Stabbing in the Senate

by Colleen J. Shogan

  Doug put the car into park, interrupting my thoughts. He turned to us. “Have a great afternoon at work!” That was our cue to get out of the car so he could return to his peaceful communion with his history books and Clarence. After I gave him a quick kiss, we headed to the subway entrance.

  Meg and I chatted the entire ride to Union Station about what we had learned and our list of suspects. We might have reached a dead end. Our best leads had been investigated, and each suspect had an airtight alibi. Maybe the killer didn’t know Senator Langsford at all. Could it have been a murder for hire? Although that didn’t explain why my memo to the senator had ended up in the recycling bin. Had that been a mere coincidence, unrelated to the crime? Also, wouldn’t a contract killer come with his own murder weapon of choice? I didn’t think too many professional killers actually improvised at the crime scene.

  By the time we made our way to the office, it was already mid-afternoon. I doubted too much would get accomplished today. I flipped on my computer and saw that, even today, Mandy had issued a video blog. It had to be one of her last. She was moving to Senator Regan’s office next week, according to the gossip. I minimized her face as soon as it appeared on my screen, wondering who in the office, if anyone, still bothered to listen to her stupid blogs.

  I answered what emails I could and returned phone calls to constituents who needed help or assistance. I had nothing left to do for the remainder of the day, but I couldn’t go home because of the 7 p.m. vigil for Langsford in the Capitol. Staffers in our office were expected to show up, and I wanted to attend. Senator Langsford had his enemies, but for the most part, he’d been well respected by his colleagues. The tributes tonight would be poignant.

  Since considerable time remained between now and then, I had a perfect opportunity to start packing my belongings. The small size of my cubicle hadn’t prevented me from accumulating quite a bit of stuff over the years. Photos of memorable events were thumb-tacked to the walls surrounding my computer and desk. As I looked one last time at my haphazard handiwork, I realized it could serve as a chronicle of the past four years.

  It took several hours to sort through official papers and other belongings. Many of these records would be boxed and archived, which was required federal procedure. I carefully placed my files into neat stacks on the shelf of my workplace. Whenever the last day in the office came, presumably right after the governor appointed a new senator, I didn’t want to spend my final hours combing through paperwork. I had also kept some of the smaller mementos lobbyists or representatives from various associations gave out. Ethics rules prohibited gifts of any significant value, but that didn’t stop the distribution of inexpensive items, like buttons, miniature stuffed animals, pens, and pins. As I packed the paraphernalia into a box, I examined each item and tried to remember who gave it to me and what program or issue they had asked the senator to support.

  I looked at my watch. The vigil was scheduled to start in about thirty minutes. Meg sent me an Instant Message on my computer: “Want to head over in 5?” My cubicle was now efficiently organized in “garbage” and “archive” and “take home” piles. The only task left was dismantling my photo wall. If I was really going to accept the reality about moving on, I needed to take down my photos, too. It would be a lot easier to leave on the last day if these reminders had already been removed.

  I wrote back to Meg, “Go ahead without me. Cleaning up. C U there.” She sent me a smiley face icon. I shut down my computer and decided to finish up with the photos.

  Just like the trinkets, each of the photographs I had hung on my cubicle walls captured a particular memory. Senator Langsford had admired my photos when he came back to talk to me at my desk. A few times he’d asked the identity of specific people in the photos, and I had told him about family members and friends from college. Although I’ll never know whether he genuinely enjoyed my stories or was simply feigning interest, he always listened politely and offered kind remarks.

  I started to remove photos from a section on the wall displaying pictures from various Senate office functions. There were several shots from previous parties at the Langsford home, including an older photo from the senator’s swearing-in party after he won reelection four years ago. It was a great shot of Meg, Doug, and me, decked out in party attire and drinking champagne. I thought about the wake and immediately felt depressed about the contrast. Even though champagne had been served, there had been no celebratory photos.

