Other than Maeve Dixon, he was the only suspect who could have done it. He’d monitored Jack’s whereabouts that morning, stalked him, and committed the crime. But there was one big problem. How did he get his hands on the Speaker’s gavel? My investigation wasn’t over yet. If I hurried, I could get to work early and corroborate my theory. With a little luck and some sympathy from Detective O’Halloran, maybe I could prevent Maeve’s supposedly imminent arrest.
After a quick shower, I threw on my last clean pantsuit and poked my head inside the bedroom. Doug and Clarence were waking up.
Rubbing his eyes, Doug asked, “What time is it? Are you leaving for work early?”
“I don’t have time to explain. I might have an idea who really killed Jack Drysdale. If I’m right, there’s a chance I can convince Detective O’Halloran to hold off charging my boss for the murder.”
After sitting up in bed, Clarence ambled over to Doug and plopped himself down on his lap. He licked Doug’s hand, indicating that he was ready for his morning massage. Then he yawned loudly. Clarence was apparently less than impressed by my pronouncement.
Rubbing Clarence’s ears, Doug put on his glasses and focused on me. “Who do you think did it?”
“Gareth Pressler. He works in the Sergeant at Arms office in the House. That’s why I went out for drinks last night with that guy, Trent. I wanted to pump him for information about his boss.”
Doug wrinkled his nose. Was he reading something into my words? I hadn’t said the word “date.” Doug didn’t know I’d allowed Trent to think it was more than a casual happy hour affair. “Are you sure about this, Kit? It sounds circumstantial.”
I didn’t have the time to convince Doug. “I know Maeve Dixon didn’t kill Jack Drysdale. That means someone else is responsible for his death. Pressler is the best alternative. I need to leave now so I can wrap this up.”
Doug looked disappointed. “Clarence has a grooming appointment today. I thought we’d drive in together.” Clarence’s groomer was located in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. If the appointment was early enough, I usually dropped him off and then brought him to the office for part of the day. Dogs were welcome in Capitol Hill buildings during working hours. Members of Congress believed they brought happy relief to the partisan battles of Congress. At least Democrats and Republicans could agree on something.
As for Clarence, he appeared to relish spending the occasional working day on the Hill. The constant attention, pats on the head, and belly rubs were appropriate compensation. He seemed to know when he looked his best. He liked to show off, particularly if the groomer gave him a doggie scarf to wear. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a good time for a Clarence visit to the Maeve Dixon office.
“I forgot about that. Thanks for taking him. It’s been absolutely crazy the past several days. Between the shutdown and trying to solve this murder, I can’t remember if I’m coming or going.”
“I noticed,” Doug murmured.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure Clarence gets to the groomer.”
I gave Doug a quick peck on the cheek and bent down to pet Clarence. He responded with a wet puppy kiss.
“By tonight, life should start to return to normal, especially if Detective O’Halloran listens to reason.”
Doug looked skeptical. “Be careful. If you’re right, this guy isn’t going to appreciate being fingered for the murder. He probably thinks he got away with it.”
While heading out of the condo, I called over my shoulder, “Don’t worry! Once I get what’s needed, I’m turning everything over to the police. I’m not going to confront Pressler.”
Less than thirty minutes later, I walked with purpose toward the entrance of the Cannon Building. The first-floor corridor was completely empty. After several days into the crisis, most “essential” congressional employees had given up on early bird arrivals in the hopes of discovering a miraculous solution. Meg had been right all along. We were in for a long haul.
I headed to my office and then reversed course. Stopping there would be an enormous waste of time. Dan had called last night when I was in the process of snooping around Gareth’s office and I’d never called him back. Most likely he wanted to engage in another rant about the futility of our situation and the dismal, downward direction of Maeve Dixon’s political career. He’d only delay the last part of my investigation, and it made little sense to explain my theory to him. After the police realized Pressler was a viable suspect and eased off Maeve, I could circle back to Dan, walk him through the details, and make him eat crow. After all, even though he’d asked me to investigate Jack’s murder, he’d never actually thought I’d solve it.
