Homicide in the House

by Colleen J. Shogan

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s an unusual request. May I ask why you want information on the gavel?”

  Lying wasn’t morally defensible. A college lecture on Kant’s categorical imperative flashed through my mind. Could I split the baby somehow? I doubted Kant would agree, but he’d never worked in the United States Congress for a vulnerable politician accused of murder.

  “It’s a project for my chief of staff.” That wasn’t a complete fib. Dan had ordered me to figure out who killed Jack Drysdale.

  Her jaw relaxed. “We’re not really supposed to research issues unrelated to the shutdown.” She paused. “But no one else has asked for my help, so I guess it won’t hurt.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  She pushed her glasses up and wrinkled her nose. “No problem. Do you mind having a seat while I gather materials for you?”

  “Not at all.” I returned to my spot and immediately dove into the legislative proposal from the Majority Leader’s office. There were several provisions in the bill my boss could support. Not surprisingly, there were also a few specific examples of language she’d oppose. As I worked through the document, I jotted down copious notes for my lunchtime discussion with Judy. I was almost at the end when the librarian walked over to my table with several sheets of paper in her hand.

  “I found some information about the Speaker’s gavel for you. You might also want to check with the House Historian’s office.”

  “That’s a great idea. Thanks.” For good measure, I added, “My chief will be thrilled with this.”

  She smiled politely. “Happy to help.”

  I quickly rifled through the printed information. One image caught my eye. It was another photo of Speaker Sam Rayburn. He was holding an armload of gavels, handed over by the man standing next to him. According to the caption, a United States Capitol engineer was giving Rayburn a stash of gavels in anticipation of the end of the summer recess in 1943. Why multiple gavels?

  After flipping through the documents, I discovered that more than one gavel existed at any given time. Many Speakers in American history had broken gavels by banging them too hard. The raucous House rarely came to order when the presiding officer asked politely; therefore, many Speakers simply pounded the gavel harder. In 1931, John Nance Garner broke three gavels in rapid succession. This led House engineers and carpenters to supply a set of gavels to the Speaker or whoever presided over the House.

  Why hadn’t this possibility occurred to me earlier? There wasn’t a single gavel. There were many gavels, and therefore, a whole array of potential murder weapons. I tapped my pen to the side of my head and allowed myself a tentative smile.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was no time for self-congratulation. Multiple gavels meant the one that smashed Jack’s head in wasn’t necessarily the same gavel Maeve had wielded the night before the murder. Though a positive development, it didn’t exonerate her.

  I finished reading the document before noon with only minutes to spare. After packing up my papers and donning my coat, I waved goodbye to the helpful librarian. A few minutes later, I was hustling down Pennsylvania Avenue. We The Pizza was only one and a half blocks away, but I walked as fast as I could without breaking into a jog. Something told me Judy Talent didn’t tolerate the fashionably late.

  The aroma of baked cheese, garlic, and pepperoni drifted as far as the intersection of Pennsylvania and Third Street. The typical We The Pizza line usually ran the length of the restaurant’s ground floor, but today there were only three patrons waiting to order at the counter. I’d never met Judy before today, but I’d seen her photograph several times in various D.C. publications listing the fifty most powerful Hill staffers. She hadn’t arrived yet.

  I took a deep breath and shifted my attention to the pizzas behind the display glass. The restaurant boasted an eclectic assortment. Of course, the traditional cheese and pepperoni options were available. However, the signature offerings of We The Pizza were far from conventional. Slices with unusual toppings such as pulled pork, truffles, or boneless buffalo chicken wings populated the menu du jour. I’d begun to narrow down my lunchtime options when I heard a voice behind me.

  “Excuse me. Are you Kit Marshall?”

