The Amendment Killer (Brooks/Lotello Thriller)

by Ronald S. Barak

  CHAPTER 4

  Friday, February 6, 8:47 a.m.

  GRANT ARRIVED AND PARKED in the rotunda of the Townhouse complex at 8:45 a.m., fifteen minutes before Wells was to meet him there at nine o’clock. When she still hadn’t shown at 9:10 a.m., he tried to raise her on her cell phone. There was no answer.

  He entered the lobby and told the security guard sitting at the desk what was going on. Or more precisely what was not. The two of them hurried to Wells’s unit. The front door was closed, but looked as if it had suffered some recent assault. Grant grimaced and absently pulled at his throat. The guard knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked again. Louder this time. Still nothing.

  Grant called out, “Senator?” No response.

  The security guard tried the door. It wasn’t locked. He opened it and entered. Grant was right behind him. Grant called out again. Nothing. It was only two seconds later until the guard entered the bedroom, Grant right on his heels. Beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

  They both gasped at the same instant. And at the same sight. Wells lying face up on the bed, naked, looking very still, although certainly not peaceful. And then there was the fake $100 bill stuck to her forehead.

  Grant unsuccessfully attempted to swallow a cry of despair: “Senator. Oh my God.” He reached for his cell phone, dialed James Ayres, Wells’s Chief of Staff, and frantically described to him what he was looking at. The guard, professionally a bit more stoic, but just barely, used his cell phone to call 911. Ayres said he would be there as quickly as traffic would allow. 911 said both a patrol car and ambulance were already on the way.

  Grant walked toward the body. The guard grabbed him. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to cover her up. She’s entitled to that.”

  “I don’t think we should touch anything until the police and the ambulance arrive. They’re on the way. It should just be a few minutes. We need to let them take charge of things.”

  Grant didn’t agree, but he deferred, sat down on a lone ottoman against the wall, put his head in his hands, and softly said, “No, no, no. No.”

  Neither man said another word until the authorities entered the townhouse.

  * * *

  WHEN LOTELLO ARRIVED, THE multi-residential townhouse complex in which Wells’s townhouse unit was located looked more like Grand Central Station than the upscale multi-residential community that it was. People seemed to be coming and going everywhere. But Lotello knew that was not quite so.

  He first walked from outside the complex to the center of the crime scene, Wells’s townhouse unit. He then reversed his course and slowly walked back to the rotunda outside the interior lobby, taking it all in. He then retraced his steps back to the Senator’s unit.

  In keeping with standard custom and practice, the first patrol car to arrive at a possible crime scene would have first gone inside to verify that no persons were lurking or hiding in wait. Only then would they have “yellow tape” secured the immediate crime scene perimeter to assure no unauthorized entry.

  Given the layout of the overall complex, one of the two patrol officers would have remained at the unit to enforce its integrity while the other patrol officer would have established second and third yellow tape perimeters—one around the grounds just inside the interior lobby and the other around the grounds just outside the interior lobby. Because of the secure perimeter of the complex itself, this was perhaps somewhat of an overkill, but this also was a U.S. senator. Lotello knew that crime scene protocol would have been be strictly enforced.

  While the several perimeters were still being secured, ambulance personnel would have arrived, and been permitted to enter the unit to confirm that the body was dead. They would then have departed. Additional patrol cars would have been assigned to prevent the breach of any of the yellow tape perimeters—inward bound or outward bound.

  One of the first patrol officers to arrive at the scene would also have reported in to dispatch, which would in turn have notified the medical examiner, crime lab officials, the homicide department, and the district attorney’s office. Lotello and Barnett were next up on the wheel and homicide department seniors had obviously decided that Lotello’s bereavement was now in fact over.

  LOTELLO SILENTLY CAUGHT BARNET’S eye, but his arrival didn’t seem to offer Barnet any solace. “Damn, Frank, what took you so frigging long? Place’s a madhouse. This case is gonna be nothin’ but trouble.”

  “Lighten up, J. Wells isn’t going anywhere. What do you have so far?”

  “Already two people here from Wells’ office. First one’s her limo driver, a Robert Grant. Here to drive Wells to some senate committee hearing this morning. Along with the security guard, they found the body when Wells was a no show.”

  “Who put the call into 911?

  “Grant and the security guard. Grant also called Wells’s Chief of Staff, a James Ayres. Grant’s quiet. Not much of a problem. Ayres is an absolute piece of work, a real prima donna. Acts like he’s in charge.”

  “Where are they now?

  “One of the patrol officer’s babysitting Grant and the security guard in the lobby entrance to the complex. Ayres wanted access to the Senator’s townhouse, ostensibly to see the body. Went ballistic when he was told he would not be allowed to enter the crime scene. He’s been threatening to call in everyone he supposedly knows— from the FBI Director to the U.S. Attorney General, even the President—if he’s not afforded the respect to which he thinks he’s entitled.”

  “I trust all that got him was an assignment of his very own patrol officer—outside the outer perimeter.”

  “Exactly.”

