by Jane Gorman
Adam kept his head turned, staring fixedly out the window. He knew Sam was right. And it wasn’t just his job at stake, it was his whole life. He took a breath and focused. Running over and over again through the few facts they had. Trying to put them into order — into an order that would support what he now knew to be true.
“All right, one.” He spoke aloud. “We know Jay was a blackmailer.”
“Check.” Sam nodded, still looking askance at Adam.
“Can we prove it, though? That’s the question.”
“Blackmail’s always tough to prove, you know that as well as I do.” Sam glanced over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “I did a little research last night.”
“Research?”
“Yeah, spent the evening at the library, digging through archived newspapers.”
Adam laughed. “You? That’s hard to imagine.”
“You know they still use microfilm at those places?” He shook his head and laughed. “But it paid off.”
“What’d you find?”
“Those news clippings you found on Jay’s desk? You were right about them.”
“How’d you mean?”
“All the stories online are either gone or revised. I compared the stories I could find online with the stories that were actually printed — and still in the library’s archives. They’re different.”
“Anything that relates to the Marshalls?”
“Yeah, but not what I was expecting. It was about their daughter. Debbie.”
“What was?” Adam asked, confused.
“The article about hospitals. The journalist used the Marshalls — just prominent citizens at the time — as an example. Their daughter had been in the hospital six times over the previous year, and they used the costs associated with her various injuries to show how crazy hospital fees can be.”
“Was it only about her?”
“No.” Sam shook his head, his eyes still on the road. “She was one example. She was hospitalized a lot.”
Adam frowned. “Marshall said she had some kind of disease. Was that what they were treating her for?”
“Didn’t mention it. Just the accidents.”
“So why was Jay so interested in Debbie?”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each considering the options.
As the car turned onto Constitution Avenue, Adam voiced his thoughts. “We know Jay was a blackmailer. I know he was targeting the senator. It must have had something to do with Debbie. We need to find out what.”
“If he had the goods on them...” Sam shook his head. “Even if there was something questionable about the way Debbie was treated that they wanted to keep secret, maybe they would pay to keep that quiet. But to kill? I don’t know about that.”
Adam shrugged. “That’s what we need to find out.”
38
“I could lose my job for this, you know.” Denise looked up from her computer screen to glare at the two men sitting opposite her in the cramped office allocated to her by the Department of Health and Human Services.
“I know, Denise. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“And how important it is,” Adam added to Sam’s thanks.
“Mm-hmm.” Denise pulled her lips into a tight frown and looked back at her monitor. “Debbie Marshall, you said? Spelling?”
“Exactly like in Senator Marshall.”
Denise looked up again at Sam’s tone. “Wait a minute, you didn’t say this had anything to do with a senator. You just said it was about a girl who was killed.”
“And it is, Denise. The senator’s daughter.”
“I don’t think so.” Denise sat back from her keyboard and folded her arms under her ample breasts. “If the senator’s daughter had been killed, that’s something I would have heard about.”
“Look, Denise, I understand what kind of position I’m putting you in, I really do.” Sam leaned forward toward his friend, his face earnest. He had brought Adam here, the headquarters of Health and Human Services, because of his long history with Denise. Growing up together on the alley, playing hookie together, learning to trust and rely on each other when so many people couldn’t be trusted. “I know I’m asking a lot, but you have to trust me on this one.”
Denise tipped her head to the side and smiled at Sam, her eyes softening. “Of course I trust you, Sammy, you know that. What you’re asking me to find... I can’t.”
“Please.”
Denise cut him off. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t. There’s nothing here.” She waved vaguely in the direction of her computer.
“I thought Marshall said—”
“He did.” Sam cut off Adam’s question. “Debbie was in and out of the hospital all the time. Her medical records must be pages and pages long. How could you not be finding them?”
“There’s no way,” Denise said. “If they were here, I’d see them.” She pointed again to her computer. “Between HIPAA, Obamacare, and all the recent work that’s gone into computerizing medical records, I have access to records from all over the country. And with my HHS access, there’s not a lot I can’t see. What I can’t see right now are any medical records for Debbie — or Deborah — Marshall.”
“Is it because they’re too old?” Adam asked. “Maybe records get deleted after a while. Or not digitized?”
“Sure.” Denise nodded at him. “If all that you’re talking about happened more than fifty years ago.”
Sam shook his head. “Uh-uh. This would have been in the last twenty years or so. The records should be there.”
“Who has the ability to change these — or erase them?” Adam asked.
“Ability?” Denise shrugged. “I don’t know. Any good hacker, I suppose. The authority to change them? That’s a very short list: nobody. These records are not supposed to be changed. That’s a federal crime. Huh...” She turned back to her computer, tapping furiously on the keys.
“Now what?” Sam asked.
“I was just thinking that it should be possible to find out who deleted them. Every time we log into the system we leave a record of our presence. We should be able to trace this back. Agh!” She slammed her finger down on a key and spun her chair away from the desk, her earrings jangling as she turned. “That’s beyond my pay grade. Someone has done a pretty good job of covering their tracks.”
