“Not sure yet. I can’t do anything now because too many people have already shown up for work. There’s no way to move you out of here without being noticed. I’ll have to wait until later tonight to figure something out.”
The more I could keep him talking, the greater the chance someone would find us, slim as it was. He tore off another long piece of duct tape. I knew that section would cover my mouth.
“Wait a second. What about the gavel?”
Trent stopped before putting the tape in place. “That was my last stroke of genius. Once I knew Maeve Dixon was going to preside over the House, I had my weapon. I made sure I was on the dais when she was in the chair, presiding over the floor debate. During a vote, when the clerks were busy with recording the ‘yeas’ and ‘nays,’ I swiped the extra gavel from the desk drawer. That drawer hasn’t been locked for as long as I’ve worked in the House. I pocketed the gavel and waited.”
Trent paused, adding more drama to his storytelling. The look of excitement on his face told me he was more than pleased with himself. He’d planned an airtight murder and pinned the crime on a known enemy of the victim.
“When my boss’s duty as presiding officer was over, then what did you do?”
“That was easy. She left the gavel on the desk. I switched it with the duplicate. It took me less than five seconds.” Trent beamed with malevolent pride.
“Maeve’s prints were on the gavel used to kill Jack. If you grabbed it from the dais and bludgeoned Drysdale, why didn’t your prints turn up when the police analyzed it?”
Trent shook his finger at me. “I was one step ahead. I needed Dixon’s prints to be on the weapon, but not mine. That was the whole point of switching the gavel in the first place. That, and making sure no one noticed it was missing before Dixon was gone. So I wore a clear latex glove.” His expression pensive, Trent added, “I knew the cops wouldn’t focus on the switch. Their murderer’s boxed up with a bow on her head and her fingerprints on the weapon. That’s all they care about. People in Washington D.C. are so self-absorbed, they only see what they want to see. No one pays attention to details they think don’t matter.”
I was about to comment on Trent’s explanation, but he cut me off. “Sorry, Kit. It’s time for me to go. Can’t have people at the Sergeant’s office missing me.”
Then he spied the package of animal cracker cookies I’d bought from the vending machine sticking out of my suit pocket. He grabbed them and put them into his own pocket. “You won’t be needing these.”
He stood up. “Sit tight. I wish I could say this will end better for you, but I won’t lie. It’s not looking good.”
I strained against the duct tape. My struggles were futile, with the duct tape fastened securely around my limbs and mouth. Trent opened the door and closed it behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place seemed to seal my fate.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Forcing myself to remain composed, I took deep breaths through my nose and counted slowly to thirty. I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Dan’s meditation ritual. I could use a calming mantra right about now.
After my count, I knew Trent wasn’t coming back immediately. Time to spring into action. I had one card up my sleeve, and with any luck, it was an ace.
My plan required standing up. I pushed my butt along the floor so my back was resting against the flat surface of a concrete wall. My hands and legs were tightly bound, but if I could leverage myself and summon the collective power of my thigh muscles, I might manage standing. Slowly, I inched my way vertically up the wall. My legs were killing me, but after an excruciating minute, my knees were bent. Luckily, I was the master of wall sits due to my sadistic boot camp instructor who liked to finish our sixty-minute workout torture sessions with a long stationary pose. After pausing for a few seconds, I used my last bit of strength to catapult myself into a fully upright position.
Good job, Kit. That was the first task. Now was the hard part.
Several months ago, I’d watched a news program about an abducted woman whose hands had been bound with duct tape. She’d freed herself by raising her arms over her head and thrusting downward with as must force as possible. The television show stressed that the trick worked even if the duct tape was tight. No time like the present to perform my own test.
With my legs bound closely together, it was hard to balance. I leaned against the wall for support and lifted both my arms as far back as possible. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and focused. I visualized Doug, Meg, and Clarence’s faces. No way was I ready to say goodbye to them. Fueled by that resolve, I slammed my arms toward my midsection with every ounce of power I could muster.