Instead, I headed downstairs, breezed through the Capitol Hill Police metal detectors, and marched toward the dismal Cannon Tunnel. Over the course of the past week, I’d traveled the connector between my office building and the Capitol more times than I could count. The collage of paintings decorating the walls was becoming increasingly familiar. All in all, the collective talent of the high school artists was impressive. Their colorful canvases were the only sign of life in the monotone hallway. After weaving through the basement corridors and boarding the elevators tucked away in an inauspicious corner, I entered the House press gallery on the Capitol’s third floor.
It would have been prudent to email Melinda on the walk over to the gallery. It seemed like ages since I’d met her to learn more about Jack Drysdale and potential suspects. With any luck, she’d remember me as her professor’s generous girlfriend who liked ice cream breaks.
I provided my name at the front desk and asked for Melinda Gomez. Thus far, there hadn’t been many lucky breaks in this case. This morning I was looking for the final nail to pound into Gareth Pressler’s coffin.
To my relief, Melinda appeared in under a minute. Shaking her hand vigorously, I bellowed, “Thanks for seeing me on absolutely zero notice.”
She adjusted her glasses with a shy smile. “No problem. You’re Professor Hollingsworth’s girlfriend. We met for ice cream.”
I groaned inwardly. No time to educate Melinda about identifying women by their male romantic partners. “Yes, that’s me. It’s Kit. I’m glad you didn’t forget.”
Melinda shifted her weight nervously. “Oh, I’d never forget Professor Hollingsworth.”
Her affinity was definitely with Doug, not me. But her willingness to talk worked in my favor. There was no point beating around the bush.
“I think you might be able to help me with my murder investigation.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s right. You’re trying to figure out who killed Jack Drysdale. Isn’t your boss the prime suspect?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, but she didn’t do it. There’s a credible suspect out there the police haven’t focused on. But I need your help with the final clue.”
Her face brightened, then she looked nervously at her watch. “This sounds exciting but we need to be quick about it. The House floor opens in thirty minutes. When we’re live, I have to make myself available for questions from reporters, especially due to the shutdown.”
I nodded. “This won’t take long. Here’s a question for you. Who is allowed on the dais when the House is debating a bill?” In the front of the House chamber, a tiered platform served as the stage for legislative action. Only certain people who were involved in House floor operations were allowed on it. The presiding officer—the substitute for the Speaker of the House—stands or sits at the very top of the raised platform. Maeve Dixon had served in this role on the night in question.
After giving the matter some thought, Melinda said, “Several House staffers work on the dais. The enrolling clerk, the bill clerk, the journal clerk, the tally clerk …” her voice trailed off.
I shook my head. “Not on the lower levels of the platform. What about the top level? Where the Speaker or whoever is presiding over the House of Representatives at the time sits or stands.”
She
adjusted her glasses again. “That’s a smaller number. You have the presiding House member in the Speaker’s chair, the parliamentarian, the timekeeper, and the Sergeant at Arms. Sometimes the Clerk of the House is also on the top tier. I think that’s everyone who’s supposed to be up there.”
Bingo. “So the Sergeant at Arms always has a place on the top level?” From my many hours of watching endless debate in the House, I’d thought that was the case. But I needed to make sure.
“I’m not certain there’s always a staffer from the Sergeant’s office at that table, but there’s definitely a space reserved for the Sergeant or his deputy.”
Now we were getting warmer. “Have you ever seen Gareth Pressler sitting on the top level of the dais?”
Melinda wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t worked here too long. I’m not sure what he looks like.”
That was easy to remedy. I whipped out my iPhone and searched for an image of Pressler. I found his official congressional employee photograph and showed it to Melinda.
