cuts on my face, he didn’t ask about them. It was as if he were afraid to acknowledge them, that by doing so he might draw a connection he was hoping to avoid. Instead, however, his failure to inquire about my obvious injuries seemed uncaring and unnatural. I suspected that he’d been responsible for what had happened last night. He might not have been the one to run us off the road or pull the trigger, but he knew something about it. I felt certain.
“I take it you haven’t heard,” he continued, looking from one of us to the next, “the DEA is handling things now.”
“They’re handling the drug case,” Jackson said, holding out the search warrant. “We’ve launched a separate investigation into evidence tampering.”
His smile faltered. “Evidence tampering?”
“Yes.”
He reached out to take the warrant, looking about as excited as one might be if handed a pair of someone else�
��s dirty sweat socks. He unfolded the warrant and read it over before looking up again and continuing to feign innocence. “I’d be glad to be of service to you all, but I’m still a little unclear on what all of this has to do with me and my office.”
Jackson took the warrant back, folded it, and returned it to her pocket. “We have reason to believe your intern hid evidence in the pending matter involving Officer Mackey.”
“Mackey?” A red tint began to creep up the senator’s neck. “The policeman who planted the drugs on Paige McQuaid?”
Jackson didn’t miss a beat. “The policeman who is alleged to have planted drugs on Paige McQuaid. Our tech needs access to your system. We think your intern altered evidence that could have been valuable in the case.”
The smile was entirely gone now, the red tint darkening Sutton’s cheeks. “Altered what evidence, exactly?”
“E-mails,” she replied. “We believe she deleted e-mails from a Gmail account and that she did so here in this office.” Jackson was purposely keeping the focus on Paige rather than implicating the senator himself, probably to keep him off guard as much as possible.
“I don’t follow,” Sutton said, his brows drawing in to form lines between them. “How would e-mails sent from this office relate to the officer planting drugs?”
I chimed in now. “Because those e-mails would show that Paige herself was involved in selling Molly.”
Panic flashed in Sutton’s eyes. He seemed to finally realize he’d either underestimated the Fort Worth PD’s investigative capabilities and dedication to justice, or overestimated his ability to sweep this matter under his colorful oriental rug.
“I’m sorry, folks,” he said, pulling himself as tall as he could and crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. “But there are matters of national security involved here. I’m sure you understand that I can’t just give you unfettered access to my computer system.”
Jackson eyed him pointedly. “Surely your classified files are password protected and interns have limited access to sensitive materials, correct? That’s standard protocol for subordinates in any office. If your office failed to have such protections in place, you would look very foolish, Senator.”
The tech chimed in now. “We’ll only be logging in under Paige’s credentials. We won’t have access to anything confidential.”
“Still,” Sutton said, “I’m not entirely comfortable with this. It sounds risky.”
The only risks were to the senator himself, that he’d find himself up shit creek not only without a paddle, but also without a boat or life jacket and with cement shoes on his feet.
He gestured to the phone on his desk. “I’m going to need to call my attorney. Could you give me a moment of privacy?”
Jackson looked to the tech.
The tech angled his head to indicate Sutton’s desktop computer. “We’ll need to make sure the system isn’t accessed.”
In other words, we needed to make sure that Senator Sutton wasn’t in here deleting more information from the computer system to cover his ass under the guise of speaking privately with his attorney.
Jackson reached over and unplugged the keyboard and mouse from the senator’s computer, handing them to the tech. “You’re free to call your attorney. We’ll step into the hallway.”
The senator had turned nearly purple now, clearly losing it. “You’ll wait in the lobby!” he snapped.
No more Mr. Nice Guy, huh?
He personally escorted the five of us back to the foyer. Brigit glanced up at me, the expression in her eyes saying Can’t we go for a real walk rather than traipsing up and down this hall? The receptionist appeared no more happy to be stuck with us than the senator had. She cut us furtive glances through the glass as she typed on her keyboard.
Once Sutton had stormed off down the hall, Jackson turned to the receptionist. “This office have a back door?”
“No, ma’am.” The woman nodded to the entry door behind us. “That’s the only way in or out.”
Jackson lifted her chin in acknowledgment and stepped to the bank of windows on the exterior wall. Craning her neck, she looked down the side of the building as if she thought Senator Sutton might leap from his window in desperation or try shimmying down a drainpipe. As a seasoned cop and detective, she’d probably seen it all. I wondered what all I’d have seen once I had as many years of experience under my belt as she did.
We waited for twenty long minutes, Brigit leisurely sniffing her way around the room and the tech checking e-mails on his phone before the detective lost patience. She stepped up to the glass to address the receptionist. “Tell Senator Sutton we’re coming back to get started. If he needs to finish his conversation, he can uproot one of his staff and use their office.”
