Duncan

by D. B. Reynolds

  * * * *

  A few hours later, Emma was wearing her uniform of power suit and heels, strolling down the marbled halls of Washington. Well, okay, she wasn’t actually strolling; that would have been too obvious. She hurried, just like everyone else did in this building, rushing about, sometimes with a pack of reporters and cameramen trailing after them, as if the fate of the world rested on their shoulders. She supposed sometimes that was true, but it was nowhere near as often as the politicians liked to think it was.

  It was crowded this morning. Yet another congressional meeting on something earth shattering like baseball players using steroids. People starving all over the world, dying on battlefields, hacked to death by their neighbors, and the most pressing thing the leaders of the free world could think of was a bunch of big-headed, small-balled athletes using steroids. Who cared? Not Emma, although her male colleagues had insisted it mattered. She was just glad Congressman Coffer wasn’t on any of the relevant committees. She didn’t think she could have kept a straight face, or kept her mouth shut.

  She desperately grabbed a cup of coffee on her way to her desk, and managed not to spill it while juggling her bag with the laptop and Lacey’s memorial book inside. She’d left the box in her room at Duncan’s. It was too bulky for even her giant purse.

  She’d barely managed to take a few sips of precious caffeine and skim over the relevant files for the morning’s meeting, when the Congressman’s door opened and her colleagues jumped up to head into the office. Emma followed more slowly, marveling that only a few days ago, she would have been every bit as pumped up as the others about tomorrow’s hearing. But this morning it was nothing but a distraction. What she wanted to do was sit down with her computer and follow up her new idea about how to identify the women from Victor’s parties.

  It was past noon when she had the chance, however. The meeting had run long, and then there’d been a pile of constituent requests for her to wade through. Most had been shuffled to other staff members right away, but a few had been of a more serious nature and she’d had to deal with them herself.

  But finally the office was nearly empty, with everyone off to lunch somewhere. Washington took its lunches very seriously, seeing them as one more opportunity to court votes or raise money or sometimes just to have a couple of martinis and stop the shaking for an hour or two. Emma grabbed a leftover muffin from the morning. It was cranberry, the runt of the litter, crushed and disreputable looking, which was probably the only reason it was still there. She took it and yet another cup of coffee back to her desk, pulled up the list of women’s initials from Victor’s files and began going through Lacey’s mourner’s book looking for names. She was initially surprised at the number of people who had signed the book. She’d been in such a fog, and she’d had no idea that many people had come. Some had simply signed their names, but most had written at least a few words of condolence, and a very few had done more than that. It was an effort not to get lost in their remembrances as she read the words of people she didn’t know, but who had known Lacey and would miss her. It reminded her of why she was reading the book at all, so she wiped away her tears and began searching the pages more methodically.

  She was bent over trying to decipher some of the handwriting when a door opened and Guy Coffer’s surprised voice said, “Emma?”

  Emma jumped, nearly choking on a piece of muffin. She grabbed her coffee and took a long sip, thankful it had sat there long enough to be only warm.

  “Congressman,” she managed finally, coughing.

  Coffer gave her a worried look, his hand outstretched, as if he was thinking about patting her on the back. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Emma took another sip of coffee and waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” she said, setting the cup down. She spun her chair around, bracing a hand on her desk and surreptitiously hitting the hot key on her laptop which would shut down her files.

  “I didn’t realize you were here,” she said cautiously.

  Coffer gave her his handsome politician’s grin. “I walked through earlier. You were hard at work.”

  Emma was slightly alarmed by the idea that he could have passed by without her noticing. Then she glanced around and felt a new kind of worry. The phones were ringing almost constantly, as usual, and she could hear people in the outer office, but other than that she and Coffer were alone. If Sharon walked in right now, she’d stroke out, and maybe fire Emma. Shit.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Was there something—”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re entitled to lunch just like the rest of us. I came out to get a cup of coffee.”