  LOTELLO CHECKED OUT the body and looked around the townhouse. Nice digs. Nothing surprising about that. Nothing out of the ordinary about the body, except for the chest wounds and that phony hundred-dollar bill glued to Wells’s forehead.

  Barnet followed after Lotello. He started in again. Lotello understood Barnet’s apprehension. This was obviously going to be a high-profile case, lots of attention, lots of pressure. He didn’t want to add to Jeremy’s anxiety. “J . . .” Lotello paused for effect. “Calm down. I’ll take the security guard and Grant. And then the high and mighty Mr. Ayres. You should stay with the lab guys and photographers. Don’t let anyone else in. Let’s not compromise the crime scene any more than it already has been.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED INTO THE free-standing lobby area. He saw two men sitting together off in one corner of the room, both in uniform, one dressed like some kind of a security guard, the other dressed like a limousine driver. He approached the two men. “Would you two be Mr. Robert Grant and Officer Thornton Smythe?” Granted nodded yes but didn’t speak. Officer Smythe said his name was pronounced the same as Smith, but added that most folks call him Smitty.

  Opening his wallet, Lotello handed each of the two men one of his cards. “Detective Frank Lotello, Metropolitan D.C. Police, Homicide. Sorry to be meeting under these circumstances. Mr. Grant would you please sit tight, give me a few minutes to briefly talk to Smitty?”

  “Sure, I guess. Is this going to take long? I’m not feeling too well.”

  “Just a few minutes. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO LED OFFICER SMYTHE over to the desk at the other end of the lobby. He wanted to separate Smythe and Grant.

  “How long have you been in charge of security at this complex, Smitty?” Lotello knew Smythe was not in charge, but it never hurt to gratuitously elevate a witness’s status. Make them feel important.

  “Oh, I’m not in charge of anything, Detective, just one of the security staff. This is my second year on the job.”

  “How many security folks are there?”

  There’s eleven of us, not counting Joel Kirst, who’s kind of the security boss around here. I don’t know who Joel reports to. We provide onsite security 24/7. Always two of us on duty, one here for unit owners, tenants, and guests and another one slightly down the road for e
mployees and trades. That’s also where trucks come in and out.”

  “So, how are people allowed to come and go?”

  “Identification cards are issued to owners and tenants and project employees. Guests and other workers are admitted by the security guard on duty only if an owner, tenant, or employee calls in their names in advance. They have to show a matching photo ID as well.”

  “Sounds like you guys run a pretty tight ship.”

  “We try to.”

  “What about all this fancy equipment?”

  “Not really all that much. We have a video surveillance system that covers the entire complex. We also have a fire alarm system. And then of course we have electronic control of the secured admissions at each entrance. Exits are not controlled, although they are picked up by the surveillance cameras.”

  “Did you know Senator Wells?”

  “Just a little. To say hello, chit-chat for a moment here and there. She was always polite. That was about it.”

  “So, I’m going to need to go into all of this security business in some detail, but I think we should do that down at the station, but probably not today.” Lotello knew that Smythe would have to come when they were ready for him, but there was no reason not to appear as accommodating as possible. “When’s your day off?”

  “Probably best if you talk to Joel about that.” Smitty wrote down Joel’s telephone number and email address on a card and handed it to Lotello. “My day off floats; it would be hard for me to know what day to schedule with you. Besides I don’t know much about the technical side of our equipment. I can use it, but I don’t really understand it very well.”

  I’ll talk to Joel, Smitty. But please keep my card, hold yourself available, and give me a call if you think of anything more to tell me in the interim.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, let me ask you one question on the equipment side for now. Did you happen to have any technical difficulties last night?

  “Funny you should ask. For the last week or so, we’ve had several false positives with our fire alarm system, maybe once every couple of days. But last night we had two false positives in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Back up a second, Smitty. What do you do when a fire alarms goes off?”

  “I have to run out and check to see if there’s a fire that actually set off the system.”

  “How long does that take you?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “And it happened twice last night?”

  “Yep. I was back less than five minutes after verifying a false positive and resetting the system when we had a second false positive. First time that happened twice in a row like that.”

  “And when that happens, you’re away from your desk here?”

  “Yes, like I said, for at least five or ten minutes.”

  “And while you’re away, an intruder could just walk through the security door here?”

  “No, not really, because it still requires a permanent or temporary identity card passcode.”

  “If someone somehow bypassed your passcode system, would we have anyway to know?”

  “We should still be able to spot the person on our surveillance cameras, including the ones directed at the entrances.”

  “Smitty, I have to go visit with Mr. Grant for a few minutes. He’s been waiting patiently while you and I talked. Could you check your surveillance system for last night to see if it was working properly? And, if it was, whether there were any people wandering around on the grounds last night who were not unit owners or tenants or other guests or workers you recognize?”

  “Sure, it’ll take me a few minutes.”

  “That’s perfect. It’ll give me time to talk with Mr. Grant. When I’m done I’ll come back over here to see what you’ve found.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED BACK ACROSS the lobby where Grant seemed to be a bit anxious. “Sorry Mr. Grant, that took a little longer than I expected. I’ll be quick. What brought you out here so early this morning?”

