Deadly Politics (A Molly Malone Mystery)

by Maggie Sefton

  Karen didn’t answer. She just sat there, gazing out the windshield. I sucked in an icy breath and stared at the blood again. No.

  I stumbled around the car, holding onto it, while panic closed in. No. She’s asleep. She’s sick. She threw up. She had a seizure. She … she … Then I stared at the windshield and felt my body go numb.

  Blood. Karen’s blood. Splattered on the glass. The driver’s window was shattered, broken glass all over the ground. Blood on Karen’s face and clothes. A horrible bloody wound in her head.

  I staggered back from the car, away from the blood and gore, and felt myself sink into another place, another time. A gruesome scene where another loved one lay drenched in his own blood.

  I don’t remember screaming, but there was an awful sound that pierced the night air as I sank to my knees in the darkened street and retched.

  Five

  The rough pavement scratched my cheek. Grit embedded my palms. I barely noticed. All I could feel was the pounding inside my head, the shrill scream still echoing in my ears.

  Suddenly strong hands were on my shoulders, lifting my face from the pavement. “Molly, are you sick? Do you want a doctor?” Casey’s voice sounded beside me, piercing through the noise inside my head.

  I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I reached through the fog that wrapped around me and found a whisper. “No … no …”

  “Then why did you scream?” Casey said as he pulled me to my feet.

  Feeling the ground beneath me, I willed myself to stand. I would not collapse. I would not collapse. I raised a shaking arm and pointed to the car. “Karen …”

  Casey whipped his head around and stared at the gruesome sight. “Jesus Christ!” He released me and raced to the car. “Did you see what happened, Molly?”

  “No, no …” I whispered. “I found her like that just now … oh, God …”

  Casey bent down and peered into the bloody car. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Oh, God … she’s been shot … she’s been shot … I can tell,” I managed, my voice stronger now.

  “You’re right,” Casey said as he drew a handkerchief from his pocket, reached over, and opened the car door.

  Karen’s BlackBerry dropped to the street with a metallic clatter. Something about the sound penetrated inside. The fog enveloping me evaporated.

  Casey leaned closer and peered into my niece’s death-pale face. “She’s gone, Molly. I’m sorry.”

  I stared at Karen’s pretty face covered in blood and closed my eyes. But not before noticing Casey reach down with his handkerchief and pocket Karen’s BlackBerry as he closed the car door.

  “My God, who did this? Who would kill Karen?” I could feel blood pumping through my veins as an old comrade crept from the bushes at the edge of my mind. Anger. It hadn’t been around in a long time.

  “I don’t know, Molly,” Casey said as he slowly walked around the car. He scanned the sidewalk, then opened the other door and leaned inside the car.

  Suddenly Albert’s voice called out as he rushed up, Peter right behind him. “Molly, Molly, are you all right?” Albert cried, then jerked to a stop when he saw the car. “Madre de Dios!” He crossed himself as he swayed on his feet.

  “My God … is that … is that Karen?” Peter flinched in horror. “What … happened?”

  “She’s been shot,” I heard myself answer in a quiet voice.

  “And from close range,” Casey said as he backed out of the car. “It could have been a mugging. I didn’t see a purse on the seat. Did she carry a purse, Molly?”

  I nodded. “And a briefcase.” My voice came stronger. My old comrade had joined me now, no longer content to hover at the edges.

  Casey peered inside the car again. “Nope, no sign of a briefcase, either. Whoever did this ran off with both.” He shook his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  My breathing turned ragged as anger flooded through me. “You mean some drugged-out meth freak killed my niece for her purse? Goddammit to Hell!”

  Albert reached out. “Molly, why don’t you come inside—”

  I pushed his hand away. “No! I’m not going anywhere until I find out what happened to Karen. Where are the police? Where are the goddamned police?”

  “I’ll call them right now, Molly,” Peter said, backing away, grimacing at the car once more. “We’ll find who did this, I swear we will.”

