Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  Weeks later, drunk, he manhandled an attractive middle-aged woman strolling with her dog on a leash. Her screams put an end to it; Anatoly backed away, swearing at her. Two men appeared and subdued him while one phoned 911. This time Anatoly faced arraignment, but the woman decided to not press charges, and he was released with a stern warning that if it happened again, he’d end up in jail.

  It hadn’t happened again, which was why Anatoly was surprised when two officers found him and brought him in for questioning about the most recent female victim in the park—and eventually about the missing congressional intern, Laura Bennett.

  “What did she do, Anatoly, slap your face when you tried to have sex with her?”

  Anatoly kept shaking his head, hoping it would be a more definitive denial than his fractured English.

  “We know that you’ve had trouble with women in the park before, Anatoly. They teach you that in Russia, grab any pretty woman you see?”

  “Nyet, no, no,” he said, his head continuing to move right and left. “I do not hurt women. I do not.”

  A detective observing the questioning through a one-way mirror commented to his colleague, “That’s the only way he’ll ever get laid, knock ’em out. He’s an ugly son of a bitch.” They both laughed.

  The session lasted for three hours. Toward its conclusion, Anatoly was shown a photograph of Laura Bennett. “You know her, Anatoly?”

  He gazed blankly at the picture and shook his head. “I do not know this woman,” he said, and repeated it twice more.

  “We’re going to be watching you, Anatoly,” he was warned.

  He’d been close to tears, but as he left headquarters, anger welled up inside. They had no right treating him the way they had. He went home to the apartment he shared with his brother and drank himself into a stupor.

  CHAPTER

  20

  The call to Brixton’s office came from out of the blue.

  “Is Mr. Brixton there?”

  “Who’s calling?” Flo asked.

  “My name is—well, I really need to speak to him.”

  “Can I tell him who wants to speak with him?” Flo said, annoyed.

  “Yes, I suppose so. My name is Mildred Sparks. Millie Sparks.”

  Satisfied that she’d at least elicited a name, Flo asked, “Can I tell Mr. Brixton what this is in reference to?”

  “It’s about—will he be back shortly?”

  “That depends,” Flo said, knowing that Brixton was in his office a few feet away.

  “I’m a friend of Laura Bennett.”

  “Hold on a second.”

  She poked her head into his office, where Brixton had been watching a press conference on TV concerning the missing intern.

  “Robert, there’s a woman on the line who says she’s a friend of Laura Bennett.”

  “They mentioned me on TV,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “They said that the Bennett family had hired a private investigator to augment what the police are doing.”

  “They mentioned you by name?”

  “Looks like I’m famous again. What’s her name?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman on the phone who says she’s a friend of Laura Bennett.”

  “Sparks. Millie Sparks.”

  “She sound like a nut job?”

  “No.”

  “All right,” he said, and picked up his phone.

  “Mr. Brixton?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Millie Sparks. I’m a friend of Laura Bennett.”

  “So I understand. Is she with you?”

  “What?”

  “Ms. Bennett. She’s missing, you know. I thought you might be calling to say that she’s with you enjoying a cup of tea and—”

  “Mr. Brixton, I know that Laura is missing. That’s why I’m calling. I thought you and the family might be interested in something that Laura told me.”

  “Okay, but before we get started, how do you know Ms. Bennett?”

  “I graduated college with her,” she said. “We were good friends.”

  “Where? In Florida?”

  “Yes. The University of Southern Florida.”

  “You were roommates?”

  “No, but we lived next door to each other in the dorm.”

  Brixton gestured to Flo to pick up the extension in the outer office and make notes.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Well, after Laura came to Washington to become an intern, I interviewed for a job here, at Walter Reed Hospital.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “No. I work in administration. Mr. Brixton, I’d much rather talk to you in person.”

  “We can do that. You’re here in D.C. now?”

  “Yes. I’m at work. When can I see you?”

  “Anytime today is fine. You go out to lunch? I’ll order in sandwiches. What do you like, roast beef, egg salad—?”

  “You don’t have to get anything for me,” she said. “Tell me where to come.”

  Millie Sparks walked into the office a few minutes past noon. She was a plain-looking young woman with an openness that Brixton immediately took to, black hair worn in a simple cut that framed her round face, little makeup, and a smile that was genuine. Brixton got her comfortably seated across from him at the desk and asked Flo to bring them two bottles of water.

  “Before we get started,” Brixton said, “I’d like to ask someone else to join us.”

  “Who?”

  “Mackensie Smith. He’s a lawyer and a friend whose office is next to mine. Mac represents Laura Bennett’s family. Naturally, he’ll be interested in what you have to say.”

  “A lawyer? Why? Will I be in some sort of trouble?”

  Brixton laughed away her concern. “No, of course not,” he said, “but having him here will save me having to try and remember what you told me. He’s a terrific guy. You’ll like him.”