  I turned around to discover my lunch companion had arrived. Judy Talent was the very model of a Washington D.C. power broker. She was in her early forties, yet her figure was as trim as that of a woman a decade younger. Her brown tresses had understated auburn highlights that fell right above her shoulders in angled layers. I was no hair snob, but I could spot an expensive cut and style, likely the work of Vidal Sassoon in Tysons Galleria or even Cristophe’s. If possible, her outfit was even more impressive. She sported an unbuttoned mid-length black wool coat over a chic tan designer pantsuit that screamed Saks. As she shifted her purse to shake my hand, I noticed the Burberry label on the lining of her overcoat. Hillary Clinton had nothing on Judy Talent when it came to presenting the image of a flawless female politico. Her appearance projected one unified message: I am a professional.

  I pulled my jacket across my body to cover up my outfit, one of my standard black suits with a red blouse. Compared to Judy, I felt like a reliable Toyota next to a tricked-out Ferrari.

  Judy looked at me expectantly. She’d asked me a question and was offering her hand. I took it and croaked, “Yes, that’s me. I mean, I’m Kit.” I followed up my awkward introduction with a nervous laugh.

  Judy flashed an expensive smile. “Terrific. I didn’t know what you looked like, but they aren’t exactly breaking down the doors during the shutdown, are they?”

  “No crowd is certainly unusual for this place. Have you eaten here before?”

  Judy made a face. “I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t, even though I know it’s one of the best eateries on the Hill. I’m afraid my job doesn’t give me many opportunities to go out for lunch.”

  I nodded sympathetically. At the front of the line, I placed my order for a slice of Poblano Spicy Mexican with a side salad and a premium sour cherry soda.

  Judy stared at the menu on the wall behind the counter. “I really should have the farmers market salad. But it seems like a missed opportunity not to eat the pizza.”

  I had just taken a big sip of my custom soda. “You should definitely treat yourself.” I wiped the red fizz from my upper lip. “These homemade sodas are delicious.”

  Judy laughed. “Sold!” She proceeded to order the two slice special, opting for the pineapple ham combo and mushroom truffle. She topped it off with a Shirley Temple soda.

  While we waited for our slices to emerge from the wood-fired oven, Judy wasted no time. “Have you seen the Majority Leader’s proposal to end the shutdown?” she asked.

  Before I had a chance to answer, our beepers went off, indicating our pizza was ready. Judy’s eyes grew wide as an employee placed her lunch on the counter for pickup. The slices at We The Pizza were huge. As we picked up our trays and headed upstairs to find a seat, Judy shook her head in dismay. “This is the biggest lunch I’ve had in five years. I’ll be working it off at the gym all week.”

  I peeked at Judy’s behind as I followed her to a table. It was perfect. Even while admiring her physique, I felt sorry for her. My entire life, thinness had eluded me. But I also wasn’t one to deprive myself of a pizza lunch. If I could guess, I’d wager that Judy’s intensity pervaded her whole existence—her work, appearance, and personal relationships.

  Judy only allowed herself one bite before cutting to the chase. After taking a sip of her soda, she opened her leather portfolio, placed the legislative proposal on the table, and slid it toward me. “Here it is. I know you’ve seen it already, since it made the email rounds earlier today. I don’t need to tell you how important it is for the entire party caucus to stick together on this vote, and I know Representative Dixon wants to get into the action. This is her chance to make a difference, both to the people of North Carolina and the Majority Leader.”
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  At least Judy had made a good faith attempt at persuasion. That was more than I could say for the late Jack Drysdale, with his hard sell. I gave Judy a polite smile and finished my mouthful of pizza before speaking. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet. Can we go over some details? I have a few questions.”

  In between bites of pizza, Judy and I went back and forth on the finer points of the bill. Not all of her answers would make my boss happy, but to her credit, Judy answered each inquiry with complete and apparently honest answers. After twenty minutes, I was satisfied, at least with the political part of the conversation.

  I glanced at Judy’s tray. She had plowed her way through the pineapple ham slice, but her mushroom truffle was untouched. I still had my salad to eat. Judy needed to invest a few more minutes in our lunch so I could probe her about Jack’s murder. Judy glanced at her watch. Two factors were working against me, namely Judy’s desire to minimize the caloric damage of our meal and the fact she’d already spent more time with me at lunch than she typically devoted to anyone.