  “It’s pretty low. Let me make some fresh.” Emma closed the cover on her laptop and jumped up, hurrying over to the coffeemaker on the side cabinet. There was a bigger setup out front, but venturing to the outer office sometimes meant being ambushed by someone wanting something, so the analysts working in this part of the office tended to use this one. Everyone was supposed to do their part to keep the pot full, but as always, there were those who shirked the duty, thinking it beneath them. Emma wasn’t one of those. She valued her coffee too much.

  “What are you working on?” Coffer asked, glancing at the mourner’s book which lay open on Emma’s desk.

  Emma forced herself to stay calm, waiting until she’d filled the coffeemaker and flipped the switch, before turning to face him. “That’s the condolence book from Lacey’s funeral,” she told him, letting her real emotions flavor her words. “So many friends came to say good-bye to Lacey, people I didn’t even know.” She paused, glancing out the window, noticing the winter’s accumulation of dirt on the glass.

  “Were you and Lacey very close?” he asked, and his eyes were so sad that Emma stared at him for a moment before nodding.

  “Lacey was like a sister to me. The only family I had.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Emma knew Coffer was a skilled politician, but he seemed so sincere that she couldn’t help giving him a reassuring smile. “Everyone tells me it will get better with time. I’m not sure I believe that, but—”

  “They’re right, you know,” he interrupted intently. “The day I learned my brother had died overseas was the worst day of my life. One moment he was here, and the next he was gone. The pain of losing him . . . it’s still there, but not as much as it used to be. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but I think it’s the way our minds cope with such a terrible loss. Otherwise, we’d go mad.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say. She was quite literally overwhelmed by his kindness. “Thank you,” she managed. “That was very kind.”

  Coffer ducked his head, smiling. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. If that coffee’s ready—”

  “Of course,” Emma said, thankful for the break. Things had gotten a little too intense there for a moment. She fixed a cup for him, two sugars the way everyone knew he liked it. Just like everyone knew Sharon always made it with a sugar substitute instead.

  “Thanks,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Finish your . . .” He glanced around her at the remains of her muffin. “Muffin?” he said, then smiled and strolled back to his office.

  Emma practically fell back into her chair, her nerves still jumping at the shock of having Coffer walk up on her like that. Sure, her desk was in the distant corner and when she was working, her back was to his office, but even so . . . She shook her head. She might make a great investigator—no, she was a great investigator. Give her a problem, she worked it like a dog with a bone. It was what made her a terrific legislative analyst, too. But apparently, she wasn’t cut out for sneaking around. Shaking her head, she opened her computer and went back to work, making a point of angling her chair so her back wasn’t entirely to the room. She didn’t want any more surprise visitors.

  She was actually down to the last few pages of condolences. She’d been so certain it would be the definitiv
e data source, that all of the women would somehow magically appear within its pages. But so far, she had only one possible name, and that one was doubtful. Victor’s files had listed a V.S. as one of his women, but the only matching entry in the book was a V. Slayton. No name, just the initial, and the handwriting gave her no clue as to whether it was a man or a woman. Discouraged, she turned to the last page and saw the name Tammy Dietrich. And Victor had a T.D. on his list. Her stomach tightened with excitement. Maybe she’d been right all along and this was the break she’d been looking for.

  A cluster of voices sounded in the outer office, announcing the return of at least some of her colleagues. She closed the mourner’s book, her fingers rubbing the soft cover thoughtfully. Ever since they’d found Lacey’s body, she’d had this feeling that there was a big clock ticking away the seconds and very soon it would be too late. The powerful men involved were already working to cover their asses so thoroughly that no one would ever see those pale, white globes again. She wrinkled her nose at the image her own thoughts conjured up, but it was a halfhearted reaction. Because the truth of that thought was undeniable. They needed some progress on this investigation before the men responsible erased every hint of their involvement. Emma only needed to ID one of Victor’s women, someone who’d been there, who could name names.

  She didn’t give herself any time to change her mind. She grabbed her notes, shoved her laptop into her purse and left the office before anyone who mattered was there to notice. She wanted to follow up on Tammy Dietrich and the V.S. person, too, and was pretty sure she knew someone who could help her.

