My favorite Rotunda artwork was the group statue of leading women’s suffragists. I felt the eyes of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Lucretia Mott fixed upon me. This monument had been relegated to the basement of the Capitol after its completion decades ago, but in 1997, it was relocated to its now prominent location inside the Rotunda, where thousands of visitors could appreciate it. What would the suffragists say if they knew a female congressional staffer was trying to save the career of her boss, a woman who had served proudly in two wars before winning election to Congress? There was no question. They’d be proud. That’s why they fought to give women the right to vote and participate in politics in the first place. I was quite certain the foremothers would agree it was time for action.
I grabbed my phone and fired off an email to Detective O’Halloran, asking to meet him as soon as possible due to information I had come across concerning the murder of Jack Drysdale. I could provide the details later. Before sending the message, I added, Maeve Dixon didn’t do it. He needed to know my scoop would cast doubt on Maeve’s status as the prime suspect.
I’d wait for O’Halloran to contact me back at the office. With my head buried in my iPhone, I took off for the homestead in Cannon. There might be a chance he’d read the message and ask to meet inside the Capitol or somewhere else on the Hill. Wherever it was, I’d arrange to rendezvous with him immediately. Since my eyes were focused on my device and certainly not on the path ahead, it was no surprise that I almost suffered a direct collision with another staffer headed in the opposite direction.
A familiar voice said, “Hey, watch where you’re going!”
My head jerked up. Dan gazed at me with pursed lips, his countenance scrunched in exasperation.
At precisely the same moment, I exclaimed, “Dan!” and he bellowed, “Kit!” We both chuckled.
“You never called me back last night.” Dan sounded hurt, almost like a lovelorn teenager whose crush had dissed him.
“I’m sorry. I was busy tracking down a lead in the murder investigation.”
Dan waved his hand dismissively. “You shouldn’t waste your time. Maeve Dixon did it. The police are convinced, and there are no other suspects. You should be using these precious hours to find another job.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong, Dan. Someone else had means, motive, and opportunity. In fact, I just emailed the police detective in charge of the case so I can meet with him and explain my theory. I don’t think they’ll charge Maeve once he hears it.”
The color drained from Dan’s face. He stammered, “Are you s-sure?”
“I might not have enough for a conviction, but it will cast doubt on Maeve’s status as the prime suspect.”
Dan gulped for air and rubbed his forehead nervously. “I wish you’d called me back last night.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“I talked to several chiefs of staff and they said I should resign immediately. It’s critical to get off Dixon’s payroll before the bottom falls out. So I called Maeve earlier this morning and quit.”
Dan’s words hit hard. “How could you do that? It’s going to make her look even more suspicious if her senior staff start to jump ship.”
“I know, I know. But I left everything in North Carolina to move here. I can’t go crawling back. I need to figure out a way to find another job in D.C.” Dan looked like a puppy that had just made a mistake on the carpet.
“You can’t call her back and retract?”
“I don’t think so. She accused me of abandoning her.”
“She’s not off the mark.”
Dan frowned. “None of this would have happened if you’d kept me in the loop about the investigation. I never thought you’d actually succeed in finding a credible suspect.”
Again, Dan’s words stung. “I appreciate your vote of confidence. What’s your plan now?” I glanced at my phone. No reply yet.
Dan’s demeanor brightened. “I’m on my way for an interview as chief of staff for another member of Congress.”
Astonishing. Dan was a political and policy lightweight. He didn’t know the difference between a conference committee and a concurrent resolution. How could he already have another plum job lined up? There had to be a catch. “With who?”
Dan’s outlook went dark again. “Jerry Bowser.”
I suppressed a snicker. Representative Bowser, although a reliable vote for the left-wing establishment, had a reputation that preceded him. Specifically, a reputation for berating staff, throwing small items in fits of anger, and demanding curb-to-curb car service. Bowser went through staff like Kleenex.