  After removing the snapshots, I shuffled through them quickly. When I came to the picture of the Halloween party the office had thrown last year, I stopped. I had glanced at this photo a few days ago. Meg and I grinned at the camera. I had painted whiskers on my cheeks and put on cute cat ears to create a makeshift costume. Meg had dusted off an old witch costume she’d found at home and was clasping a small broom in her right hand. In the background corner, I noticed someone else who had been captured in the photo. I squinted to make out the image, since it was slightly out of focus. In one instant, everything clicked.

  The person in the corner of the photo was Mandy Lippman, and she was sporting a long, blond wig.

  Chapter 24

  The office was perfectly quiet. I got up from my cubicle and looked around. No one was here. I checked my watch. The vigil was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes. Everyone had already left for the Capitol.

  The gears in my mind started to crank. Didn’t Mandy have an alibi for the morning of the senator’s death? She’d claimed to be busy posting the video blog from home, which she did every morning right around the time the senator had been murdered. Mandy always complained she had to get up early to film her blog on her home computer, then upload it so it would be available for staff by the time they arrived at the office. After reading the morning news and notices, she summarized the major headlines and outlined the senator’s schedule for the day.

  In an instant, it hit me what had been bothering me. I sat at my desk, powered up my computer, navigated to our office’s internal home page, and brought up the website with Mandy’s video blogs. She was so enamored of her damn videos, she kept links to the last ten entries readily available. I found the one she had issued on Tuesday morning and clicked to watch it.

  Something wasn’t right about this blog, and it had been nagging at me. Until I saw the photo of the Halloween party, I hadn’t been able to put my finger on what it was. Mandy’s face appeared on the screen, and she gave a brief summary of the news. Typical for a Tuesday video, she talked about the legislative docket for the week issued by the Majority Leader. She then spoke about the senator’s schedule for the day. I listened to her description of his appointments. In a flash, I knew what was wrong. She said the senator was scheduled to attend an Appropriations hearing later that day at three in the afternoon, but the committee had emailed a notice late on Monday night announcing a postponement. On my way to work the morning of the murder, I had read the notice on my BlackBerry and was relieved because I wasn’t fully prepared for the hearing. If Mandy had filmed the video blog on Tuesday morning as she claimed, she would have never missed the postponed hearing. In fact, she relished last-minute cancellations, frequently using those time slots to schedule a cable TV interview for the senator. I stared at the video. Mandy had missed this change because she hadn’t filmed the video blog that morning. She had filmed it earlier, probably the day before, because she was planning to come to work early and kill Senator Langsford!

  Along with the photo of Mandy wearing the blond wig, the blog mistake was enough to cast a heavy dose of suspicion on her. The other pieces of the puzzle fit nicely as well. Mandy would have known about the model helicopter, and if Carter Power really was the motive, Mandy would have known she had to ditch my memo so it wouldn’t become evidence after his body was discovered. I didn’t know the exact tie between Mandy and Carter Power yet, but given the fact she had landed a new job with Senator Regan and was sleeping with Jeff Prentice, there had to be a connection that made sense. The threatenin
g voice on the phone had been well disguised, but the rhythm of her menacing words was similar to that of her normal voice.

  I took a deep breath. I needed to get over to the vigil, but first I had a call to make. I fished around in my purse for Detective O’Halloran’s business card and punched his number into my phone. No luck; voicemail picked up. I was pretty sure O’Halloran carried either a BlackBerry or an iPhone like the rest of Capitol Hill. I fired off a quick text: “Figured out my funny feeling. Need to talk to you ASAP.” Then I sent the same message as an email, just in case. Maybe O’Halloran was attending the vigil. After all, he had come to the wake. Either he would get my text or my email or I’d see him at the Capitol.