  “I’m Senator Wells’ driver. I was here this morning to pick her up, like I always do when she’s in town.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “Around 8:45, maybe a few minutes earlier.”

  “How long have you been driving the Senator?”

  “About four months.”

  “And before that?”

  “I drove for a local limo service.”

  “For how long?”

  “About eight years or so.”

  “How did you become the Senator’s driver?”

  “I got a call one day from our dispatcher to pick her up. I gave her a ride. She asked me if I could drive her again the next day. I did. After that, she said she’d lost her prior driver and wondered if I would be interested in driving for her on a regular basis. It sounded good to me, I said sure, and that was that.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I’m not sure, I’ll probably go home. I don’t mind telling you that I’m more than a little upset.”

  “No, no, not today. I mean now that you won’t be driving the Senator any longer.”

  “Oh, sorry. Don’t really know. Probably go back to driving for a limo service.”

  “What was the name of the limo service you worked for before?”

  “Tri-Star Limousine Service.”

  “Can you go back there?”

  “Don’t know why not.”

  “By the way, did you drive the Senator home last night?”

  “Yes, around 7:45.”

  “Do you know what plans she had for the evening?”

  “Nope. She didn’t mention any to me.”

  Lotello sensed some discomfort on Grant’s part with that last question. His denial seemed a little too quick. “Would you have driven her last night if she was going out for the evening?”

  “Sometimes, but I didn’t last night.”

  Again, Lotello thought Grant was holding back, but it could just be the shock of Wells’ unexpected and grisly death. In the mean-while, he caught Smythe’s return to his desk out of the corner of his eye.

  “Okay, Mr. Grant. I may have some follow-up questions for you, but that’s it for now. Do you have a number where I can reach you?”

  Grant gave Lotello his cell phone number. “Can I go now?”

  Lotello made a mental note not to forget Grant’s visible agitation when Lotello had asked about Wells’s plans last night. If Wells had any strange goings on, there was a good chance that Grant would know about some of them. “Sure. See you.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED BACK OVER to Smythe. “Any luck, Smitty?”

  “Yes and no. The first false positive fire alarm last night was at 7:50. Our camera system went down as well last night at 7:51.”

  “When did it come back up?”

  “It didn’t. It’s still down.”

  Lotello thought about that. “How about the passcode lock on the interior lobby security door? Anything unusual with it last night?”

  “I thought you might ask. So I checked. It was turned off at 7:52 last night.”

  “Who has the ability to turn the passcode system off?’ Besides me, no one that I know could have done that last night.”

  “And is it still off?”

  “Nope. It was turned back on at 8:10.”

  “And let me guess: You don’t know of anyone who could have done that last night other than you and you didn’t do it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, Smitty, you’ve really been helpful. If you think of anything further, please do call me. In the meanwhile, please let Joel know I’ll be in touch with him.”

  “Will do, on both scores.”

  * * *

  LOTELLO WALKED OUT THROUGH the lobby to the rotunda, looking for Ayres. Before Lotello could figure out who was who, a man in an obviously expensive dark pinstripe business suit came bustling up to him. “Are you in charge here?”

  Opening his wallet, Lot
ello responded, “Detective Frank Lotello, Metropolitan DC Police. Can I help you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Ayres, James Ayres, Senator Wells’s Chief of Staff. What happened here?”

  “Sorry for your loss, Mr. Ayres, but I understand you’ve been here longer this morning than I have. Not much information I can share with you yet. Are you usually at the Senator’s townhouse this time of day?”

  Ayres seemed taken aback, exactly the effect Lotello had intended. “No, of course not.” Pausing, he added, “The Senator’s driver arrived to pick her up earlier this morning. She didn’t show. He and the security guard went to her unit and found her body. He called me and I came as quickly as I could. Isn’t there something you can tell me?”

  “Aside from the fact that Senator Wells is dead, no, I’m afraid not. Why don’t you tell me where the Senator was supposed to be this morning? And where she was supposed to be last night?”

  “She left her office last night a little after seven. Her driver brought her home. Then went home himself. No idea what plans she had for the evening. She was supposed to be at the WSOC hearings this morning. That’s the Senate Wall Street Oversight Committee.”

  “Her driver? That’s Robert Grant?”

  “Right.”

  “How long did Grant work for the Senator? How well do you know him?”

  “About three months. I met him when he started working for her. Seems like a nice enough guy. He cleared the government security check okay.”

  “How is it you know Grant went home last night after he dropped the Senator off?”

  Ayres thought about that for a moment. “Guess I don’t. I just assumed it.”

  “Assumptions aren’t very helpful, Mr. Ayres, especially ones you keep to yourself. Do you know anyone who might have wanted Senator Wells out of the way?”

  “No, but she is on the Senate WSOC. They deal with lots of contentious and inflammatory issues concerning the economy. No shortage of kooks out there, but I don’t recall any out-of-the-ordinary threats against her.”

  “Okay, Mr. Ayres. Thanks. You can be on your way. I’ll speak to Mr. Grant. We may release a statement later this morning. I’ll be in touch.”