“Good luck with that.” My iPhone email icon showed I had an unread message. Time for Dan had dried up. I gave him a quick salute and concentrated on my device. Sure enough, I’d piqued Detective O’Halloran’s interest. He asked to meet at Representative Dixon’s office in twenty minutes. That was perfect timing. After replying, I shoved the phone back inside my purse.
I descended into the bowels of the Capitol basement yet again. A few minutes later, I reached to open the door leading to the Cannon Tunnel. A muscular arm reached over my right shoulder and grabbed the handle instead. Startled, I turned around to confront Trent Roscoe’s handsome grin.
“Good morning, Kit. I saw you were headed for the tunnel and ran to catch up with you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “You scared me. It’s pretty deserted around here this early.”
He opened the door and ushered me through. “Sorry about that. You left so abruptly last night, I figured this was my opportunity to chat with you again. Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
“Back to my office. I’m meeting a Capitol Hill Police detective shortly.”
Trent fell into stride alongside me. “About what?” he asked innocently.
“Jack Drysdale’s murder.” I preferred a solitary walk to my office rather than answering nosy questions from Trent. It was bad luck running into him in the tunnel. Even if Doug wasn’t in the picture, I couldn’t imagine dating someone who worked on the Hill. Its insularity made it worse than high school. Meg continually struggled to maintain a wall between her dating and professional life. As she plowed through more guys on the Hill, successful compartmentalization was becoming statistically less possible. Besides, I’d decided Trent wasn’t really my type. Sure, he was good-looking but the macho persona had worn thin.
Conspicuously avoiding Trent’s stare, I trotted along at a good clip. He asked, “Did you figure out who did it?”
We were right next to the vending machines tucked inside a corner off the main basement intersection in Cannon. My stomach rumbled. There had been no time for breakfast this morning. I needed a caloric infusion, preferably sugar, to keep my mind from wandering into a fog when I met with Detective O’Halloran. I slowed down and grabbed my wallet, ignoring Trent’s question.
In a noticeably impatient voice, Trent inquired again, “Well, did you?”
This man had become exasperating. Meg’s fanciful notions about him as a potential romantic interest seemed like crazy talk right now. Hotness did not make up for an annoying personality, and Trent Roscoe had gotten on my last nerve.
I hit the button for a large bag of frosted animal crackers—the sweetest and most substantial option available in the quasi-healthy vending machines the House had installed in a futile attempt to impose federal nutritional standards on lowly congressional staffers. He touched my arm, ostensibly to get my attention. I whirled around to face him directly and looked into cold, implacable eyes. Something told me to stay silent.
I reached down to retrieve my breakfast. Once again, Trent leaned closer. At this point I hoped he was trying to hit on me. The alternative was too horrible.
His hand suddenly gripped my forearm. I said, “Trent, I’m really not in the mood for your overtures.” I’d aimed for neutral but heard the fear in my own voice.
“Too bad. You’re not a stupid girl, so I’m guessing you’ve figured it out.”
His voice had turned to ice and his grip tightened. At that precise instant, I felt a sharp object press into my right hip. As I tried to jerk away, Trent pulled me close. I could feel his breath on my neck. “You’re going to do what I say or I’ll kill you right here.”
My eyes darted to the pressure. I saw the glint of a box cutter sandwiched against my body. Instinctively, I wriggled against Trent’s powerful grasp. True to his promise, he pressed the weapon deeper. Razor sharp, it ripped through my suit jacket and blouse and into my flesh. With one swift move, he stifled my scream with his left hand. From his efficiency, I knew that Trent had done this before.
“No funny business, Kit. You do what I say or I won’t hesitate to hurt you more.” I believed him.