  I took the elevator outside our office down to the basement, where I hopped onto the Senate subway. It was a short three-minute ride in the small underground “people-mover” that carried passengers from the Hart and Dirksen Senate office buildings to the Capitol. Senators benefited from the mini-monorail system during floor votes; many of them waited until the last possible second to leave their offices for the Senate chamber in the Capitol. Staff and escorted visitors could also use the subway—a quasi-tourist attraction in the summer. With the final Senate votes of the day long recorded, the underground tunnel was deserted. I got off at the Capitol stop and headed up the escalators toward the elevator bank for the room where the vigil was being held. As I got onto the elevator, I checked my BlackBerry. No message from Detective O’Halloran.

  I snuck quietly into the Mansfield Room on the second floor of the Capitol right as the service was starting. Located in the East Front of the Capitol, Mansfield was a wooden paneled, stately chamber, used chiefly for receptions. It was packed with attendees, and after surveying the scene, I spotted Meg in a corner. I squeezed past several people so I could stand next to her. The Senate chaplain had just begun to say a prayer as I sidled up beside Meg.

  I whispered, “I think I figured out who killed Senator Langsford.” I looked at her apprehensively.

  She stared back at me with a baffled look and hissed, “What? I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” Several people behind us were talking in hushed tones, most likely discussing business while paying their respects. Multitasking had no limits in Washington. Between their conversations, the chaplain’s prayer, and the poor acoustics, it was impossible for Meg to understand my whisper.

  I cleared my throat and said in a slightly louder voice, “I figured out who the murderer is.” Meg shook her head at me and cupped her hand to her right ear. The dull buzz of conversations acted like a sound barrier.

  I raised my voice a third time, using a decibel level I thought unwise, given the information I was relaying. “I know who did it.”

  That caught Meg’s attention. She turned toward me with a shocked expression. After looking around to see if anyone had noticed us, she asked, “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to tell me who?”

  I leaned in close to her and whispered Mandy’s name into her ear. Immediately, a grin broke out on Meg’s face, and she covered her mouth in obvious surprise. She murmured, “Why didn’t we suspect her all along?”

  My BlackBerry was blinking. Detective O’Halloran had texted me back. I clicked on his message, which read, “Headed to Senate now. Meet U at ur office?” I thought for a second. That wasn’t a bad idea. I could give him the photo of Mandy at the Halloween party, which might raise enough suspicion for him to get a search warrant and look for the wig to see if it was a match to the hair found in Langsford’s office. I could also show him the video blog and explain why Mandy’s omission that morning was credible circumstantial evidence her alibi was bogus. I texted back, “Leaving Capitol now. C U in 10.”

  I leaned toward Meg. “I have to go. Detective O’Halloran is going to meet me at the office in ten minutes. I’ll explain everything to you after I talk to him.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Good luck!” She gave me a half hug and squeezed my arm, then added, “You did it, Kit!”

  I smiled and took off quickly. I didn’t have any time to waste. It was already 7:30, and talking with O’Halloran before I headed back to Arlington meant it was going to be a late night. I texted Doug to let him know I wouldn’t be home soon. “Have lead. Need to talk to police.” I hated to be so vague, but I didn’t have time for a detailed phone call.

  Retracing my steps, I walked out of the Capitol elevator and down the escalator to the subway platform. After the Senate adjourned for the day, the subway cars operated less frequently. I thought about the calorie-laden food I had eaten earlier, in addition to the two mimosas. There had been no time for exercise this morning. Walking back to the Hart Senate Office Building rather than riding the subway would burn off some of those goodies. I glanced at my watch. If I hustled, I could be there in ten minutes.

  I started down the concrete walkway that ran adjacent to the subway path tunnel. After taking several long strides, I heard footsteps behind me.

  I peeked over my right shoulder. About twenty feet away, I saw Mandy Lippman. She was headed straight toward me with a silver object in her right hand.

  Chapter 25

  One glimpse of Mandy confirmed the crazed glare in her eyes. I didn’t wait for her to explain why she was barreling toward me at running-back speed. I took off down the pathway, sprinting as fast as I could. There was a fork ahead. A left turn would put me in the Russell Building. The right corridor led to the Dirksen and Hart. Instinctively, I veered toward my office in Hart.