  She obviously wasn’t crazy about the idea but agreed. Moments later Mac walked in, introduced himself, and took a chair next to her.

  “Okay, Ms. Sparks, just relax and tell us why you’re here,” Brixton said.

  Millie related the conversation she’d had with Laura one night in the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel. Mac and Brixton listened attentively, interrupting her only to clarify a point. When she’d finished, Mac asked, “And you say that Ms. Bennett actually projected herself as first lady, married to President Gannon?”

  “Yes.”

  Smith and Brixton looked at each other and knew that they were thinking the same thing. It was Brixton who expressed that shared thought.

  “How did that strike you, Ms. Sparks? I mean, didn’t it strike you as pretty far-fetched, some sort of a dream, like a hallucination?”

  Millie laughed softly. “That was Laura, always with big dreams.”

  “And she claimed that she and Congressman Gannon were going to be married?” Mac said.

  “That’s what she said, Mr. Smith. She said that he had to work out his divorce before they could make it public and—”

  “And she said that he’ll be president one day?” Brixton added.

  Millie nodded.

  “We appreciate you telling us this, Ms. Sparks,” Mac said, “but my question is why you think that it might have something to do with Laura’s disappearance.”

  Millie looked at him quizzically. Mac and Brixton waited for an answer.

  “I don’t know,” Millie finally replied. “I just thought that maybe they had some sort of a fight and—well, and maybe he got mad and did something to her, hit her. I mean, maybe it was a daydream on Laura’s part, you know, and maybe he was afraid that if word got out that he was divorcing his wife to marry an intern—she’s only twenty-two years old—that wouldn’t be good for his career—and if it wasn’t true that he planned to divorce his wife, that could make for big problems, really big problems in his marriage.”

  Smith shifted the conversation to whether Millie had any idea where Laura
might have gone. Did she know of Laura’s other friends in Washington, particularly male friends? Where did she like to hang out? Had Laura confided in her any problems she was having with someone, her roommate, people at work, neighbors?

  Millie’s reply was a blanket no.

  “The night that Laura told me these things was the only time I saw her since coming to Washington. I got busy in my new job and she seemed busy, too. I think we spoke on the phone twice, just girl talk, you know, nothing serious.”

  “Girl talk?” Brixton said. “Laura’s boyfriends never came up? She didn’t mention her relationship with Congressman Gannon again?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. I asked her on one of the calls how things were going with the congressman, and she said that everything was fine, that things were progressing smoothly.”

  Millie checked the clock over Brixton’s desk. “I really have to leave,” she said. “I’m late already.”

  “Thank you for coming in,” Brixton said.

  “Will you let me know if you find Laura?”

  “Of course,” Brixton said.

  “Have you thought of going to the police with what you know about Laura’s relationship with Congressman Gannon?” Smith asked.

  “The police? I don’t want to do that. I’ve just started my job and wouldn’t want to become involved in some sort of scandal. I just thought that you would want to know because you’re working for Laura’s family.”

  “What about the media?” Brixton asked.

  “I wouldn’t want to talk to them either,” she said. “You’ll keep it between yourselves, won’t you?”

  Mac Smith wanted to say, “As long as we can,” but said instead, “Yes.”

  When she was gone, Brixton, Flo, and Smith gathered in Smith’s office.

  “What do you think?” Mac asked Brixton.

  “I think Ms. Bennett has delusions of grandeur,” Brixton replied.

  “You may be right,” Mac said. “Then again, maybe the congressman led her to believe what she said, that he was going to get a divorce and marry her.”

  “From everything I’ve heard, he’s capable of that,” Flo offered. “That conversation you had with the private detective from Tampa and what Ms. Sparks just told us. He’s a snake in the grass.”

  “Speaking of that private eye from Tampa,” Mac said, “he called here this morning.”

  “What did he want?” Brixton asked.

  “I’m not sure. He started off saying that he was sorry about Laura Bennett having gone missing and that he hoped it wouldn’t reflect badly on Gannon. When Annabel and I met him at Celia St. Claire’s party, he claimed that he’s a Gannon fan who’s concerned about the rumors that he’s a womanizer.”

  “Sounds like he has reason to be concerned,” said Flo.

  “Something doesn’t ring right to me about him,” Mac said. “I can’t get a handle on what he wants from me. He called from Tampa, said he’ll be in Washington in a few days. I told him I’d find time to meet with him when he’s here, but I’d like to know more about him before I do. Can you check him out, Robert?”

  “Sure,” Brixton said.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are due here in an hour,” Mac said. “They’ve been inundated with media calls, and I’ve suggested they hold a joint press conference with the police tomorrow. We’ll be discussing it when they arrive. I spoke with Superintendent Borgeldt this morning. They’re still focusing on Rock Creek Park. They’re sending an even larger search party tomorrow morning. They brought in a young Russian man who’s been harassing women in the park.”

