Meg cleared her throat in annoyance. Motioning toward each of us, respectively, she said, “My name is Meg Peters and this is my associate, Kit Marshall. We work for Senator Langsford.”
For a second, Meg looked confused. She caught herself and shifted to the past tense. “Rather, we worked for Senator Lyndon Langsford. Kyle is expecting us.” Meg dug into her purse and produced her business card, and I did the same. We gave them to Blondie, who seemed unfazed by the fact that our boss had just been murdered.
“I’ll let Kyle know you’re here.” She went back to staring at her computer screen, likely checking the latest status updates on Twitter. A little empathy might have been in order, but we were in Jordan Jessop’s office. These people wanted to take over my boss’s job; condolences were out of the question.
We sat in the small waiting room, and I took note of the décor. Since working in Congress, I had made a point of scrutinizing every congressional office I visited. From a purely anecdotal, non-scientific perspective, the way a member of Congress chose to decorate his or her office revealed a great deal. Members who had big egos tried to hang impressive photos of themselves taken with as many important people as possible. Even if the president had a popularity rating lower than Herbert Hoover’s, members of Congress with an inflated sense of self still proudly displayed a photograph with him in the Oval Office or at the White House holiday party. Members who wanted to portray themselves as down-to-earth “guy next door” types usually had photos with their families and frequently with their dog. Golden retrievers were especially popular.
Members who liked to emphasize the work they did for voters chose to decorate their waiting rooms with constituent artwork or with prints proudly displaying popular local attractions. Members who came from places without particularly scenic areas displayed local sports memorabilia or other collector’s items.
I looked around Representative Jessop’s office. As I could have predicted, pictures of Jessop were everywhere. In addition to his smiling visage, almost every photograph featured a famous person or a powerful politician: Jessop with former Presidents, Jessop with Cabinet secretaries, Jessop with the current and former Speakers of the House. There was even a picture of Jessop with Kermit the Frog. The message came through loud and clear: Jordan Jessop was an important person, and he spent time with important people—and occasionally Muppets. I groaned inwardly as I thought of Senator Langsford’s office, adorned with beautiful landscapes of the Boston Harbor, Cape Cod, and the historic industrial factories of Lowell. Except for a few candid shots with Vivian, Senator Langsford had decorated the office to commemorate the people he represented and the landscape he treasured. He hadn’t been egocentric—not for a politician—and his office décor testified to his lack of hubris. His likely successor, it appeared, didn’t share his humility.
I was awoken from my musings by a sing-song voice announcing, “Hello, fellow Bay State brethren!” I willfully restrained myself from muttering WTF under my breath.
Standing before me was a smiling man dressed neatly in stylish black suit pants, a perfectly pressed white shirt, and an American flag tie. He was in his early thirties and had short blond hair. His wire-framed glasses screamed, “smart, not nerdy.” Welcome to Mr. Joe U.S.A., the typical chief of staff in the U.S. House of Representatives. He looked as earnest and patriotic as could be. That wholesome look was rare in the Senate, where the senior staff was usually older and had grown chiseled and wizened, for better or for worse.
Much to her credit, Meg was ready to play her part. She jumped out of her seat and greeted Kyle with an enthusiastic hug. Now the obligatory expressions of sympathy would start. Kyle might be blond, but he had a greater sense of propriety than Blondie at the front desk.
Just as I predicted, Kyle gushed about how sorry he was about Senator Langsford. As he launched into his torrent of missives and testimonials about Langsford’s greatness, he ushered us back to his small office, which I noticed was adjacent to Jessop’s private suite. So far, so good.
As Kyle went on and on, describing Langsford as a “true American patriot” and a “great fan of the state,” I contrived a plan of action. If Meg could get him to move out of his office and into the area where the rest of the staff worked, I could slip into Jessop’s office undetected. Kyle was clearly the gatekeeper, and it would be Meg’s job to keep the gatekeeper sufficiently occupied.
I started to pay attention to the conversation again. We had moved on from sympathetic pleasantries to a discussion about the constituent request Meg ostensibly wanted to pawn off. It was a good excuse. If Jessop thought he was headed over to the Senate, he would want to establish a statewide constituent casework operation swiftly.
I caught the end of Meg’s remarks to Kyle. “We wouldn’t want any interruption of service, so I’m eager to make sure this concern is passed along to another congressional member of the delegation.”
He nodded his earnest agreement. “Exactly. We’re here to serve the citizens of our great state, aren’t we?” Kyle looked for affirmation from Meg and me. How many times would Kyle use some variation of the term “great state”?
We both hung on his every word, although it required serious acting on my part. Meg supervised constituent requests related to her issue areas, but we had casework staffers who took the lead on those matters. Members in the House, however, represented single congressional districts and not states. Every staffer who worked in the House had to develop a solid repertoire for handling constituent complaints, concerns, and requests. Their bosses were up for election every two years, as opposed to six for the Senate. That meant Election Day was at most one year and 364 days away. As the founding fathers had intended, the Senate had a greater degree of insulation from constant voter evaluation. Meg and I needed to play along to get Kyle away from Representative Jessop’s office. I doubted that under any other circumstances Meg would have been so eager to collaborate on a constituent request, especially with a staffer from the other political party.