She didn’t wait for the receptionist to respond before stepping to the door that led back to the offices and attempting to yank it open. It didn’t budge. She turned back to the receptionist. “Buzz us in. Now.”
The woman hesitated a moment, but seemed to realize disobeying armed police officers was not a smart idea. She pushed a button on her desk to release the door. Bzzt.
We went down the hall to the senator’s office again. Jackson rapped loudly on the door. Knock-knock. “Let us in, Senator.”
“I’m not done with my phone call!” he shouted from within. “I need to finish!”
“What you need,” she replied loudly and firmly, “is to open this door and let us in right now or I will have Officer Luz arrest you for obstructing justice.”
While there were gasps and murmurs of surprise from the staff members who’d left their posts and gathered in the hall behind us, there was no sound from inside the senator’s office for several seconds. Finally, there was another bzzt as Sutton disengaged the lock on his door.
The door swung open to reveal the senator standing behind his desk, his hand placed over the mouthpiece on his phone. “My attorney says he’s going to get a court order to stop this nonsense.”
Enforcing the laws was nonsense? Grr. I was tempted to sic Brigit on the senator and take a bite out of him myself.
“More power to him,” Jackson snapped. “In the meantime we’re going to get to work. Step away from your desk, please.”
Sutton sputtered, clearly not expecting the detective to act with such force. “I am a United States senator, ma’am!” he cried.
She raised her palms. “And? Do you think that makes you above the law?”
He sputtered some more, like a failing motor on a cheap johnboat. “What if I refuse?”
Jackson hiked at thumb at Brigit. “That dog will convince you otherwise.”
Brigit wagged her tail on hearing the word “dog,” knowing people were talking about her. But even with her tail happily going, it was clear Brigit was not a dog you wanted to mess with. With her size and fangs, she could take the senator down and hold him in place with her teeth for as long as necessary.
Sutton stood there a moment in defiance, his chest puffed out. But as we watched, he seemed to deflate in front of us, melting like a Popsicle dropped on a Texas summer sidewalk, realizing whatever power he had was dwindling.
He stepped aside. “You understand I’ll need to remain here, to protect sensitive documents in my desk and file cabinet.”
“Of course,” the detective said. “We’d like you to stay.”
It will make his arrest that much easier.
The senator pulled a chair over to the back corner by the window, where he could keep an eye on the tech but be out of the way. Jackson and I took seats in wing chairs. Spalding leaned back against the now-closed door, his hands hooked on his belt where his gun would be in quick reach.
The tech slid into Sutton’s chair and logged on to the system.
Sutton’s face contorted in concern as he eyed the screen. “You have Miss McQuaid’s log-in credentials?”
“Yes,” Jackson answered. “She gave them to us this morning.”
Again, surprise skittered acros
s his face. Had he thought Paige was dead, too?
As the tech continued to work the keyboard and mouse, Sutton became much more conciliatory. “I certainly hope that Miss McQuaid will not sully my office’s reputation with criminal activity.”
“It would be a bad time for s-something like that, wouldn’t it?” I said. “What with you being in the middle of a campaign.”
Sutton responded only with a scowl.
A mere ten minutes later, the tech waved Jackson over. I joined her.
He pointed to the screen. “The system backup shows Paige’s browser history before it was deleted Sunday. She accessed a Gmail account on several occasions in recent weeks.”
I cut a glance at Sutton. He looked downright apoplectic now. Apparently he’d forgotten that the system had a backup drive.
The tech continued, clicking the mouse and pointing at another screen. “This shows that she logged in to her account Sunday afternoon and visited Gmail.” With some more maneuvering, he was able to access the Gmail account. “The deleted e-mails are still in her trash.”
Sutton bent forward now, putting his hands on his knees. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Having not grown up with or embraced computer technology, he’d been over his head when trying to hide the cyberevidence.
“And this,” the tech said finally, “shows she was working on this very computer when she deleted the e-mails.”
The three of us turned to look at Sutton, Spalding following suit.
Sutton’s gaze darted around as if his eyes were seeking escape. Of course none was to be found. Not unless he wanted to end up splattered in the parking lot.
Jackson stepped over to Sutton. “You told Paige to delete those e-mails, didn’t you, Senator?”
He looked up at her, his face mangled with emotion. “I absolutely did not!”
“Sorry, sir,” she replied. “But I don’t believe you. The only explanation for how an intern came to delete e-mails on your computer on a day when the office was closed and locked and she had no key was that you were involved. Now, will you come to the station with us voluntarily, or do we need to cuff you?”