by Jane Gorman
“Call me Tom.” He smiled weakly and shrugged, then lowered his face to his coffee.
The kitchen in which they sat was testament to the effectiveness of Elise’s leadership. Stainless steel work surfaces shined next to spotless granite countertops. Cooking knives, mixers, bowls all showed neatly from behind glass-fronted cabinets. It was an elegant, well-equipped kitchen, ready for the chef to prepare a light dinner for two or a dinner party for thirty, depending on the ambassador’s needs for the day. The chef himself had left the premises, out for his daily visits to the grocers and butchers.
“Can you tell me who from the staff was working yesterday morning?” Adam turned his question to Elise.
She shrugged and her frown was quintessentially French. “Les femmes des chambres, of course, were upstairs tidying the rooms.” Adam nodded. Sam was upstairs right now with one of those maids, hopefully getting her perspective on the shooting. And hopefully not getting caught, since he didn’t have the right to search the premises. “Tomas had a quick bite here in the kitchen, but then went out to the cars, oh… what time, Tomas?”
“Oh, I — I was out there for a while. Before the senator’s car even showed up.”
“Yeah, I was going to ask about that,” Adam stopped him. “Why were the senator and her husband here?”
“Well… because they were going to Philadelphia?” Tom’s words were more question than statement.
“Yeah, I know that. Why were they meeting here?” He glanced first at Tom, then Elise.
Tom simply shrugged, but Elise volunteered a response. “It was very gracious of Senator Marshall to agree to start their journey here, with the ambassador. They had a civilized breakfast together. Then they could start the drive at the same time, to arrive at the same time.” She raised her eyebrows as she offered the explanation, as if for a brighter man it wouldn’t have required an explanation.
Adam smiled in response. “And that was it, the only people here that morning?”
Elise shook her head and lowered her eyebrows. “I do not understand the question.”
“In the house that morning.” Adam spoke slowly. “You, Tom, two maids, plus the ambassador, the senator and her husband, and Mr. McFellan. Was that it?”
“And the chef, of course.” Elise sounded surprised. “And M. Toulard, assistant to the ambassador.”
“Of course.” Adam nodded again. “Anyone else I’ve missed?”
“Well, the police.” Tom spoke up. “I mean, there was the Diplomatic Security here for the ambassador, and Secret Service for the senator.”
“Right.” Adam picked up his coffee cup, though he could tell without tasting it that it had long since grown cold. “And you can vouch for all of the staff? You trust them?”
“I did not hire all of them, if that’s what you mean.” Elise’s words were simple, but her tone made it clear that some of the staff didn’t meet up with her standards.
Adam made a mental note to revisit the staff’s background, then shifted tacks. “Did either of you see anything that could be helpful to our investigation? Anything at all.”
Tom shrugged and raised his eyebrows. Elise frowned. “I see many things, Detective. What specifically are you asking?”
Adam considered the question as he placed his cup back on the table. What was he asking? If she had seen someone running through the house with a smoking gun, perhaps. Or if the chamber maid had come to her in tears having just killed a man. Adam smiled as he considered the options, then turned his gaze back to Elise.
“Anything at all, ma’am. Even the smallest details can prove useful, things that may seem insignificant to you. I’m sure you notice everything that goes on here,” he added.
Elise nodded in agreement. “I do. I am aware of everything that takes place in this house.”
“And nothing struck you as odd that morning?”
Elise gave her head a single shake, her lips tight together. “I run an organized house, Detective Kaminski. If anything had been out of order, I would have known.”
Adam had to agree. If something unusual had happened that morning, Elise would have known. He glanced out the window to the landscaped back yard that stretched an easy fifty yards before ending at the hedges that lined the property, dividing it from the equally grand house on the next street over.
“I have told you who was here when the young man was killed. I have told you I saw nothing unusual. I have nothing more I can add.”
Tom glanced at his watch as Elise spoke, then jumped up. “I gotta get out to the car. The ambassador’ll want to go in ten minutes.”
He gave a quick nod toward Adam, a more obsequious look to Elise, then headed out a side door that led to the garages.
“I appreciate your time, and the accuracy of your memory, Elise.” Adam rose as he spoke. “If you are sure there’s nothing else you’ve left out, no one else who was here.”
Elise moved toward the door as she spoke. “Not by the time the senator arrived, no. That was it.” She made as if to step through the door, but the sharpness of Adam’s voice stopped her.
“By the time the senator arrived. What does that mean? Was someone else here earlier?”
Elise glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the hall when footsteps sounded, moving from the room next to the kitchen toward the front door. “No one that matters, I assure you. I am needed elsewhere now. You must excuse me.”
Adam watched her stiff, black-clad form as she marched up the hall toward the foyer, ready to see the ambassador off on his afternoon’s appointments.
Shit, Adam thought to himself, trotting after her. Why isn’t Sam back downstairs yet?
“It’s fine, Beth, nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured the young woman in front of him, giving her his best smile. “If you can’t trust a cop, who can you trust?”
That, at least, elicited a reaction from her, though not the one Sam had been hoping for. “Merde. You’re all the same, aren’t you?” She snapped her dust rag against the bookshelf as she spoke, her French accent revealing her status as an African immigrant.