  Before she started packing up, I needed to intercede. “You haven’t touched your other slice of pizza.”

  She laughed. “I guess my eyes are bigger than my stomach. I’ll get a box for this. Someone in the office will eat it as soon as I get back.” She turned to gather her purse and designer overcoat. Uh-oh.

  “Wait a second,” I blurted out. She turned to look at me with a curious stare.

  I racked my brain for a reason to keep Judy at the table. My eyes drifted to her tray. “You don’t want to take that pizza to go.”

  Judy narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

  “It’s their specialty. You don’t want to give that pizza up. Trust me.”

  Judy stared at me for several seconds, which felt like forever. Then she burst out laughing. “I like you, Kit. You’re refreshing.”

  The muscles in my face relaxed, and I grinned. “Thank you. I think that was a compliment.”

  “Yes, it was. So this pizza is really worth it?” She pointed to the slice.

  “You don’t want to miss it.” I was telling the truth. Their mushroom truffle was divine.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Judy let go of her purse and coat, picked up her knife and fork, and dived in. This was my opportunity. Unlike Judy’s pizza, my salad could wait.

  “Can I ask you a question unrelated to the shutdown?”

  “Sure. By the way, you’re right. This pizza is fantastic. I’m glad I didn’t give it to one of those scavengers in my office. It wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.”

  “Are you upset by Jack Drysdale’s death?”

  I studied Judy’s reaction. She didn’t appear alarmed or taken aback. In fact, she didn’t miss a bite. After swallowing, she offered, “Yes and no. I knew Jack for many years so it’s upsetting. But we weren’t friends.” She raised her eyebrows before continuing. “Everyone knew that.”

  Playing innocent might help elicit more information. Besides, I couldn’t exactly explain my interest in Jack’s death. “I only met Jack the day before he died. I know what’s appeared in the gossip columns, though.”

  Judy scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you read. Especially from that menace, Hill Rat.”

  Just the opening I needed. “I heard Jack knew Hill Rat’s real identity and wanted to expose him … or her.”

  Judy shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Jack despised Hill Rat. He thought scandal-driven blogging made relationships even tougher to maintain within the Capitol. No one could trust anyone with Hill Rat publishing confidential missives and secrets.”

  Did Judy have a motive for killing Jack? According to the rumor mill, she and Jack had routinely competed for the most prestigious Capitol Hill jobs. Emerging on top with his Speaker’s job, Jack had bested Judy in the end. She might have decided the only way to eliminate the competition was murder.

  I leaned in closer and softened my voice. “Do you have any idea who might have killed Jack?”

  Judy’s face was expressionless for several seconds, which felt like five minutes. Once again, she burst into laughter. “You’re just full of surprises. Why do you care who murdered Jack Drysdale? Isn’t Representative Dixon giving you enough work these days?”

  Luckily, my reputation preceded me and provided the perfect alibi for my nosiness. “Last year, I helped the police solve the murder of my boss in the Senate. Jack’s murder is right up my alley.” I tapped two fingers to the side of my head. “It’s time to put the little gray cells to work.” I looked at Judy expectantly. When she didn’t get my reference, I said, “Hercule Poirot. He’s always calling on his little gray cells to solve the crime.” I tapped my temple again for emphasis.

  Judy shook her finger at me playfully. “I knew I recognized your name. You’re the former Senate staffer who almost became the killer’s next victim. Isn’t that right?”

  “It was a close call. But I wouldn’t let that stop me from trying to figure out who killed Jack.” Prevaricating made me feel guilty but I had limited options to keep Judy from clamming up.

  “Good luck on this one. I hope your detective skills are up to the task. Because there’s a long list of people who wanted to see Jack dead.”

  I looked Judy squarely in the eye, gauging her reaction to my next question. “Are you one of them?”

  I was expecting Judy to laugh me off, but she didn’t. She grimaced, showing the fine wrinkles underneath her expensive makeup. Her eyes weren’t angry. Instead, they softened, and for a brief moment, I thought I noticed a trace of moisture. If there were any tears for Jack, they had dried as soon as they had appeared. Judy straightened in her chair. “Absolutely not. Why would I kill Jack?”