She nodded. “Yep. I’ve seen that guy around. He’s definitely sat on the platform before. The Sergeant at Arms is in charge of the mace, so that’s why a representative is entitled to a spot on the top tier.”
The mace is the symbol of legislative authority for the House of Representatives. It resembles an ancient fighting weapon, consisting of a long stick with an ornate eagle at the tip. It remains on the House platform during debate, and depending on its position, it indicates the type of legislative session the House is engaged in. Since it looks rather menacing, the Sergeant at Arms supposedly uses it as a way to regain order if a member of Congress becomes unruly. Personally, I didn’t think the Sergeant at Arms capitalized on the intimidation afforded by the mace nearly enough during heated debates. If the Sergeant waved the mace more regularly at House members who caused problems, then maybe we wouldn’t find ourselves in the current political mess.
“Thanks, Melinda. You’ve been very helpful. I have one more question for you. I know there are extra gavels in case one breaks during House proceedings. Do you know where the extra gavels are kept and who has access to them?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. You got me there. I have no idea.”
This was literally the last kernel of information I needed before contacting Detective O’Halloran. Hopefully Maeve hadn’t been arrested yet.
Grasping at straws, I asked, “Maybe your boss would know?”
“I doubt it. We never actually go on the dais during debate. And I don’t think a reporter would ask about a detail like that.”
We were both lost in thought for several minutes. Then Melinda snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. If we hurry, we might be able to catch my friend who works as one of the reading clerks. He might know. Follow me!” She took off and headed down the stairs toward the entrance to the House gallery.
A minute later, we were hurrying down a side aisle in the House chamber. We approached the Speaker’s rostrum and Melinda scoured the room. Finally, she flagged down a guy scurrying around to ensure all the necessary papers were in place for the day’s legislative proceedings.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Is Charlie working today?”
The staffer ignored her question. “Who wants to know?”
She drew herself up, apparently not intimated by the snotty tone. “I work in the press gallery. Can you tell him that Melinda Gomez needs to speak with him?”
The guy sighed. “The floor opens in fifteen minutes.” He motioned with his hand. “Members are already arriving for their opportunity to stick it to the other side about the shutdown.”
Melinda didn’t cede an inch. “Please. I need to speak with him.” She lowered her voice. “It’s a matter of life or death.”
I wouldn’t have been quite as dramatic as Melinda, but her approach caught Mr. Snotty’s attention. “What isn’t a matter of life or death these days?” he asked rhetorically. But then he said, “I’ll see if I can find him. Just wait here.”
Facing Melinda, I exclaimed, “You were terrific! Don’t take no for an answer.”
Melinda pushed up her glasses, which tended to fall down her nose. “Thanks. I’m learning to act more assertively on the job. I can’t let reporters and staffers push me around.”
“I doubt anyone ever pushed you around, Melinda.”
A moment later, a tall, thin middle-aged man wearing a gray suit emerged from one of the side anterooms. Melinda waved so he’d see us.
“I’m sorry we asked to see you on such short notice, Charlie. This is Kit Marshall, and she has a question to ask you. We can’t tell you right now why it matters, but trust me, it might be very important.”
Charlie seemed to have a better attitude than his colleague. He laughed. “I’d rather not know the reason. I have too many secrets up here.” He pointed to his head. “I can’t keep them straight.”
At Melinda’s nod, I asked my question. Charlie answered immediately. “It’s not a state secret about the extra gavel.” He raised his eyebrows. “As long as you promise you’re not going to steal it.”
I crossed my heart.
“You came to the right person,” he said. “The extra gavel is kept in the drawer of the reading clerk’s desk. If the Speaker or presiding officer breaks a gavel, we replace it immediately with our spare.”
“Charlie, does everyone have access to that drawer?”
“Certainly not! The desk belongs to the Clerk of the House and her employees.”
“Is the drawer locked? You know, the one with the gavel,” I added.
