by Ana Barrons
“News travels fast,” Joe said, ignoring the barbs. “So, were you paying her bills, Congressman?”
Green whipped his head from side to side, eyes wide. “What, are you crazy?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Do you have a tape recorder going or what? If my wife ever—”
Joe held up a hand. “If you cooperate, there’s no reason for her to know anything about it. So you got a little on the side and in return you made sure Blair wanted for nothing.”
“We all have our weaknesses. None of this can go in the paper, you know that.”
“As far as I’m concerned we never had this conversation. I don’t betray my sources.”
Green dropped bonelessly into a chair and heaved a sigh. “Man to man, Rossi, Blair wasn’t like other women. There was nothing—nothing, she wouldn’t do.”
Joe worked to keep his disgust from showing. “Did she actually do any work in your office or did her expertise lie mostly between the sheets?”
Green snorted. “Blair Morrissey was a walking, talking pornographic dream.”
You pig. “Who were you sharing her with, Jerry? All those lunches and dinners with big shots. You were like a dating service, only you were peddling your ‘walking, talking pornographic dream’ to fat cats. Big donors. Committee chairs. Do I have that right?”
Green scowled. “I’m no pimp. She was a great draw, okay? That’s all I got out of it. Important men suddenly took an interest in Jerry Green. ‘Oh, and by the way, could you bring your administrative assistant along?’” He snorted again, like the pig he was. “They weren’t talking about Patty Sullivan, who’s my right-hand person but plain as can be. Blair was nothing but a glorified clerk, but with me she had the opportunity to go places and meet people she never would have dreamed about.”
“Like the White House.”
“Like the— Right, even there.” Sweat beaded on Green’s forehead.
Joe took a swig of beer and rested an ankle on his other knee. Settling in. Green squirmed like he was about to jump out of his skin. He kept glancing between his watch and the foyer, twisting the watch around and around his wrist nervously.
“So why would anyone have killed a beautiful, multitalented woman like Blair?” Joe’s tone was conversational. Nonthreatening.
“How do I know? Somebody got carried away? Got a little too rough?”
“Ever take her out to Roosevelt Island? Maybe with a couple friends?”
Green’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t kill her and you fucking well know it, you bastard.”
“How exactly would I know that? As I recall you were in town when she disappeared, getting ready to vote to fund a major bridge in your district.”
“We were all in town, goddamn it.”
“I remember that bill,” Joe went on as though the other man hadn’t spoken. “You had the president’s backing on that. I think there was a shot in the Herald of the two of you at the White House. Was Blair with you that time?”
Green swallowed audibly. Sweat rolled down the side of his face. “Why are you doing this, Rossi? Why would I kill her?”
Joe shrugged and gazed around the living room, then fixed on Green. “What’d you say your wife’s name was again? Sharon?”
Green slammed his glass down on the coffee table, the veins at his temples bulging. “She had it good with me, you son of a bitch. She was grateful. She had no reason to blackmail me.”
Joe stood. “I’m glad we had this little chat, Congressman. We must do it again some time.”
“Over my dead—” Green spotted Catherine in the foyer. “Oh.”
“Ready to go?” she asked Joe. “The Congressman has to pick up his wife, remember.”
Green composed himself, politician’s smile in place, and crossed the room to her. “Let me know if there’s anything Sharon or I can do, Catherine.” He pressed her hands between his. “And please express our condolences to your parents.”
“Thank you, Jerry, I will.”
As they walked down the path to the car, Joe waited for Catherine to ask what he and Green had talked about, but she was silent, apparently lost in thought. When they were close to the car, he said, “I didn’t realize you’d met him before.”
“I met him when Blair first disappeared,” she said, her expression still vacant. “He and his wife invited me to stay with them, but I stayed in a hotel. They were very solicitous, almost too much so.”
Joe fiddled with his keys, waiting for Jerry to peek out the window. “Did you trust him? Or them, I should say?”
She shrugged. “Sharon was nervous, fluttering around, practically wringing her hands. He was... I don’t know. Underneath his concern and supportive attitude I could see he was a dirty old man.” She glanced at Joe. “I always felt his eyes on me, like he was checking out my resemblance to Blair.”
“Did Ned really tell you he’d met Blair?”
“He said he’d seen her at a couple of fundraisers, but I made up the part about the White House.”
Joe smiled. “Good instincts.” He glanced up at the house and saw Green jerk his head away from the window. You slimy bastard. “Let’s get in and I’ll tell you about my conversation with him.”
Joe had just closed the doors of the Honda when a silver Mercedes pulled into the driveway. He waited. A small, chunky woman with perfectly coiffed red hair stepped out of the car, then reached into the backseat and pulled out two large Nordstrom bags.