We were hidden in the vending machine alcove without another person remotely near us. I nodded to let him know I understood. He shoved me in the direction of a desolate hallway leading deeper into the recesses of the Cannon basement. One of these hallways led to committee staff offices and the Library of Congress. But he was forcing me down a separate, deserted corridor. After we’d taken a few steps, he opened the door to the now-closed Cannon Carryout, a small cafeteria designed for quick food service. The Carryout had been shuttered for several months. Since its closure, I doubted anyone had ventured down this hallway, except the random maintenance worker. He reached into his pocket and produced a key, which he inserted into the lock. The door opened and he shoved me inside, bolting it behind us.
Even without a knife threatening to rip me to shreds, the abandoned carryout would have sent shivers up my spine. The small window on the door had been papered over so that no one could see in or out. The open area that formerly displayed hot soup, cookies, and fruit was completely bare. The refrigerated shelves sat empty. A long metal counter had separated hungry lunchtime staffers from the made-to-order grill and food preparation area. A stale odor of french fries, onion rings, and chicken tenders lingered in the air.
Trent prodded me to keep walking. “Get behind the counter.” The gravelly voice seemed to come from a different man than the one I’d dined with the night before at the Tune Inn. The box cutter’s razor-sharp point restricted my options, so I followed his instructions. My back was up against the grill in the corner of the exposed kitchen area. Since he had me cornered, Trent let go of his tight grip. He stood squarely in front of me, his weapon brandished in his right hand.
There were two explanations. Either Trent knew his boss had killed Jack and he wanted to silence me, or Trent was the murderer. Unfortunately, both scenarios were equally deadly. I couldn’t physically overpower him and no one would hear my screams. The only alternative would be reasoning with him.
I raised my hands to signal surrender. “Why are you doing this, Trent? Talk to me.”
He sniggered. “Now you want to talk. That’s typical female behavior. As soon as you got the information you wanted last night, you made a beeline for the door.”
I tried to ignore his sexist comment but couldn’t resist a retort. “From my perspective right now, it was the worst first date in history.”
“Don’t get snarky.” He waved the knife back and forth.
“Okay, okay. But this is crazy. Last night, we were on a date. At least, I think it was a date. And now you’re poking me with that.” I pointed toward the box cutter in his hand.
Trent seemed to consider my argument. His face softened. “I actually liked you. But it was trouble when you came to see me about security in the House. Something seemed familiar. I remembered the news stories about a staffer who’d figured out the identity of her boss’s murderer in the Senate. A quick Google search verified my concerns. Even worse, you started poking around. It wasn’t hard to discover your real motivation for asking all those questions.”
Just above a whisper, I softly stated what I now knew was true, “You killed Jack Drysdale.”
Immediately, Trent’s face became agitated. “You don’t understand. Gareth is all talk and no action. He’d complain day after day about Jack.” He changed the intonation of his voice to indicate he was mimicking Gareth. “We’ll never tighten up security in the Capitol because JACK is standing in the way. JACK won’t let the Speaker restrict access. JACK is a thorn in our side. JACK is the most powerful staffer in Congress.”
Every time he said Jack’s name, the volume of Trent’s voice increased by several decibels. If I could keep him talking about Jack, he might speak loudly enough to alert a random passerby in the hallway.
I stated the obvious. “You killed Jack because Gareth wouldn’t do it.”
He snorted. “I didn’t even bring it up with Gareth. He’s the worst type of boss. He complains incessantly without offering any solutions. I did what had to be done.”
“So it was a personal hatred of Jack that pushed you over the edge?”
Trent shook his head. “You’ve got it wrong. It was never personal. This was patriotic.”
I’d read somewhere it was smart to empathize with a psychotic perpetrator. “You wanted to protect Congress. Jack was standing in the way.”
Trent’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. Jack didn’t understand how his decisions put the lives of elected politicians and even staff at risk. He had to be—”
“Eliminated?” I offered.
“I prefer to think of it as ‘set aside,’ actually.”