  “Weren’t you in competition with him for years over the top staffing jobs on the Hill? His boss became Speaker and he claimed the most powerful position in Congress. If something happened to Jack, wouldn’t the Speaker consider you as a replacement?”

  Judy scoffed. “I seriously doubt it. There are enough people in the Speaker’s orbit who will be standing in line for Jack’s job. He doesn’t want someone with loyalties to another member of Congress. More importantly, it’s well known that I’m leaving the Hill soon.”

  That was news to me. “You have another job lined up?”

  Judy started to gather her bag and coat, indicating she’d had enough pizza and enough of me. “I’m headed to K Street as a lobbyist as soon as the shutdown is over. I said I’d never do it, but I’m not getting any younger. Are you single, Kit?”

  “I live with my boyfriend but we’re not married.” I didn’t add the word “yet” to the end of the sentence. I had a feeling if I had, Judy would have lectured me about it.

  She smirked. “That means you’re single. So here’s some advice from one unmarried D.C. gal to another.” With her coat on and her bag slung over her shoulder, she touched both of my shoulders with her hands. “Don’t wait too long to cash in your chits. There’s an expiration date on goodwill in this town. I need to provide for my future. That’s something only you can do for yourself.”

  Judy gave a small salute as a goodbye, and I watched her march toward the exit, already furiously typing messages on her iPhone. Without turning around, she called out, her voice echoing from the stairwell, “Don’t forget. We need Maeve Dixon’s support on this bill. I’m counting on you, Kit.”

  The faces of Dan and Maeve flashed through my mind. I took a deep breath to ease the tension. Who wasn’t counting on me these days?

  Chapter Twelve

  As I walked back to the office, I thought about my conversation with Judy Talent, a woman who didn’t suffer fools gladly. Given her success on Capitol Hill, that made perfect sense. No alibi had been offered and I hadn’t prodded her for one. She’d dismissed a suggested motive by announcing her new lobbying job. Was that honesty or a clever diversion? I didn’t have the luxury of eliminating anyone yet, so I’d keep my eye on Judy. The ambitious, Hill-climber side of Kit Marshall liked Judy Talent.
My gumshoe alter ego still viewed her as a credible suspect.

  I’d just opened my computer’s email inbox when I felt someone watching me. I got a similar feeling in the early morning hours when Clarence fixated on me, hoping for a walk outside and his breakfast, in that order. This was like being ogled by a puppy dog, yet I doubted the eyes belonged to a canine.

  “Dan, is that you?”

  A belabored sigh broke the silence. “Yes, it’s me. Do you have an update?”

  I spun around in my office chair. “On the shutdown?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about the shutdown. What about clearing Maeve’s name?”

  “How many times do I need to tell you it takes time to solve a murder? Especially a murder of someone I don’t even know!”

  “If she gets labeled a suspect, how will she ever win reelection?” Dan rubbed his forehead. “No one will hire me in D.C. after this mess. I’ll be ruined.”

  That’s nothing compared to serving thirty to life for a crime you didn’t commit. Rather than issue a sarcastic retort, I held my tongue. Maeve had asked me this morning to go easy on Dan. She knew he was a fragile soul.

  “Settle down. I’m making progress. But a mess like this can’t be sorted out overnight.”

  Dan perked up, his eyes finally showing a glimmer of hope. “Progress? What have you learned?”

  I didn’t have the energy to explain the importance of multiple Speaker gavels. It was a nuanced clue and Dan struggled with subtleties. The gavel that killed Jack wasn’t necessarily the same one Maeve had used on the House floor the night before the murder. Therefore, her prints might not turn up on the murder weapon. If that was the case, it could give Detective O’Halloran and the Capitol Hill Police pause. Reasonable doubt was all we needed.

  “I can’t reveal anything right now.” Dan’s face fell in disappointment. “Don’t worry. A good detective never shows her cards.” I reached out and gave Dan a pat on the shoulder.