  Senator Russell’s voice called from the sidewalk behind us. “Albert, Peter! Is everything all right?”

  “Better get the senator back inside, Peter,” Casey said, glancing toward Russell who was approaching on the sidewalk behind us. “I’ll call the police. I have friends on the force.” He pulled a cell phone from inside his jacket as he returned to the sidewalk beside the car.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go inside, Molly?” Albert asked. “Away from …” he gestured, not finding words.

  I shook my head and watched Casey, talking on the phone as he paced the sidewalk beside the car. “No. I want to be here when the police come. You go back to the house, Albert, and keep everyone away from here.” I didn’t ask. I ordered.

  Albert looked at me with undisguised concern, then nodded before turning away.

  I stared at Karen while Casey talked on the phone. Her pretty face frozen in death, mouth open, blue eyes wide, fixed and staring, blood staining her face, her hair, as she gaped in surprise. Less than two hours ago she was alive and full of plans and promise, looking for a new job, full of hope.

  “They’re on their way, Molly,” Casey said as he approached. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait inside? You’d be more comfortable there.”

  I shook my head, my gaze narrowing on my niece. Anger banked for now, waiting. “I’m not going anywhere until I have some answers, Casey,” I said in a cold voice.

  Casey stared at me. “I’m not sure you’re going to get answers, Molly. Crimes like this are usually random and drug-related. Smash and grab. Steal a purse. Usually muggers don’t kill unless the victim fights back.”

  “Karen would fight back.”

  Casey nodded, watching me. “You’re probably right.”

  “How long before the police get here?”

  “Probably a few minutes more. Don’t worry. My friend got right on it. The cops will be all over the car. If the guy left any prints, maybe they can match ’em. If he’s got a record.”

  That comment sparked a thought. I pointed to the car. “I want Karen’s keys. Would you get them for me, Casey?”

  Casey peered at me. “I don’t think we should remove anything from the car, Molly.”

  Once again, I didn’t ask. I simply ordered. “I’ll be damned if I leave my niece’s apartment and office keys for everyone to paw through. Leave the car key. I’m keeping the rest.”

  Casey observed me a second longer before he went to the car. He returned and dropped a handful of loose keys into my open palm. “I left the car key on the ring so it wouldn’t look strange.”

  I dropped the keys into the deep pocket of my silk jacket, then held out my palm once more. “And I want Karen’s BlackBerry, Casey. I’ll need it to call her friends.”

  Casey hesitated. “Don’t you think we should give that to the police, Molly?”

  I shook my head slowly, my gaze never leaving his, while I let my voice drop an octave. “It was between the car seat and the door. That’s why it dropped to the street. The killer never saw it.”

  Casey observed me for a few seconds longer, then dropped the smooth black cell phone into my hand.

  _____

  I sipped the strong black tea Luisa had made for me while I watched the District of Columbia’s finest scurry about Karen’s car. Casey and Albert stood on either side of me. Two high-beam lamps sat on the sidewalk, bathing the car and the street surrounding it in a garis
h white light.

  Bright yellow taillights flashed as the ambulance carrying Karen’s shrouded body backed up, beeping its high-pitched warning sound before slowly driving away. The awful image of my vivacious and beautiful niece lying lifeless inside that body bag darted in front of my eyes, haunting me. I shut my eyes, willing it away, but the remnants of the image stayed on the back of my mind.

  The police detective who had questioned me earlier was squatting on the sidewalk beside the car with another investigator. They both pointed at the bloodied windshield and interior of the car, the broken driver’s window, the shattered glass spread across the street. Tiny shards reflected the harsh glare of the lamps.

  “Schroeder is one of the best, Molly. He doesn’t miss anything,” Casey said as he stood with folded arms, observing the scene.

  “Good. That means he’ll catch the scum who did this.” I replied, voice still cold despite the tea.

  Casey glanced my way. “He’ll try, Molly. I can promise you that. But these crimes are hard to solve. If there aren’t any witnesses, there’re no clues to go on.”