  She rushed out into the chilly afternoon of the Capitol parking lot, tugging her coat closed. Last year, it had been warm by this time of year. People had even complained about the mall’s famous cherry blossoms peaking too soon. Not this year. She gave the gray sky a wary glance. It couldn’t actually snow anymore, could it?

  She unlocked her car and slipped inside gratefully, turning the heater on full blast. While she waited for the car’s interior to warm up, she called Lacey’s old office, breathing a sigh of relief when the voice that answered was one she knew well.

  “Betty,” Emma said. “It’s Emma Duquet.”

  “Emma,” Betty Napoli responded, her smoker’s voice warm with sympathy. “How are you, hon?”

  “Okay, I guess. It’s been rough.”

  “Of course, child. We all miss Lacey. She was such a lively little thing.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said quietly. “She was special.”

  “She sure was. How can I help you?”

  “I’m writing thank you notes. You know, to the people who sent flowers, the ones at the memorial service, too. I have the book you all signed, but I don’t know some of these people, and I thought maybe you—”

  “Well, you know me, and I know everyone else. Who do you need?”

  “Just two right now. A ...” she paused as if checking her list. “Tammy Dietrich? I think that’s right. It’s hard to read some of these signatures.”

  “Well, Tammy Dietrich I know right away. In fact, let me give you her address.”

  Emma scrambled to find a pen as Betty rattled off the office address of a law firm she’d never heard of. Not that this was a great surprise. Lawyers littered the capital like trash after a parade, and she ought to know since she was one of them.

  “And what’s the other?” Betty asked.

  Emma had found a pen, gotten it to work and was trying to catch up with Betty’s recitation of the address. “I’m sorry?” she said absently.

  “The other name,” Betty said patiently. “You said there were two.”

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry. The damn pen didn’t work right away. Yes, the other one is something Slayton, I think. The first initial is V, as in . . . Victor.”

  “Slayton,” Betty repeated thoughtfully. “Slayton. You know, I think she worked here for a bit. Only a month or two, which is why I’m not sure she’s the one. I don’t know that she and Lacey would have met, but . . . yes, here she is. Violet. That’s a lovely name, isn’t it?” Betty mused briefly. “Violet Slayton. I don’t know where she went when she left here, though.”

  “Do you have a home address?” Emma inquired, knowing that even if Betty had it, she couldn’t give it out.

  “Well, now, I do. But you know how they are about things like that. I’ll tell you what, though. We were talking, and I think she mentioned her family was from Springfield, Virginia. Had a place on Donset. We remarked on it, because I have some friends out that way. Might be a place to start.”

  Emma wrote down the city name and smiled. Without actually telling her anything, Betty was saying that Violet Slayton was living with her parents in Springfield. With that plus the street name, she could find Slayton easily.

  “Thanks, Betty,” she said sincerely. “I really appreciate this.”

  “Well. It was a terrible thing what happened to Lacey. So young . . .” Her voice cracked a little and she sniffed discreetly. “You let me know if you need anything else, you hear, Emma?”

  “I will,” Emma said, feeling her own chest tighten with emotion. “Thanks again.”

  Not wanting to dwell on the reminder of how much she missed Lacey, Emma clicked off and immediately opened her laptop. Still sitting in the parking lot, she was close enough that she could access her office Wi-Fi. She checked out Tammy Dietrich first, because that was easiest. The address Betty had given her was in Alexandria, Virginia, but chances were Dietrich was a member of the D.C. bar, as well. Even Emma was licensed to practice in D.C., and she had no intention of ever standing before a court here. It was just something one did if working in or near the District, especially if one was as compulsively organized as Emma. If nothing else, it gave her access to things like the bar association membership directory, which came in handy at times like today. She typed in Dietrich’s name. There was no picture, which wasn’t that unusual. Emma didn’t have one with her listing, either. There actually wasn’t much information for Dietrich at all, just her law school alma mater, which was Georgetown, and the business address that Betty had already given her. Dietrich’s was the only name listed for the firm, which probably meant she had a private practice, maybe with one or two other lawyers.