  “And?” Brixton asked.

  “No evidence to hold him.”

  “She could be anywhere,” Flo said.

  “I can understand why they’re making the park their prime search area,” Mac said. “There have been two female victims there in the past few months, and Laura did a lot of reading about the park on her laptop. But you’re right, Flo. Laura Bennett could be anywhere. I just wish we knew where.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Congressman Hal Gannon had gotten up that morning after a fitful night of nightmarish thoughts and dreams. There had been few unpleasant episodes in his life—losing a track meet, a case of mononucleosis while in college, an auto accident after a night of drinking to celebrate the birth of their first child, and occasionally taking a drubbing in the courtroom.

  But nothing compared with this.

  He was scheduled to be interviewed by the police for a second time that afternoon. The initial interview had been tense despite the detectives’ attempts to put him at ease. Gannon had wanted some of his staff to be present, but the police nixed that. “You can have an attorney present,” one of the officers said.

  “Attorney?” Gannon said. “Why would I need an attorney?”

  “You don’t need one, sir. This is just an informal chance for us to ask some questions about your missing intern. We’ll be interviewing members of your staff separately.”

  “I won’t have an attorney with me,” Gannon said.

  “Of course not, sir. As I said, there really isn’t any need for one.”

  They’d met at his apartment. He’d had pastries and fruit delivered in advance of their arrival, which the two detectives passed on. They sat in his living room. The questions were about what Gannon knew of Laura Bennett’s life outside the office, his evaluation of her mental stability.

  “Are you suggesting that she’s mentally unbalanced?” Gannon asked.

  “No, not at all, sir, but if she’s decided to go off without telling anyone, your office, her family, it could indicate that she wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “I’ve known Laura Bennett for many years, ever since she was a little girl,” Gannon offered. “I’ve never seen any sign of mental instability.”

  “Did she ever give you a hint that she might be considering leaving the D.C. area?”

  Gannon scrunched up his face to indicate he was thinking. “No,” he said, “nothing that I can remember. I really don’t have many conversations with the interns in my office. My chief of staff, Ms. Simmons, has a much closer relationship with them.”

  “We’ll be speaking with Ms. Simmons as soon as we can arrange a mutually convenient time and place,” a detective said.

  “It’s our understanding that you are a close friend of Ms. Bennett’s family,” said a detective.

  “That’s right. Her father and I have been friends for years. We had dinner together just recently. We’re both attorneys and tried a number of cases together before I ran for Congress.”

  “We’ve spoken with Ms. Bennett’s mother and father, Congressman. As you know, the family has retained an attorney, Mackensie Smith, and a private investigator, Robert Brixton.”

  “I’ve met both of them,” Gannon said. “The investigator, Brixton, rubbed me the wrong way.”

  The detectives laughed. One said, “Brixton does have that ability. Look, Congressman, I know that this is a delicate subject, but we have to ask, based upon rumors that are circulating.”

  Gannon stared defiantly at them.

  “Is there any truth to the rumor that you and the missing intern, Ms. Bennett, had a close personal relationship?”

  Gannon allowed a small smile to cross his lips. “Close personal relationship,” he repeated slowly. “You mean did Laura Bennett and I ever go to bed together?”

  “If you prefer to put it that way, Congressman, yes, did you ever go to bed together?”

  Gannon leaned close to the detectives. “Absolutely, positively not!”

  “We had to ask, sir.”

  “I suppose you did, and I won’t deny that I consider the question insulting and inappropriate. But I also understand that it’s your job is to ask such questions, so no hard feelings. But let me repeat. No, I did not go to bed with Laura Bennett.”

  One of the detectives thought back to when President Clinton was under the gun about the Monica Lewinsky episode and parsed the meaning of the word “is.
” Was Gannon doing the same, responding literally to whether he’d gone to bed with Laura Bennett? Maybe they had sex on a couch, on a beach, or in a car. But he was reluctant to press the issue. Both detectives had been warned by Zeke Borgeldt before interviewing the congressman to go easy on the accusations.

  “Is there anything else?” Gannon asked. “My wife is arriving in Washington later today, and I have a slew of legislative matters to attend to before she gets in.”

  “No, sir, that’s it. We appreciate you taking the time for us. If we think of anything else, we’ll get back to you.”

  “Fair enough,” said Gannon. “I know you have a tough job to do, and I wish you well in finding Ms. Bennett. My heart goes out to her parents.”

  The two detectives sat in their car after leaving Gannon’s apartment.

  “He’s smooth, that’s for sure,” one said.

  “Too smooth for my taste. The way he puts it he’s never even had a conversation with his interns. I don’t buy it.”

  “Plenty of rumors to back you up,” said his partner.

  “Let’s say this intern did have a fling with him. You saw her pictures. Why would a dynamite-looking twenty-two-year-old get involved with an older married guy like him?”