I opened my eyes and looked at my hands. To my astonishment, the duct tape had a small rip. Progress! If one attempt had gotten me this far, another might do the trick. I repeated the process two more times until a sizable tear appeared down the middle of the binding. With all my strength, I pulled my hands in opposite directions and the tape tore apart.
Trent couldn’t have gone far. Not wasting one second, I bent down and freed my legs. Now came the hard part. This was going to hurt. Bracing myself, I grabbed an edge of the duct tape binding my mouth and slowly ripped it off. The relief of breathing air through my mouth quickly replaced the searing pain of the tape’s glue separating from my lips and face. I exhaled a grateful sigh.
Time to get moving. I bolted from behind the counter and unlocked the door. Trent had said he needed to make an appearance at his office. That meant he’d head toward the Capitol. I veered right down the deserted hallway and came upon the vending machines where he’d apprehended me.
The pain on my side intensified so I rubbed it with my hand. Immediately I felt a warm and sticky liquid. Blood oozed through my blouse. That bastard! He’d actually stuck me with that damn box cutter. Although it felt like a rodent had been gnawing on my side, the wound wasn’t life threatening. I had to find Trent and make sure the police apprehended him.
He was likely headed to the Cannon Tunnel. The metal detectors operated by the Capitol Hill Police stood between us. By the time I stopped and tried to explain my predicament, Trent might manage to flee—but only if he knew I had escaped. Confusion in the vicinity of the metal detectors might be enough to alert him of funny business. No, it was better to catch up with him and cause a fuss once I had eyes on him.
Pursuing Trent down the tunnel meant blowing through the metal detectors. The red ooze of blood on my blouse wasn’t too obvious, but it would attract attention if I tried to move through security the conventional way.
I took a second to summon my last reserves of energy. Then I did what thousands of congressional staff only dream of doing one day: I ran through the security area with abandon, sprinting down the tunnel. It took the officers behind me several seconds to react. It wasn’t every day a staffer blew right through security without a hello and a flash of a badge. As I raced down the hallway as fast as my legs would take me, I heard an officer yell, “Hey, why are you running away?” I hoped the guy wasn’t going to shoot me, but I guess I was counting on the police not to use deadly force on a woman staffer. However, I did want him there when I caught up with Trent.
And there he was—just ahead of me. Two-thirds of the way down the tunnel, sauntering along like he was taking a leisurely Sunday stroll beside the Tidal Basin. To add insult to injury, the jerk looked like he was eating something. Yes, he was helping himself to the blasted cookies he’d pilfered from my pocket when he left me bound and gagged in the Carryout.
Just as Trent was about to reach the exit leading to the Capitol’s underground labyrinth, the door opened. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Doug, Meg, and Melinda. For good measure, Clarence ambled along, with Doug holding his leash. Somehow, one of them had figured out there was trouble brewing.
I slowed down to a trot. Trent was trapped. I screamed ahead to my posse. “Don’t let him leave the tunnel! Trent Roscoe killed Jack!”
The Capitol Hill
Police had caught up with me and tried to secure my hands. Shrugging them off, I insisted, “You don’t want to arrest me. It’s that guy. He’s a murderer!”
Twenty feet away, Doug appeared perplexed. He didn’t know what Trent looked like. But Meg, who would have recognized him from the fifty most beautiful people on Capitol Hill list even if she hadn’t met and flirted with the man, pointed and yelled, “It’s the hot guy!”
Trent heard the ruckus and looked up. Still grasping a cookie in his hand, he made a break for it, dashing in the direction of the door leading to the Capitol basement. If he escaped into the maze of underground tunnels, it might take a while to find him. Meg, Doug, and Melinda looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Immobilized, they seemed unlikely to prevent his escape.