  I glanced behind me. Mandy was hard on my tail. These damn sandals were slowing me down. Hadn’t Mandy worn stilettos today? How in the hell was she moving so fast? I kicked off my shoes and kept running in my bare feet. If I could make it to the entrance of the Dirksen Building, I might happen upon the Capitol Hill police officer usually stationed at the subway stop. I stared down the runway. It seemed like it went on forever, and Mandy was right behind me. The gleaming object in her hand was a pair of office scissors. Leave it to Mandy to improvise on a murder weapon. She’d obviously done it before.

  I screamed “HELP” as loud as I could, but my shrieks went unanswered in this desolate strip of the underground Capitol. No subway car had passed me. I glanced at the wall, decorated with the seals of the fifty states. I had admired them many times in the past. The seals were arranged in ascending order, from the first state to enter the union, Delaware, to the last, Hawaii. I glanced to my left as I sprinted past. West Virginia. I was getting closer to the subway stop. West Virginia had become a state during the Civil War.

  I came into the final straightaway of the walkway, where I could see the entrance to the Dirksen Building ahead.

  Mandy yelled, “I’m going to kill you, bitch! You can’t get away from me!”

  To my utter horror, the stand where Capitol Police typically resided was empty. Those budget cuts were going to be the death of me.

  At the same instant, a subway car rounded the bend, headed back in the direction of the Capitol. I knew what I had to do. With perfect timing, I could jump into the subway car and ride back to the Capitol, where police officers were abundant. If I approached the car just as the door opened, maybe I’d have a chance to get out of this situation alive. My heart pounded in my chest. No wonder …. There was a maniacal killer on my heels, and I’d been neglecting my cardio conditioning lately. I looked to my left. Wyoming. I had to be getting closer. Hadn’t Wyoming been one of the first states to approve female suffrage? It was one of the few bits of information I recalled from my women’s studies class.

  It was all or nothing, and I summoned every ounce of physical strength left in my body to lengthen my stride so I’d arrive in time to jump into the subway train when the door opened. The car slowed to a stop about twenty feet ahead. I had only a few precious seconds before the doors would close automatically. With no driver on the Hart-Dirksen line, the subway cars ran automatically through a computerized control center.

  To my relief, I saw Hawaii’s seal over my left sho
ulder. I had made it to the end of the hallway and the subway doors were still open. With a final burst of speed, I dove into the closest car. It was a beautiful acrobatic move, except I wasn’t as agile as I should have been. My body cleared the threshold, but the lower part of my leg and foot didn’t quite make it. As the doors attempted to close, they sensed my appendage in the way and bounced open. I pulled my leg in, and in that moment, Mandy appeared at the front of the car, brandishing a pair of glimmering silver scissors, which I recognized as the sharp oversized shears from the workstation next to Kara’s desk.

  Mandy had taken advantage of the automated delay in the subway train and hurled herself inside the car. At exactly that moment, the doors closed shut with a resounding thud. My grand plan had backfired. Instead of riding safely back to the Capitol, I was now locked inside a tiny, confined subway car with the woman who had stabbed our boss to death days earlier.

  As the car lurched forward, Mandy lost her footing. While she tried to regain her balance, I scrambled to my feet. The ride from Dirksen to the Capitol would be over in less than a minute. All I had to do was dodge her while we were moving; I could make a break for it as soon as the doors opened at the Capitol.

  I assumed a defensive posture and held my hands out in front of my body. “Wait a second, Mandy. Don’t make another mistake. There’s no way you’re going to get away with this.”

  She tossed her disheveled hair around in a circle. Her present state was a far cry from the Little-Miss-Perfect image I observed every day in the office. The face she showed me now was simply that of a demented murderer. Though normally attractive by conventional standards, Mandy the Murderer was downright ugly, her features contorted with violent rage.