Meg took advantage of the window Kyle had opened with his last comment. “Did you want me to talk to a staffer in your office specifically about this request? You mentioned on the phone you had someone in mind who could take the initiative on the matter.” She batted her eyelashes at Kyle; then, for good effect, she added, “And after we’re done talking about constituents, I thought we could discuss your happy hour plans for tonight.” She giggled and flipped her hair.
I’m sure Kyle was a conscientious chief of staff. He dressed the part, and he certainly talked the right game. Regardless, he was putty in Meg’s hands. His repeated past efforts to get Meg to have a drink with him had probably frustrated him immensely, and now Meg was offering a golden opportunity Kyle wasn’t about to turn down. I could have announced green Martians had just landed on the Capitol lawn, and it would have made no difference. The man looked like he’d just won the lottery. Kyle had no idea I was still in the room.
He responded by stammering, “Sure, Meg. Let’s go chat with the person who can serve as the new point of contact on this matter.” He paused for a long moment. “And then,” he touched Meg’s arm lightly, “we can talk about tonight.”
Meg beamed at him. “I thought you’d never ask, silly!” Even though her answer made no sense, Kyle ate it up and they left his office.
As predicted, Kyle paid me absolutely no mind. Even though he was aware on some conscious level I was present in the office, he had completely fixated on Meg and her charms. She had done her job and bought me the time I needed. I had at least ten minutes to sneak into Jessop’s office and snoop around.
I peeked around the corner to make sure Meg had kept Kyle conveniently disposed. She was leaning against a desk, smiling at him and giggling at his jokes. The way Meg was piling it on, maybe I had more like twenty minutes to investigate.
I tiptoed into Representative Jessop’s office. Congressional office suites were nothing to write home about. As much guff as the public sector took from taxpayers, tho
se of us who worked for members of Congress didn’t work in the lap of luxury. Congressional workstations were small, and only the head honchos had private offices. However, in both the House and the Senate, the one spot of regality was the member’s office. Both representatives and senators claimed the crown jewel of the congressional office suite. Member offices were large, but necessarily so. Since many meetings took place there, they needed enough room to entertain visitors, conduct briefings, and host other politicians.
Just as the front waiting area of any congressional suite said a great deal about the elected representative, a member’s personal office space provided a good read on the person who sat behind the desk. After all, this space wasn’t really a private area, since members conducted a considerable amount of business inside their office sanctuary. I took a look around Jessop’s inner sanctum. Even though he represented a district from the same state as my former boss, I had never set foot inside Jessop’s private office before today. After the stinging campaign four years earlier, Jessop and my boss had only traded terse, yet moderately cordial, remarks. Many of those exchanges were made through competing press releases about parochial issues concerning the state.
Several sofas and chairs framed Jessop’s dark wooden desk, with a coffee table in the middle. I looked to see what he’d chosen to place on the coffee table. It was a large book of famous presidential photographs. Was I surprised? Jessop might have his sights on the Senate for now, but he clearly aspired beyond the legislative branch of government.
I moved toward Jessop’s desk. If I was going to find anything linking Jessop to Senator Langsford’s murder, it would likely reside in his personal workspace.
Jessop had the obligatory picture of his perfect family adorning his desk. His wife strongly resembled Blondie at the front desk, only age appropriate, which meant roughly twenty years her senior. Was it the ambition of the Blondies of the world to marry male members of Congress? It wouldn’t be a bad gig if the opportunity presented itself. The spouses of members of Congress, whether male or female, had a certain cachet in Washington, D.C. If channeled properly, their influence could be considerable. For example, a non-profit or issue advocacy group would never allow a congressional spouse phone call to go unanswered. I had no idea what Mrs. Jessop’s professional career entailed, but whatever it was, it couldn’t hurt to be married to a powerful House member who was likely to become the next Senator of the United States.
I had no time for whimsical thoughts about the Jessop family unit. His darling photograph wasn’t getting me any closer to solving the murder. In fact, his desktop was a bit messy. Papers were strewn everywhere. I would have to shuffle some things around if I wanted to thoroughly examine the scene.
I moved swiftly back to the entrance of his office, so I could peek around the corner to check on Meg’s relentless charm offensive. Meg was engaged in an animated discussion with another staffer from Jessop’s office. I took that to mean she was explaining her “complicated” casework situation. Kyle stood nearby, hanging on her every word. Kyle wouldn’t leave Meg’s side as long as she chose to keep his attention. Then I felt a sudden stroke of panic. What if Kyle’s desk phone rang? He was only fifteen feet away! He would rush back into his office and realize I was no longer innocently waiting for my friend to finish her business. I couldn’t let that happen.
I impulsively snagged his phone from its cradle and placed it on his desk. Kyle wasn’t going to receive any phone calls at his extension for the next couple of minutes. I hoped the United States could survive Kyle’s brief period of being incommunicado. After all, I was trying to figure out who murdered a senator. In this instance, didn’t one tiny wrong make a right? Besides, his iPhone was permanently attached to his hip, so a truly important person would have no trouble reaching him.