Sharon Green. Joe started the car and revved the engine. Sharon stood blinking at the car making a U-ee in front of her house and racing down the street.
“Why did you do that?” Catherine asked.
“I wanted her to know someone had been at her house.”
“Why?”
“Just to be mean.”
“Do you think—”
Joe shook his head. “He didn’t kill your sister. But he could be protecting somebody. Somebody important.”
Her forehead creased. “Protecting them from a murder rap?”
“At the very least, Blair was involved with somebody high up in the administration. I’d bet my life on it.
“What did he tell you?”
They were stopped at a light. Silent drops of rain began to collect on the windshield. “It wasn’t so much what he told me,” Joe said. “And by the way, leaving the room when you did was brilliant. It was more what he didn’t say, and the fact that the only time he was really spooked was when I mentioned the White House. That’s when he stammered and started sweating. Like he was guilty.”
“Oh, my God,” she said softly, her hand going to her throat. “You don’t really think someone that powerful was involved, do you?”
“We can’t rule it out. I think it’s time we talked to my dad.”
She hesitated a moment. “That’s right, he’s a retired FBI agent. He doesn’t live around here, though, does he?”
Joe shook his head. The rain was coming down hard enough for him to flip on the wipers. “He lives about two hours from here, on the eastern shore of Maryland. I’ve been planning to take the kids out to visit him and Pam.” He glanced at her. “Why don’t we go out there on Saturday afternoon, all of us?”
She turned away. “I’ve got plans that night.”
Joe didn’t speak right away. “Plans?”
“Yes.”
“Can they be changed?”
She cleared her throat. “Not easily, no.”
“Let me guess. You’re going o
ut with Ned Campbell.”
“Yes. He said he would definitely have something for me by then.”
Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t trust him, goddamn it.”
“Joe—”
He banged his fist on the steering wheel. “Joe nothing,” he snapped. “For all you know Ned’s in on it. He could have been involved with Blair himself, or he could be protecting the president, for Christ’s sake.”
“If you’re going to have a tantrum, at least pull off the road.”
“I plan to.” A mile or so farther ahead Joe made a sharp right into a parking lot that ran alongside the Potomac. He pulled the car into a spot facing the river and shut off the engine. They sat in the darkness, the steady beat of the rain on the hood and the drone of traffic behind them the only sounds. A slightly arched footbridge off to their right connected the parking lot to a wooded area on the other side of the river.
It took Catherine a few moments to figure out where they were. She leaned forward and laid her hands on the dashboard. “Is that—”
“Roosevelt Island. It seemed like an appropriate place to talk.”
She was very still. Had he made a mistake bringing her here? “Catherine?” She didn’t answer. Shit. He ran a gentle hand down her back. “You okay?”
“I wonder if it was raining that night,” she whispered. “In my dream it’s always pouring.”
Oh, Christ.
Joe reached for the key, but before he could start the car she was out the door and jogging through the rain toward the bridge.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Catherine!” he shouted. He fumbled with his own door, threw it open and ran after her.
He caught up with her at the bridge, where she was standing with her hands on her hips, staring at the locked wrought iron fence that prevented the public from crossing over to the island after sunset.
“I can take you back here in the morning,” he said.
“I could change my mind about it by then.”
“It’s against the law to trespass on national park land.”
She stood there, staring. “It wouldn’t be hard at all to get over this gate. If you don’t want to come, you could give me a boost and wait in the car. Or I could call a cab.”
He groaned. “Catherine, let’s think about this. It’s dark. It’s raining.”
“Not that hard.”
He was trying to be reasonable here, but the gleam in her eyes was making him damn nervous. No way was he letting her climb over that fence. “It’ll be pitch-black out there. What do you think you’re going to see?”
“My sister’s grave.”
“Your sister’s grave is in New Hampshire.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to come.” She grabbed onto the fence posts and stuck the tip of her sandal on a cross bar. “I think I can get over by myself.”
“You’re wearing a skirt, for Christ’s sake.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So don’t look.”
“Oh, like I’m worried about your modesty. Seriously, what do you plan to do over there? You don’t know where she was found, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. We don’t have a flashlight.”
“I don’t know, I just—”
Approaching headlights caused both of them to cover their eyes. Joe lifted Catherine off the fence and set her down beside him as a Land Rover came to a stop. A stocky park ranger stepped out into the rain, frowning, pulled out a flashlight and ran it over them as he approached.
“Shit,” Joe said under his breath, but he smiled and put up a hand in greeting. “Hello!”
“Don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what you folks are doing trying to climb a fence on national park land that is clearly posted as closed at sunset,” the young man said gruffly.
“I can explain, Ranger—” Joe read the name on his uniform. “Ayers. And I’ll pay whatever fine we need to.” He bundled Catherine under his arm to offer a little protection from the rain. It wasn’t much, given how wet both their clothes were already.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by his jacket.