  “Maybe the neighbors saw something,” I suggested, glancing over my shoulder toward the darkened windows of the sedate brick townhouses lining the street behind me. Barely a lighted window could be seen along the block.

  Most residents were either asleep or did not wish to be involved. They opted to ignore the disturbance outside in true Georgetown cave dweller style. But I knew they were watching. Peering around draperies and peeking through shutters. They were there, all right. Discreetly observing everything.

  Casey glanced around the block with the practiced eye of a security man who had already checked out the neighborhood. “Doesn’t look like many neighbors are awake now, but the detectives will interview them tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  I watched Detective Schroeder stand up, still talking to the other investigator, and point across the street. Then pocketing his notepad, he headed our way. I waited until he was closer before beginning my own interrogation.

  “Did you find anything, Detective? Anything at all?”

  Schroeder looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. He could have been in his forties or fifties. It was hard to tell. His face was lined, either with age or witnessing too many gruesome scenes like this one. “We’ve just started investigating, Ms. Malone. Your niece’s car will be taken to our police lot and examined further. We may get lucky and match some prints.”

  “You found the purse, right? I saw you holding a bag that looked like Karen’s a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am. One of our officers found it at the corner curb, thrown near the drain.” He pointed down the street. “It was empty. Looks like the thief grabbed the wallet and anything else valuable and tossed the rest down the drain. There was only a lipstick and some tissues inside.”

  “You mean the killer,” I said, clenching the mug tighter.

  Schroeder nodded. “It looks to be a mugging turned murder. Some thug saw Ms. Grayson in her car alone and decided to make a quick score. Smash and grab. Maybe your niece tried to resist or something, and he shot her.” His gaze turned sympathetic. “I know this may be hard to understand, but crimes like this happen. Like any big city, Washington has its share of criminals.”

  I fixed him with an ironic look. “You don’t have to explain Washington to me, Detective. I grew up across the river in Arlington. I’m well aware of this city’s violent side. All the monuments are deceptive. Washington can be ugly.”

  Schroeder arched a brow. “Well, then, ma’am, I don’t have to tell you how easy it is for this to happen. Georgetown streets are dark and tree lined, which makes it easier for muggers to conceal themselves. And most streets lead either to parks or busy congested avenues, where they can slip out of sight. So it’s easy to mug someone and run.”

  I pondered the smash and grab theory he’d proposed. “So, he took the time to climb into Karen’s car to steal her purse and her briefcase. Yet he left her Rolex watch. I saw it on her arm. Why wouldn’t he take that too?”

  The expression in Schroeder’s eyes shifted. “As I said, Ms. Malone. This was most likely a crime of opportunity. The mugger saw Ms. Grayson alone in her car and took the chance. When she resisted, he shot her. After that, he probably grabbed the closest valuables and took off.”

  I had to admit that scenario made a kind of brutal sense. I was about to ask something else, when the other investigator walked up to Schroeder. I recognized Karen’s briefcase in his plastic-gloved hand. “That’s Karen’s,” I said, pointing.

  “Where’d you find it?” Schroeder asked him.

  “Two blocks down Q Street. All that’s left inside are pens, calculator, and some file folders,” the man answered. “I’ll give it to the guys to take to the lab.”

  He returned to a cluster of officers across the street, while Schroeder returned to his notebook, pulling it from his pocket. “You said earlier that Ms. Grayson definitely carried her laptop in her briefcase, right?”

  “Always.”

  Schroeder peered at his notes, flipping through pages for a minute. “And the last time you spoke with your niece was approximately nine o’clock this evening when she went outside to make phone calls, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you recall if your niece was upset or anxious about anything, Ms. Malone? Was there anything bothering her?”

  I paused, choosing my words. “Yes, Detective, there was. She’d just had a heated argument with her boss and planned to quit her job with Congressman Jackson’s office. That’s why she was outside in her car tonight, making phone calls. She was trying to land another congressional staff position.” I glanced toward the strange play of shadows on the street, feeling the unmistakable bite of guilt. “She was waiting for me to leave a political reception. We were planning to return to Northern Virginia where I’m staying with family.”