“Set aside” seemed too mild a phrase for the occasion, but I wasn’t in a position to argue semantics with a menacing hulk of a guy brandishing a box cutter. My side ached and I could sense a sticky wetness in the vicinity of where he had dug the box cutter into my flesh. I didn’t dare look to see the damage that had already been done. I’d lose my edge. Keeping Trent chatting was my only hope.
“Jack’s murder was premeditated, wasn’t it?”
“The original plan was to kill Jack and pin it on Jordan Macintyre. Your friend Trevor gave me a tip that he was in dire financial straits. A good motive, you know?” He glanced at me for approval of his pre-murder plans.
This was all about acting calm. I forced myself to muster a smile. “Makes sense.”
“Then your boss got into a public fight with Jack. She was a war hero and I started thinking ….” He tapped his forehead in case I wasn’t appreciating his criminal mastermind. “Why not pin it on Maeve Dixon?”
“So much for honoring those who served,” I muttered.
Trent appeared to consider my sarcastic comment. “I didn’t like that part, but everyone knows she’s a gym rat, always lifting weights and staying in shape. She’d have the strength to kill, even a guy like Drysdale.”
The combination of skipping breakfast and being stabbed and held at knifepoint was doing a number on my flip-flopping, gurgling stomach. Still, the longer I could keep Trent blabbering, the more likely Detective O’Halloran was to look into why I was missing our appointment.
“Even if Congresswoman Dixon had a motive for killing Jack, it didn’t mean she had the opportunity. How did you arrange that?”
He grinned broadly. By all objective standards, Trent was a ruggedly handsome guy. But now all I saw was a cold-blooded killer. Good looks and a wicked soul made for a terrifying combination.
“That was a lucky break. I’d already planned to lure her to the scene in the morning hours. Her discovery of the body along with the public fight with Jack would give the police plenty to work with.”
The rest was obvious, but I said it anyway. “But then you saw she was going to preside over the House debate that night on the floor.”
“Exactly. You figured everything out already, right?”
“Almost. I’d fingered your boss Gareth as the killer. So obviously I missed something.”
Trent moved closer. Backed into a tight corner with the Carryout’s grill at my back, I had nowhere to go.
“That’s what I surmised from our conversation last night,” he said. “The gavel was the last piece of evidence. Sure enough, you ran to the press gallery this morning to track it down.”
> His revelation caught me off guard. But then it made sense. There was no way he’d simply run into me by chance this morning. The move had been deliberate, just like his plan to kill Jack and incriminate Maeve.
“How did you know where I was this morning? Did you place a tracker on me at the Tune Inn?” It wasn’t too far-fetched for a former Secret Service agent.
“Didn’t need to go to that expense. I have access to every person’s movements inside this complex. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
Did Trent have some sort of magic map charting the comings and goings of all House employees? Images of a super-sized Marauder’s Map flashed through my brain. But the dark eyes staring at me were more like Voldemort’s, not Harry Potter’s. Trent was no benevolent wizard; he was pure evil.
Then it clicked. “The security monitors in Gareth’s office.”
“There are cameras everywhere in this complex. I came in early this morning and scanned the screens for you. You were easy to find since not many people had reported for work yet.” Trent’s voice was steady. He might have been recounting the details of his latest fishing trip instead of his plans to stalk and kidnap me.
“I bet you also know where the blind spots are.”
“Also correct. That knowledge came in handy when it was time to kill Jack. There are a few alcoves and corners, especially in the ornate parts, where the cameras don’t reach. We disabled the cameras in this hallway when the Carryout closed down.” He flashed his teeth in a menacing leer that sent shivers throughout my body. “Very convenient for today’s unfortunate events.”
Instinctively, I took another step backward. Trent pulled out a large roll of duct tape from his pocket. “Sit down on the floor,” he commanded.
There was no way to hide the panic in my voice. “What are you going to do?”
He wrapped the tape around my wrists in front of my body and then my legs. He made numerous loops on each of the binds, effectively creating shackles. For good measure, he wound the tape around my hands and fingers.
Homicide in the House Page 21