“But it can be traced? If we can convince the FBI to put one of their specialists on it?”
“Sure. Like I said, anytime we log on it leaves a record. Sets off little alarms. The system is set up intentionally to prevent the type of fraud you’re describing.”
“Not fraud. Murder.” Sam shook his head again. “What do you think, Kaminski? Is this enough to convince the Bureau?”
Adam wasn’t listening to Sam’s question. He was still focused on something Denise had said earlier.
He took a breath, tried to still his thoughts. “You’re saying that someone can tell that you were just in there looking for Debbie’s records?”
“Sure. Like I said, the system is designed to set off an alarm whenever someone tries to mess with it. “
“And who gets that alarm?”
Denise’s lips turned down into a frown. “That depends. It could be the doctor who’s currently working the case, or a hospital administrator who’s responsible for the records… or anyone who’s responsible, really.”
“Like the parents of the patient?”
“No.” Denise’s earrings jangled again. “No, not the parents. Or the patient.”
Sam gave Adam a look, but he ignored it, continuing to direct his questions to Denise. “How about law enforcement? If the patient’s death was suspicious, would local law enforcement be alerted if someone tried to change the medical records?”
Denise nodded, but Sam spoke before she could. “You’re thinking about the Sheriff up in Clarion County, aren’t you?”
Adam’s lips pulled tight. “I’m thinking that we just set off those alarms. And someone’s going to let the Marshall
s know.”
“Shit.” Sam stood. “How long do we have?”
Denise’s head moved only a fraction, her eyebrows raised. “It could be days.”
“Or less?”
She raised her shoulders. “If someone’s watching that account, paying attention, sure. Hell, it could be hours.”
“We gotta go, Sam.” Adam put a hand on Sam’s arm. “Now.”
“Thanks a bunch, Denise. I owe you one. Big time.”
“Yes, you do, honey, but then again, you already did.”
Sam stepped around the desk to plant a kiss on her cheek, then followed Adam out the door.
“My guess is, by the end of the day they’ll know we tried to access those records.”
“So now what?”
Adam pushed past a crowd near the entrance, picking up his pace as he headed for Sam’s car. “We need to move forward, we have no choice. And I don’t care how tough she is, I need to talk to Lisa Marshall.”
39
Miranda sat behind the desk in Senator Marshall’s outer office. Adam was struck again by how thin and pale she was. She needed to get outside. Get some exercise.
Right now, she looked bored. For her, this was just another day at the office, waiting for the Senate to run out the clock on its summer session so she could leave DC along with the rest of the Hill politicians.
“Good morning, Miranda. Is Senator Marshall in?” Adam asked.
Miranda smiled up at them, but her brow lowered at the same time. “Is she expecting you?”
“I doubt it. It is important,” Sam answered.
“We found something that could definitely affect her chances of reelection,” Adam added.
Miranda frowned and started to speak. Sam cut her off, glancing at Adam. “He means her future job prospects.”
“Oh, is it about Barton McFellan?” Miranda asked.
“Yes, it is,” Adam said, “something she really needs to know about Jason McFellan. Now.”
“She’s in the main Senate chamber now. She’ll only be in there for twenty minutes or so. Do you want to wait here for her?”
Adam leaned forward over Miranda’s desk, shifting a pile of papers that floated gently down to the floor. Miranda watched their progress before turning her attention back to Adam, who was already speaking. “This can’t wait, Miranda. She’ll really want to know this now. Not in twenty minutes.”
“Oh.” Miranda stood, turning at her desk, then turning the other direction to a file cabinet behind her. She turned back to the men. “Now? Are you sure?”
“Now.” Adam’s voice betrayed not a hint of the doubt he felt about this course of action. He had to be right. He had to be.
Miranda pulled two laminated cards out of a file and handed them to Adam and Sam, who clipped the IDs onto their lapels.
They followed her through a warren of hallways until she stopped and swiped her ID over a lock. Elevator doors slid open.
They emerged into a subway, one Adam hadn’t seen before. Only a few people lingered here. Some who Adam recognized from the news. A lot more he didn’t recognize. Those nameless aides who operated behind the scenes, writing all the bills that became the law of the land. Making all the deals. Running the country. Not at all the image most Americans had of the way their Congress worked.
As they stood there, a short subway car pulled up, its doors sliding silently open. A handful of men and women in gray and black suits got off, each talking intently with the person with them or focusing on paperwork in their hands. One or two cast sideways glances at Adam and Sam as they approached the car, as if trying to place a semi-familiar face.
“You’ll be okay from here.” Miranda waved them onto the train. “Get off at the first stop, follow the others. It will take you right into the Capitol. The senator’s in the main Senate chamber.”
“Thanks for your help, Miranda.”
“You won’t be able to talk to her until she leaves the chamber…” Miranda’s warning was cut off as the doors slid shut.
The ride took only a few minutes. Adam had just sat down on a bench next to Sam when the car pulled to a gentle stop. Sam and Adam followed the other passengers off the train.