  Schroeder scribbled busily. “Who was hosting this reception? Which home?” He pointed toward the surrounding houses.

  “It was Senator John Russell’s reception,” I said as quietly as possible.

  “And did this heated argument between your niece and her employer take place at that same reception?”

  Damn. I didn’t want to drag Senator Russell into this. “Yes, it was, but the senator was nowhere near—”

  “Can we keep the senator’s name out of the press, Detective?” Casey cut in.

  Schroeder exchanged a glance with Casey, then returned to flipping notebook pages. “We’ll see what we can do.”

  Albert spoke up then, in a softer tone. “Are you nearly finished with interviewing Ms. Malone, Detective? Her family has arrived to take her back home.” He pointed toward the shadowed sidewalk down the street.

  I turned and peered into the dark, trying to see despite the harsh glare of the lights. Shading my eyes, I thought I spotted Nan and Bill standing to the side of some uniformed officers. I waved.

  “Of course, of course,” Schroeder said. “I know this has been hard for you, Ms. Malone, and I do appreciate your cooperation. Just one last question …”

  “Certainly,” I said, barely paying attention. All I could see was my family walking toward me, ready to take me away from the glare and the gruesome signs of murder. I could feel tears pressing inside, ready for release. I could hold them off until I was safe inside Nan and Bill’s car. I had to.

  “You said Ms. Grayson had argued with her boss. Was that Congressman Jackson from Nebraska?”

  “No, no,” I said, starting to back away from Schroeder. “It was Jed Molinoff, the congressman’s chief of staff. He was Karen’s boss.”

  Without another word, I turned around, ran to the open embrace of my family, and threw myself into their arms.

  Six

  “I probably won’t find a place to park around here, so I’ll keep driving
around the neighborhood until you finish,” Deb said as she turned onto Seventh Street.

  I glanced around Karen’s Capitol Hill neighborhood in Southeast Washington. Tidy brick rowhouses lined the street. Not a single parking space to be seen. Parking never changes in Washington.

  “That’s fine. I’ll call you when I’m leaving her apartment. It shouldn’t take me too long. I don’t want to be up there any longer than I have to. It’ll feel weird without Karen.”

  “Want me to find a garage and park so we can go up together?”

  I shook my head. “Naw, I’ll be all right. I’m just going to check her closet and find one of those dresses she wore to a White House dinner. It was a beautiful azure blue. Gorgeous.”

  “Oh, don’t forget lingerie.”

  “Right, right. Thanks for reminding me. And I’ve got to check her desk for legal files. Get a copy of her will and other stuff. We’ll need that.”

  “Poor baby girl,” Deb fell back on the same phrase that she’d been repeating for the last two days since Karen’s death.

  I didn’t say anything. I concentrated on reading the addresses of the rowhouses as we drove past. Getting closer. I spotted the trim beige brick rowhouse, planters filled with blooming yellow and red tulips. Late March’s sunnier days and frequent showers had turned Washington into a garden. The entire city was in bloom.

  “There it is.” I pointed. “Pull beside that convertible and I’ll jump out.”

  Deb deftly moved the Jaguar beside the parked cars. “Okay, I’ll see how long I can hang out here before I start cruising the area. Keep your fingers crossed that neighbors don’t think I’m a stalker or baby snatcher.”

  I grabbed the small suitcase I’d brought as I pushed open the car door. “Why don’t you call that funeral home and make sure their office will be open tonight so we can drop off everything.”

  “Good idea,” Deb said as she flipped open her phone.

  I fished inside my purse for the key ring where I’d put all of Karen’s keys while I raced up the concrete steps. Curved wrought iron railings graced either side of the steps leading to the front stoop. I sorted through the keys until I found the one that opened the navy blue entry door.