Then, an unlikely hero sprung into action. Clarence spied the animal cracker in Trent’s hand. He immediately charged and leapt. Forty pounds of beagle mutt hurtled through the air in Trent’s direction to claim the prize. Clarence meant no harm—he simply saw a chance to score a delectable treat—but the diversion gave Meg the opening she needed. When Trent turned to shake Clarence off, Meg administered a swift kick with her stiletto-heeled winter boots directly at Trent’s crotch. Wailing, he doubled over in pain, and the cookie dropped from his hand. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Clarence scarfed down the remaining snack, licked his lips, and barked for joy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Can you pass the chicken wings?”
One week later, we were celebrating at the popular Capitol Hill eatery, the Hawk ‘n’ Dove. Hearty appetizers filled the table and drinks were flowing. There was ample reason to party. Jack’s killer had been apprehended and the resolution of the case had restored Representative Maeve Dixon’s reputation. Furthermore, the government shutdown had ended hours earlier when Congress and the president agreed on a compromise to fund the federal government for another year. Life was good in the nation’s capital.
My other partners in sleuthing had joined Doug, Meg, and me at the historic bar. The past several days had been a whirlwind of activity as the police sorted out the details of Trent’s twisted plot. Concurrent with the endless law enforcement interrogations and legal inquiries surrounding the murder investigation, Congress edged toward a grand bargain with the White House. My exonerated boss emerged as a key player in the negotiations. When I wasn’t answering questions about my brief yet brutal abduction, I was wheeling and dealing with Beltway kingmakers. It had been an exhilarating series of events, but now it was time to unwind with good friends, both old and new.
Rising to my feet, I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you to everyone who joined us this evening in celebration. Each one of you played a critical role in figuring out who killed Jack Drysdale. Solving the crime cleared my boss, the distinguished member of Congress from North Carolina.” I paused to tip my glass in Maeve’s direction. “And also brought the real killer to justice.”
Detective O’Halloran, who was being an awfully good sport under the circumstances, raised his glass of sparkling water and chimed in, “Hear, hear!”
Melinda couldn’t resist a tribute of her own. “Let’s toast to no more murders or shutdowns on Capitol Hill.”
Judy Talent added, “For at least a year.”
Each of them raised a glass, clinked with a neighbor, and took a long sip. After chatter around the table had died down, I addressed the convivial crew once again. “There is one more matter I’d like to address.”
Seven pairs of eyes immediately shifted to me. Taking a deep breath, I spoke, my voice shaking a bit with excitement. “Another mystery was solved last week, in addition to Jack’s murder. I’ve discovered the identity of the infamous blogger Hill Rat.”
My pronouncement was met with audible gasps. I glanced briefly in the direction of the table’s corner, where the culprit sat. He nodded in assent.
“Perhaps Hill Rat would like to reveal his identity now.”
After several seconds of silence, which seemed like an eternity, Trevor spoke. “Kit speaks the truth. I am Hill Rat.”
Another round of surprised exclamations prevented further discussion for almost a full minute. I grabbed my knife and hit my wine glass several times to silence the boisterous crowd. “I know you’re shocked by this news. But let’s give Trevor a chance to speak.”
A hush fell over the table. Although not as high a priority as solving Jack’s murder, unmasking Hill Rat was a Capitol Hill obsession. I saw several of my guests, namely Meg and Judy, furiously tapping away at their iPhones. Trevor knew his secret wouldn’t remain at the table for long, so he was fully prepared for the inevitable press tsunami awaiting him once he left our company.
Trevor stood. The expression on his face was serious yet calm. Upon confirming my hunch about Hill Rat’s true identity, I’d confronted Trevor privately. He agreed it was time to end Hill Rat’s tenure. We decided this evening would be a good time to share the information with colleagues and friends. Trevor had planned a farewell post for his website that would self-publish at precisely the same time he revealed himself to our table at the Hawk ‘n’ Dove.
“Chaucer commented that all good things must come to an end. He was right. Writing my unpredictable dispatches as Hill Rat has given me much pleasure and satisfaction. Many people will ask why I did it. Although there are many good people who work on Capitol Hill,” he motioned to those seated at the table, “there is also an underbelly. It’s rarely mentioned publicly. Penning an anonymous blog was a way to keep the Hill elite on their toes.”