“Cops?” Sam asked, confused.
“Men.” She gave him a cold look, then turned back to her dusting.
Sam smiled and shook his head. At least she was talking now.
“I can’t talk to you,” she continued as if reading his thoughts. “I have work I must do while the ambassador is out.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “And I am sure you should not be up here.” She wagged a finger at him as she spoke. “This is a French residence.”
Sam shrugged. “Like I said, it’s fine. And I won’t take you away from your work for long, I promise. I need you to tell me about yesterday morning. What happened, what you saw, things you noticed. Anything.”
Beth stood upright, hands on hips, and put her head to the side. Her black hair, pulled into a tight twist at the back of her head, looked almost toffee brown as the light hit it.
“I was upstairs when it happened. What could I have seen?”
“Okay.” Sam looked around the room they were in, thinking about his next question. Floor to ceiling bookshelves left no doubt as to the function of this room. Books of all shapes and types filled the shelves. Sam was surprised they weren’t all leather-bound tomes. He saw paperbacks as well as hardcover books tucked away on the shelves. A few volumes lay on the shining oak table in the middle of the room, a few more on the end table next to the red leather couch. A comfortable room to sit and read, no doubt. He turned back to the maid in front of him.
“What other rooms are on this floor?”
She shrugged, then turned toward the door, waving for Sam to follow her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He followed her to the main hallway on the floor, where she stopped and pointed at each door as she spoke. “The ambassador’s office. Mme. Saint-Amand’s office.” She turned back toward the doors on the front of the house. “Two guest rooms, not currently used. And of course the library.” She gestured back
to the room behind them, which took up most of the west wing on the second floor.
“Can I look in those guest rooms?” Sam walked toward a closed door even as he asked.
Beth said nothing, though she managed to express both her disapproval and recognition of her own inability to stop him through a simple harrumph.
“Come, show me the rooms.” Sam had one door open and looked back at Beth. She followed him in.
“Do you clean all of these rooms?” Sam asked.
“Of course, who else do you think does it?” Beth moved over to the windows as she spoke, glancing out at the front yard. The forensics team had cleared out, but divots in the grass, deep treads in the gravel, remained as evidence of their examination of the grounds. She shook her head and turned back to Sam.
“I clean all of these rooms, this floor and the one above. There is a second maid who does the ground floor and the attic rooms.”
“You didn’t happen to be in this room yesterday morning, did you?”
Beth frowned and looked away, shaking her head so slightly Sam wasn’t really sure it was an answer.
“Where were you when the shot was fired?”
Beth shrugged again, this time running her rag over the chest of drawers that stood against the wall next to the window. “I am not sure exactly… I can not know where I am every minute.” She stopped moving and looked at Sam. “I was not in here. No, that I know. I would have seen something then, no? And I saw nothing.”
“You still might’ve seen something. Wherever you were.” Sam didn’t push her more than that, waiting for her to share whatever it was that was making her nervous. He watched as she picked up a brush and mirror set from the top of the dresser, idly wiping the back of the mirror with her rag, then placing them back on the dresser. In the exact place they had been before, Sam noticed.
“You take great pride in your work, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”
“It’s clear. From the way these rooms look. I don’t think anyone would doubt that. No matter what you’re hiding. I don’t think you need to worry.”
Sam walked over to her, to put his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped would be a reassuring gesture. She stepped away from him as he reached out, moving back toward the door of the room.
“Right. Fine.” She shrugged. “I stepped outside for a minute. Just a minute, I promise.” She looked up at him, and for the first time Sam saw doubt in her deep brown eyes. “Do you have to tell Elise?”
“Of course not.” Sam shook his head reassuringly. “Your secret is safe with me.” He paused, then added, “Unless it has something do with the murder.” He raised one eyebrow, and Beth laughed.
“Murder. Hah. I could murder him, though…” She glanced out, back down the hallway, then turned back to Sam. “Look, people are moving around downstairs. I really must get back to the library before Elise catches me.” She looked meaningfully at Sam. “Or catches you, right?”
Sam shrugged. “Where were you? Where did you go?”
“I stepped out the back door. Just for a minute. Maybe two. I was definitely back up here within five minutes.”
“Why did you go outside, Beth?”
“It does not matter now.” She looked down at her hands as she spoke. “It really does not matter.” She looked back up at Sam, the defiance he had seen earlier back in her eyes. “I did not see anything. Or anyone. Well, anyone involved in the murder. No one sneaking around with a gun, that sort of thing.”
“Someone could have come up here while you were downstairs, right?”
Beth took a step back at the question, as if she hadn’t considered that. “Well… I suppose so. I was not gone for long, I swear it.” She shook her head as she spoke, her eyebrows raised. “If someone came up here, then it was someone who knew the house, knew where he was going. It was not much time.”
This time Sam heard the footsteps downstairs, too. With only a final glance at Sam, Beth turned and ran down the hall back to the library. Sam started toward the main staircase, but the voices carrying up made it clear the ambassador and his house manager were in the foyer.