Charlie hesitated. “I can’t say that it’s always locked. We keep other items in that drawer and sometimes people forget to secure it.”
“Do members of Congress know where you keep the extra gavel?”
“No, because otherwise they might try to pocket an extra one. As a souvenir for some lucky constituent or donor.”
“I have a few more quick questions for you. Were you working the evening when Representative Maeve Dixon was in the chair? It was a few nights ago. She’s my boss.”
His face softened. “I heard she’s a suspect in the Drysdale murder. I don’t believe it for a second. Maeve Dixon always goes out of her way to act friendly when she’s presiding over the House floor. It doesn’t seem consistent with her personality. And yes, I worked that night. She liked my tie, as a matter of fact.”
Charlie was a snappy dresser. He’d likely not forget it if a member of Congress complimented him. “Do you remember if you had to go to your drawer for the spare gavel that night?”
“It’s such a rare occurrence, I would remember that. No, we haven’t had to replace a gavel in a while.”
Melinda broke in, “So that means the spare gavel should be in the drawer now, right?”
“Absolutely. There would be no reason for it not to be.”
Unless Gareth Pressler had nabbed the gavel Maeve used and then replaced it with the spare gavel. If he did it swiftly enough after she exited the dais, no one would have noticed. He could have pocketed the gavel with her prints on it and then used it a few hours later to kill Jack Drysdale.
“Charlie, do you mind checking on the extra gavel?”
He glanced at his watch. “Okay, but then I have to skedaddle. If my boss thinks I’m not ready for the opening of the House, she’s going to kill me.”
Little did Charlie know that in our little world, bosses did kill. Only not mine. He hustled to the dais and sat down at the reading clerk’s desk. The look of surprise on his face told us the result. The spare gavel was missing.
He opened a few more drawers, but came up empty-handed. He walked back over to where we were standing. “I don’t know how you knew the spare gavel was missing, but it is. I’ll have to tell my boss about it.”
There was no time to waste. Every last detail had fallen into place. It was definitely enough to persuade Detective O’Halloran he needed to take a hard look at Pressler. Hopefully that meant he’d hold off charging Maeve late
r today.
“Charlie, you’ve been a lifesaver. You too, Melinda. If I’m going to prevent a disaster, I need to run now.” As I turned to leave, I said over my shoulder, “Drinks are on me once the shutdown is over!”
Melinda yelled after me. “Wait a second!”
I turned around. “What’s wrong? I don’t have a lot of time before my boss is arrested for a crime she didn’t commit.” Normally, I tried to avoid acting like a drama queen, but extraordinary circumstances called for desperate measures.
With a tentative look, Melinda offered, “Come upstairs for a few minutes so we can check on a detail about the night in question.”
“No can do. It’s almost nine thirty and the Capitol is open for business. I need to make sure the police don’t file charges against Maeve Dixon.” The sands of time had almost run out. I hurried toward the chamber’s exit just as the House was called to order for the day and the House chaplain began the daily prayer.
Behind me, I heard, “Dear Father, grant us the fortitude and perseverance to help us do your will today.”
Well said! Perhaps the Almighty had heard the chaplain’s prayer. A little divine intervention never hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Members flooded the House floor entrance. Normally, the opening of a legislative session was sparsely attended. The shutdown attracted a bigger crowd of politicians who wanted to speak on the House floor, even for one minute, about the funding fiasco. I waded through the masses until I reached the periphery of the Capitol Rotunda.
At this time of day, throngs of schoolchildren, international tourists, and patriotic Americans typically swarmed the Rotunda. This stately room was located in the absolute center of the Capitol, immediately underneath the dome. “Majestic” was an understatement. Perhaps at no other time in my life would I find myself almost completely alone inside its walls. Other than me, a single Capitol Hill Police officer remained on patrol. I was drawn to the splendor of it all—the beautiful assortment of neoclassic friezes and statues. This was America’s pantheon, plain and simple.
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