Trevor took a sip of his drink then continued, “I knew the day would come when my anonymity would be compromised. In fact, Kit was not the first person to guess my secret, although she was the only person to live long enough to do something about it.”
Trevor motioned for me to join him, so I reluctantly stood and took up the thread. “During the murder investigation, I learned that Jack had figured out Hill Rat’s identity before he died. For several days, I considered it as a possible motive. Once I had a hunch Hill Rat might be Trevor, it was easier to eliminate him as a suspect.”
Trevor smiled wryly. “Thank you, Kit, for that vote of confidence. Although I might be an infamous blogger spilling the secrets of Washington, I am not a murderer.”
Meg piped up, “But how did you figure out Trevor was Hill Rat?”
“It was an educated guess. Trevor seemed unusually interested in my progress on the case. That didn’t make sense, since he had no strong connection to the victim or the accused. But the real evidence came from Geno.”
Seeing their puzzled faces, I explained, “Geno works for the Architect of the Capitol as a craftsman in the Capitol basement. I talked with him to find out if the Speaker’s gavels were made within one of the congressional buildings and how many were constructed at a time. Ultimately, I needed to determine where those extra gavels were kept and who had access to them.”
Judy Talent broke in, “But what does this have to do with Hill Rat’s identity?”
“I was just about to answer that question,” I said. “When I talked to Geno about the gavels, he mentioned that a man had asked him earlier that morning about the Speaker’s gavels. He thought it was strange that two people had inquired about the gavels in the same day. I showed him a photo of Gareth Pressler on my iPhone, but he wasn’t the person who had talked to Geno.”
Detective O’Halloran asked, “Wasn’t that a clue Gareth wasn’t the killer?”
I shrugged. “Sure, it was perplexing. At the time, I didn’t think much of it.”
Meg took a long sip of her drink and then raised her glass. “Maybe it’s the Prosecco talking, but I’m still not following.”
“It wasn’t until after my kidnapping and the aftermath that I had time to mull over the entire series of events. How did Hill Rat know about the gavel as the weapon? I asked Detective O’Halloran if he’d leaked that detail to the press.”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I knew Representative Dixon hadn’t done it since that detail emerging didn’t help her case one bit. She wanted to keep information about the gavel out of the press as long as possible.”
Maeve spoke up. “No way we wanted anyone to know about the murder weapon.”
“That left a small number of people.” I ticked each person’s name off my fingers. “Doug, Meg, Dan, and Trevor.”
Meg giggled. “Did you think I was Hill Rat?”
I smiled. “Not for a second. Doug was a no-brainer, as well.”
Doug adjusted his glasses in apparent annoyance. “Why wasn’t I considered as a possibility? Even briefly?”
Meg answered, “Doug, Hill Rat writes about contemporary politics, not about what happened two hundred years ago!”
After regaining the floor, I went on, “The only credible alternative to Trevor was Dan. When I thought about it, Dan made no sense as Hill Rat. First, he didn’t know any of the people Hill Rat wrote about. Second, Dan is scared of his own shadow, and Hill Rat had guts. Lastly, Hill Rat, although nefarious, certainly understood how Capitol Hill operates. Unfortunately, Dan does not.” I glanced at my boss when I said the last sentence. I hoped she wasn’t offended by my dig at Dan. After all, he had served as her top aide during her first year in Congress. If she was annoyed, she didn’t show it. She laughed along with everyone else.
Melinda said, “The only possibility was Trevor.”
“Yes, although it was still only a strong hypothesis. I thought about the big clue Geno had provided. The person who spoke with him earlier that morning was either Hill Rat or the killer. Once I knew Trent was the murderer, I paid a visit to Geno and showed him photographs of Trent and Trevor. He easily identified Trevor as the person who’d asked about the gavels. Then I figured it out. After having breakfast with me at Pete’s, Trevor immediately investigated to find out more information about the gavel, and then he wrote his blog post about the gavel as the murder weapon.”
Homicide in the House Page 22