Stepping as quietly as he could, Sam turned back toward the small door at the end of the hall, next to the library. He was pretty sure there was a back staircase here somewhere. The lords of the manor wouldn’t want the servants running up and down the main staircase.
Ambassador Saint-Amand didn’t glance at Elise, but stood in the front hall looking through the contents of his portfolio. As Adam watched, Elise stepped past him to the left of the front door. She opened a door that blended so well with the walls Adam hadn’t even noticed it before, reaching in and extracting a long black umbrella. This she handed to the ambassador’s assistant as he stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him. The ambassador hadn’t looked up to see either of them.
With a nod, the assistant took the umbrella, then moved toward the front door. Only after the front door was open, the assistant standing waiting next to it, did the ambassador look up.
“Bon, allons-y.” He stepped out of the house, his tread as soft and delicate as Adam remembered. The assistant glanced at Elise, then followed.
A noise from the kitchen behind him caught his attention, and Adam turned as Sam approached him.
“Hey, I was getting worried about you,” Adam spoke under his voice.
“Came down the back stairs.” Sam gestured toward a plain panel door with his head. “I figured a place like this had to have a servant’s staircase, right?”
“I suppose so, though I gotta admit, I wouldn’t really know.” Adam grinned. “Any luck?”
“Come on, let’s compare notes out in the car.”
Adam glanced back up the hallway, where Elise was closing the front door, then turned and followed Sam back out the side door toward the garages.
Pale paving stones marked out a path from the side door toward the garage that stood about fifty feet away from the house, closer to the street. Adam and Sam hung a right as they passed by it, Adam glancing in through the small windows. The garage looked like it could easily hold four cars, maybe more.
Sam’s car was parked down the curved drive, away from the house. Once they were out of earshot of anyone in the house or garage, Sam spoke first. “The upstairs maid admitted she went out back that morning. Right around the time of the shooting. To meet someone, she says.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t tell me. Not yet, anyway. She gave the impression it was a boyfriend or something. And that it didn’t go well. We need to check that out.”
“Elise let slip that someone else was here yesterday morning. She wouldn’t say who, either. Maybe that was it.”
“Huh.” Sam frowned as he pulled the driver’s side door open and slid in. “That’s a surprise. Beth seemed sure Elise didn’t know about her visitor — she wanted me to promise not to tell her.”
“Elise is a tough cookie. She may well know everything that goes in that house, as she claims.” Adam got in the passenger side, pulling the door shut behind him.
Sam started the engine, then turned back to Adam. “So a mystery man comes to the house to meet the maid. Maybe Elise knows about it. Or maybe there was someone else here that morning that Elise hasn’t mentioned.”
“Was it a coincidence that Beth was out back when the shot was fired? Or was she drawn away from that room at that time intentionally?” He glanced up at the second floor windows as he spoke. “Which window is it?”
Sam leaned forward to look out the front window, then pointed. “Three to the right of the front door.”
“She would’ve had a great vantage point to see the whole thing.”
“Yeah…” Sam let the word hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “It could also be the room where the shot was fired. I checked the window. It opens smoothly, removable screens. It would only take a few seconds. Look.” He pointed again. “The shooter just had to lean forward out the window
and he’d have had a perfect target.”
“That’s kind of bold, don’t you think? Good chance of being seen.”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Who’s looking up?”
Adam glanced over at Sam. “You? Secret Service?”
Sam sighed and looked down at the steering wheel in front of him. “Yeah, theoretically. Maybe we weren’t.”
“Come on.” Adam pulled his seatbelt across his chest. “You had your eyes peeled, I’m sure of it. If the killer did use that window, then he couldn’t have been seen. Or you would have seen him. Got it?”
“Or” — Sam looked up at the window, then back at Adam — “or she never left the room. She was there when the shot was fired. Maybe she let her mysterious visitor in, then showed him up to the room.”
Adam nodded as Sam pulled the car down the drive toward Kalorama Drive. “Lots of questions still.” He looked back at the mansion as they pulled away. “Drop me at Barton McFellan. I’m meeting Ramona there.” He laughed at Sam’s expression. “Apparently she doesn’t trust this unsophisticated Philly cop to talk to your K-Street lobbyists on his own.”
14
Adam spun around to find the source of the sound, the sirens boomeranging off the glass and brick buildings surrounding Franklin Square. He exhaled when he saw the ambulance, felt the tension drain from his shoulders.
Why he routinely tensed at the sound of sirens was beyond him. His partner, Pete, claimed it was normal, that it came with the territory of being a cop. Maybe. Adam wasn’t convinced. Not having a radio, with the constant update of activities in the area, made it even tougher. Not knowing was never good.
He slid back on the bench, no longer perched on the edge but still tensed. He glanced at his watch one more time. He was still early. He could hardly blame Ramona for that.
He let his eyes drift over the square, benches filled with business women and men in drab suits grabbing a quick bite from the food trucks parked along the curbs. A group of children from a local day care center had taken over a patchy area that had once been grass but was now worn down to firmly packed earth. Even as he saw the people around him, he thought again about what he had learned that morning. Elise was keeping something back, that much was clear. And who was the unknown visitor that neither she nor Beth would name?