I rushed back into Jessop’s office. I couldn’t just look at what lay atop the desk. Digging was in order. I took a deep breath and mustered all the courage I could before shuffling the papers around. Everything I had read about adrenaline was true. Fight or flight? Well, I was ready for a fight.
There would be no other opportunity to investigate Jessop. If someone had asked me a week ago what I’d be doing at this moment in time, I would never in a million years have guessed I’d be rifling through a member of Congress’s desk while my best friend flirted with a high-ranking staffer from the opposing party.
I picked up a big stack of papers and looked underneath. Jackpot! A black leather appointment book. No big surprise. Jessop hadn’t embraced the technology revolution yet. He still had his scheduler keep a written appointment book listing his meetings, hearings, and other obligations. Being old-fashioned had its disadvantages, like increased vulnerability to amateur sleuths who managed to infiltrate congressional offices.
I flipped through the pages to find today’s date. When I got to the right page, I started reading and scanning backward. Jessop’s movements during the time leading up to Senator Langsford’s murder were critical pieces of information. If I had enough time, I wouldn’t have minded reading the whole appointment book, but I had less than five minutes if I wanted to avoid further risk of detection. Meg had Kyle under control, but there were others who worked here, and who knows if Meg could keep them tied up as well. Meg’s allure was formidable, but it wasn’t miraculous.
I turned to Tuesday’s page, the day Senator Langsford had been murdered. I looked at the entry for the early morning hours. Representative Jessop had visited a senior center in his home district for breakfast. I stifled a groan. This would be easy to confirm. If Jessop had been munching on bagels with the blue hairs, he couldn’t have killed Senator Langsford. Even the great Jordan Jessop couldn’t be in two places at once. I paused for a moment. Did I hear voices growing louder, coming closer to the entrance of the congressman’s office? I thought about diving underneath the desk, although if I was caught in that position, my photo would certainly grace the front page of the Hill rags, and it wouldn’t be a mistake this time. But the voices faded away, moving farther into the depths of the office suite. The message was clear. My time was almost out. I had only a few more minutes before releasing Meg from her rapturous conversation with Kyle.
Nothing else on Jessop’s desk looked remotely interesting, so I kept paging through his appointment book. At the very least it would satisfy my curiosity about how my former boss’s archenemy spent his time. I plowed through the days leading up to Senator Langsford’s death. Nothing grabbed my attention. As one might expect, the pages were filled with typical constituent meetings in his office, fundraisers, and consultations with other members of Congress.
Jessop met frequently with a large number of campaign donors off-site. Sitting members of Congress couldn’t raise reelection funds on the Capitol grounds, including inside office suites. This regulation pushed fundraising to locations off Capitol Hill, but not too far away. Members could attend a fundraiser or “dial for dollars” for their reelection effort, then jump into a taxi to whisk them back to the Capitol for a vote or important meeting. For a member of Congress who was almost guaranteed to win again in the House, Jessop had done a lot of fundraisers. He might have been raising money for other co-partisans seeking office, although I never thought of Jessop as a particularly generous man who wanted to give thousands of dollars to others who shared his ideological beliefs. In fact, Jessop had mounted a competitive campaign against Senator Langsford because Langsford hadn’t been a minion who had subscribed to all the dictates prescribed by those who led his party. Politically speaking, Jessop was middle of the road, which made him appealing to many constituents in a statewide contest. That also meant he wasn’t likely to get tapped to raise a ton of campaign money for his political party.
These revelations were noteworthy, to say the least. If Jessop wasn’t raising money for himself or his colleagues, why was he attending daily fundraisers? Did he know he would be mounting a statewide race for the Senate after being named as Langsford’s successor? If that was the case, the
circumstantial evidence against Jessop had grown.
After paging back two weeks, I unearthed a puzzling notation. His appointments were written out on his calendar in detail, for example: “Jane Smith from Boston police union on pay issue” or “Selectmen from Dedham on wastewater improvement grant.”
One meeting stuck out: “JR—CP.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the shorthand meant “Jonas Regan—Carter Power.” If I was correct, this might indicate a connection linking Jessop to Carter Power. Could it possibly also link Jessop or Regan to the murder of Senator Langsford? Just as that thought registered, I heard voices coming my way. This time, they were getting louder, and they were accompanied by footsteps.
Chapter 18
With seconds to spare, I ducked into the small bathroom in the corner of Representative Jessop’s office. Making a snap decision, I flushed the toilet, then took a deep breath and opened the door slowly. Kyle was standing in front of me, with Meg behind him, along with another person I didn’t know, presumably the other staffer Kyle had asked Meg to meet concerning the casework file she’d proposed to turn over. All three of them looked as if they had just seen the ghost of Speaker Joe Cannon. At least no one made a move to call the Capitol Police, although they were clearly waiting for me to explain why I had just used the private bathroom of a member of Congress.
I addressed Kyle, the presumed authority figure. “You and Meg were so involved in your conversation, I didn’t want to bother you. I needed to use the restroom.” I shrugged sheepishly.
The anonymous third staffer, a nondescript young man, replied, “That’s Representative Jessop’s bathroom. It’s not a public restroom.”
Stabbing in the Senate Page 14