Small, discreet signs were sufficient to clearly mark the path before them. Only one main hallway ran between the subway and the Capitol, sloping gently up to the Crypt. The low-ceilinged room seemed to be supported by the marble columns that filled the space, though surely the number of columns was overkill. Unless they were supporting the weight of the work being done above, not just the ceiling.
Sam led the way up the stairs to the main hallway as Adam tried not to think about the implications of their actions. The disaster he was courting by ignoring a direct order. Worse, by ignoring Sylvia.
Crowds of tour groups pushed past them, their eyes moving from one painting to another as they followed the guide through their headphones, oblivious to the people moving to and fro around them on congressional business.
On the second floor, they passed through the small Senate rotunda to approach the main door of the Senate chamber. A guard stopped their progress there.
“Sorry, you need to go to the public balcony.” The guard pointed to their IDs. “You can’t go in here.”
Sam pulled out his DS ID card. “We gotta talk to Senator Marshall. It’s important.”
The guard shook his head, his face like stone. “Is there a threat I need to know about?”
Sam paused for a second, but knew better than to create a panic. “No, sir, no imminent threat.”
“Then you need to wait here or go to the public balcony.” The guard folded his arms in front of his chest and planted his feet.
Sam nodded and took a step back. “We wait,” he said, turning to Adam and glancing at his watch.
“How long could this be?”
“It’s June, so not long.” Sam looked around at the smaller groups of tourists gathered in the small Rotunda. “Senate’s killing time at this point, keeping themselves in session so the President can’t make any recess appointments.”
Adam fiddled with the ID card Miranda had given him, making sure it was clearly visible on his jacket, then leaned over the waist-high marble railing to look down through the circular hole in the floor in the middle of the Rotunda. Tourists below stared back up at him. He smiled and stepped back.
Despite its name, the small Senate rotunda where they waited was a striking reception room, though admittedly more intimate than the Grand Rotunda below the Capitol Dome.
Images of historical scenes and the beautiful city shone before them. Images of hopes. Dreams. Fears. A city that was proud. And a city that was vulnerable.
A guide stopped on the level below, and Adam could hear her voice carrying up through the rotunda. The words were a blur, more white noise than anything else, until a phrase jumped out. 9/11. Adam stopped to listen.
The guide had been working here that day. She spoke softly. Slowly. Doing her best to share an experience that could never really be shared.
Adam stood, transfixed, listening to her story. Her experience of knowing what was happening but not truly understanding. Hearing of death. Destruction.
Running out of the building and seeing the plume of smoke in the distance. Being very afraid.
She finished talking and the group moved on. Adam stood where he was. Remembering. Thinking.
He thought about what people would do to protect their way of life. Even if that meant protecting their secrets.
The footsteps approaching from behind startled him.
Senator Marshall had walked quickly from the front of the room, her heels tapping along the marble floor. A trio of aides deeply engaged in a whispered discussion trailed along in her wake.
“Yes.” Her voice was curt. Abrupt. Impatient. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk with you, ma’am.” Adam glanced at the aides before adding, “In private.”
The senator looked at the young man to her right, who chec
ked his watch and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this morning is not a good time for me. I have a lot going on.” The senator nodded at them both, then turned as if to walk away.
“We know why Jay was killed.” Adam paused. “Senator.”
She frowned. “I would certainly like to hear about that. I’ll contact the commissioner, I’m sure he can fill me in. I understand it was something to do with drugs. That Ambassador Saint-Amand’s staff was involved.”
Sam was letting Adam do all the talking, and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not. “That’s not it, Senator.” Adam added nothing more, waiting to see her reaction.
She didn’t even blink. “I have meetings all day, then late lunch plans. I cannot talk with you.” She glanced down at her phone, vibrating in her hand, then back up at Adam and Sam.
She didn’t pause. Just turned and tapped away, lifting her phone to her ear.
40
“Damn.” Adam turned on his bar stool to keep his arm from touching the oak bar. Every unexpected nudge still sent shivers of pain up his arm into his shoulder.
“You okay, Kaminski?”
He nodded at Sam and ran his eyes around the room before glancing back at the door of the steakhouse. Looking at the other clientele in the restaurant and bar, he wasn’t surprised the senator had scheduled her late lunch meeting here.
Distracting Miranda long enough for Sam to look through the senator’s appointment book had been easy. Talking to her surrounded by groups of lawmakers, lobbyists, and influence peddlers wasn’t going to be, but he had to give it another try. He wasn’t ready to give up yet.
He took another sip of his Tullamore Dew as he waited. Sam was drinking beer, though drinking wasn’t really the right word. He moved the pint glass around on the bar, sometimes tapping it in his impatience.
They’d been waiting for over an hour. Apparently a “late lunch” really meant cocktails, and the senator didn’t care if she kept her dining companions waiting.
Senator Marshall swept in from 14th Street like a shark who sensed blood in the water. Adam sniffed and realized he could smell blood buried within the aroma of rare steaks and peaty whiskey.