  Still, the Alexandria address was very pricey. She was either doing very well for herself, or she came from money.

  Emma called up a map and decided to at least drive by and check out Dietrich’s office. Maybe she’d walk in and ask for directions, just to get a look around. Chances were that since she didn’t know Dietrich, Dietrich didn’t know her either. Besides, she probably wouldn’t get past the front desk anyway.

  Alexandria was close enough that under normal circumstances, it would have been faster to take a cab, or even the bus. But Emma still hoped to get out to Violet Slayton’s house this afternoon, and she couldn’t afford to waste the time it would take to track back to the Capitol parking lot for her car. She sighed. It was going to cost a fortune to park in Alexandria.

  * * * *

  Emma lucked out and caught a parking space a couple doors down from Dietrich’s office. It was only a ten minute slot, but she already knew it wouldn’t take any more time than that to check Tammy Dietrich off her list. For one thing, Dietrich was listed as a partner on the discreet plaque outside the door of the office building. Victor’s taste in women for his parties leaned more toward secretaries than law partners. And for another, the law offices were located in an Old Alexandria brownstone, which screamed money and lots of it. This was almost certainly a dead-end, but since she was already here, she would check it out anyway.

  The receptionist looked up when Emma approached the desk. The woman was maybe ten years older than Emma and dressed far better. She was doing her best to look down her nose, even though she was looking up through a pair of very traditional tortoiseshell glasses.

  “Hi,” Emma said, pretending to read the several pieces of paper she’d folded and now carried in her hand, as if for refe
rence. “I’m supposed to meet some friends at . . .” she peered at the papers, “Waterfront Park, and I can’t seem to—”

  “It’s on the water,” the receptionist said frostily, with a heavy dose of my God you’re stupid thrown in for good measure. “The water is that way,” she added, pointing with one perfectly manicured finger in a direction that just happened to be out the office door.

  Emma gave her a friendly smile. “Well, of course it is. Where’s my brain this afternoon? You’ve been very kind,” she added, although it wasn’t true. Robots had more human kindness than this woman. But Emma didn’t need any warm fuzzies. She’d already gotten what she came here for. On the wall behind the frigid receptionist’s desk were professional portraits of Tammy Dietrich and her law partner. And Tammy Dietrich was most definitely not one of Victor’s playthings. Emma didn’t have names for the women in Victor’s peep show videos, but she definitely had faces. And Dietrich wasn’t one of them.

  Emma didn’t waste any more pleasantries on the unfriendly receptionist. She left the office and hurried back to her car with two minutes to spare on the meter. It hadn’t been a total waste of time. She hadn’t found one of the women on Victor’s list, but at least she’d eliminated Dietrich. That was something. Not much, but something. And she still had Violet Slayton, who definitely had worked with Lacey.

  Emma pulled her laptop over and piggybacked onto someone’s unsecured Wi-Fi connection. She logged onto her office network and accessed a listing of households in the Springfield, Virginia area. Using Slayton’s last name and the street name Betty had given her, she soon had the address of Violet Slayton’s parents. She clicked over to her favorite map site, typed in the address, and scrutinized the directions. She nodded to herself. She could definitely get out there and back to Duncan’s place before his one hour after sunset deadline.

  She had a fleeting thought that Duncan wouldn’t be too happy about her going to see Slayton without him. Especially after her armed intruder last night. But they didn’t know for sure yet that the guy last night had anything to do with Victor. He might simply have been a burglar caught in the act. And, even if someone was keeping track of her investigations, they’d hardly be following her every move. She hadn’t known herself that she’d be driving out to Virginia this afternoon, so how could anyone else know? Besides, Violet Slayton could turn out to be as big a dead end as Tammy Dietrich. The men responsible for Lacey’s death were probably sitting back and laughing as Emma raced around, chasing shadows.