“I hate to do it,” the ranger said, “but my supervisor’ll have my ass if I don’t write you up for trespassing.”
“We understand.”
“Why don’t you folks go on and sit in the back of the Rover while we do that. There’s a couple blankets you can wrap up in if you want.”
They thanked him and got into the backseat. Joe plucked a blanket off the seat and wrapped it around Catherine, then tucked her into his side.
This could be a golden opportunity to do a little digging. When the ranger slid into the driver’s seat Joe asked, “Does that sort of thing happen very often, Ranger?”
“From time to time.”
“Have you ever had to kick anybody off Roosevelt Island?”
The ranger picked up a clipboard from the passenger seat and glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. “Rarely. But now and then you get kids out here after dark, that kind of thing.”
“You usually do the night rounds?”
“Been doing it for a couple of years. Works better for me, being a night owl.”
“I suppose the police questioned you when Blair Morrissey’s body was found on the island.”
Ayres wrote on his clipboard for several moments without answering. “I can’t discuss that case, sir.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Orders.”
“That’s odd,” Joe said. “I wouldn’t have thought the National Park Service would forbid its employees from discussing something that’s been all over the papers for months.”
“Oh, it’s not the Park Service,” Ayres said.
“Park police?”
“No, the park police don’t investigate deaths per se in national parks. That’s the jurisdiction of the local police or the FBI or whoever’s in charge.”
“I see. So the testimony of park service employees is considered part of an ongoing investigation by the D.C. police?”
Ayres scratched his head. “You know, it’s a funny thing about that. We never actually testified to anything. Some D.C. police detective came by and told all of us who patrol the island that we were not to talk to anybody, especially reporters, about the case, and said he’d be back to take our statements. But he never did come back. That point, they already had the dude in custody.”
Catherine squeezed Joe, letting him know he should continue. “Odd that they never came back,” Joe said. “You’d think they’d want to talk to you guys first, before they dragged in a suspect. Find out if you’d seen anything suspicious around that time. Early November, right? We had all that cold weather and the freak snowstorm that made everybody stop worrying about global warning?”
Ayres turned the key in the ignition, letting out a blast of cold air. He quickly fiddled with some dials and heat poured from the vents. “I remember.”
“What I can’t figure,” Joe went on, “is how she got over there in the first place. I heard somewhere that she didn’t like the woods.”
“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Ayres said. “She canoed over. Matter of fact... Well, it was probably nothing, but I remember one night—it was a full moon, so I could see real well—must’ve been about midnight or shortly thereafter, I spotted a woman walking up the bank and into the trees. It struck me as strange because one of those older, heavy canoes, you know, was sitting on the shore.”
“Was she alone?” The hairs on the back of Joe’s neck were standing straight up.
The ranger stared through the wet windshield at the island. “I didn’t see anyone else, but it’s possible there was someone with her.
She coulda used some help dragging that thing.”
Joe didn’t want to give himself away by appearing too anxious. “Must’ve been a big woman.”
“Nah. She was all in black, so I probably wouldn’t have spotted her if it hadn’t been for all that blond hair.”
Catherine gasped. Joe coughed quickly to cover it. “A blonde dressed in black dragging a canoe? Not a bad sight on a moonlit night.”
Ayres chuckled. “I didn’t get a good look at her. Figured she was out enjoying the moonlight, had to pee—excuse me, ma’am—and soon as she was done she’d take off again.”
“Did you report that to the police?”
“I was going to, you know, when they came back to question me. Figured they’d want to check the logs to fix the date and so forth. I’m real careful about logging in anything unusual. But they never came back.” Ayres fell silent, still staring out at the island. Joe waited. “I guess I should have followed up anyway. I mean, it’s possible it was her.”
“Anything’s possible,” Joe said, making a mental note to get his hands on those logs the police had never seen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was eleven o’clock when Catherine said good-night to Ned at the curb and took the elevator up to her apartment. He’d clearly been disappointed that she hadn’t invited him up, but fortunately he was too much of a gentleman to push her. He’d kissed her on the lips and promised he would call her if he learned anything more and hoped to see her again soon. She’d smiled and said that would be nice, but really, how could she spend another whole evening pretending to have a good time with him when her mind kept wandering to Joe? Besides, all he’d had for her was confirmation from the police chief that the guy in custody was a solid suspect and that this really was a matter of national security.
In other words, he had absolutely nothing.
She kicked off her dressy sandals as soon as she walked in the door, pulled her dress over her head, lost the bra and pulled on a soft nightshirt. She was brushing her teeth when she heard the doorbell. Weird. Visitors were supposed to call up and get buzzed in, not just walk in.