Bloody Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  “I hope you’re serious.” Trask looked toward the back room. “Let me load those trash bags. I’ve got the truck parked in the alley behind the building. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give Spencer a call and let him know we’ve finished.”

  Raymond pulled out his cell as Trask retrieved the black plastic bags and headed out the office entry. Spencer’s phone rang and rang. Five times, ten times. No answer. No voice mail even. First time that ever happened in all these years.

  Raymond knew immediately. They’d gotten to Spencer. They’d be coming for him soon. As soon as they found out who and where he was. Spencer had always tried to keep identities hidden. But nothing stayed hidden in Washington forever. Raymond slipped his cell phone back in his pocket as Trask came through the door.

  “All tied down. Anything else you want me to do before I take this over to the incinerator?”

  Raymond sank back into his chair and stared at Trask. “Yeah. You need to get out of Washington tonight or tomorrow. I just called Spencer’s number and there’s no pickup, no voice mail. First time ever. That means they’ve gotten to him. He’s either been wiped already or soon will be. I’m going to get the hell out of here tomorrow. And if you’re smart, you’ll get the hell out, too, while you still can.”

  Raymond saw the reluctance in Trask’s eyes.

  “Stop trying to settle old scores. Give it up and get away from here. Take your boat and sail far away and stay away. You’ve got enough money to live life large. Enjoy it, Trask. Take a new identity. Give up trying to get even.”

  Trask’s face hardened into a cold mask. “I just need to tie up a few loose ends.”

  Raymond stared at him. “Don’t be a fool, Trask. Get out before DiMateo finds you. You think that Prestige company hasn’t been looking for you? You’ve slipped away from them so far, but after that little game you played last night, you just made it easier for them. I’ll bet you could count on one hand the people leaving the gallery at closing time last night. They’ve nailed you already. Take my advice and get out of town before DiMateo can get his hands on you. If he does, it won’t be pretty.”

  Different emotions played across Trask’s face for an instant, then the mask returned. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

  Raymond saw the set of Trask’s jaw and knew he was going to do what he damned well pleased, no matter what happened. Raymond shook his head. He’d warned Trask. That’s all he could do. “Okay, then. Watch your back and be careful. And get out of here soon.”

  Trask gave him a wide smile as he walked toward the door. “Roger that. Enjoy the Mexican resort.” He threw Raymond a half salute and was out the door.

  Raymond pulled himself up and slipped the flask into his pocket. Time to head home, clear out whatever was there. Get ready to get away. He’d done all he could.

  Another thought suddenly appeared out of nowhere. A crazy thought. Raymond paused and let it play through his mind. Maybe there was something else left to do. Maybe.

  Late Saturday afternoon

  “I made reservations for six thirty tonight,” Danny said as he slammed his car door. “How’s that?”

  “Sounds good. Let me give a quick call to my mom and check on her,” I said, walking toward my front doorstep. Spotting a white, legal-sized envelope leaning against the door, my heart skipped a beat. “Oh, God. There’s another envelope.” I stopped and pointed.

  “Sonofabitch,” Danny hurried over and grabbed it. “I’ll get it.”

  “Wait!” I jerked his arm. “Maybe he’s got white powder or something awful inside!”

  Danny gave me a dark smile. “That’s not his style. He wants confrontation. I can feel it.” He tore off the end of the envelope, held it over the grass, and shook it. No white powder appeared. Just a sheet of folded, white paper drifted to the ground. Danny retrieved the paper, then opened and scanned it. “It’s not Trask.” He handed it over.

  Only a few typed lines of text, all caps. Succinct.

  “CONGRATULATIONS. YOU’VE OUTPLAYED THEM ALL. BUT THERE’S STILL ONE OUT THERE. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO ERIC GRAYSON, COME TO LAFAYETTE SQUARE PARK, NEAR SIXTEENTH STREET BETWEEN JACKSON PLACE AND MADISON, TOMORROW AT NOON. ALONE. A PUBLIC PLACE, PLENTY OF PEOPLE, TOURISTS, PIGEONS. YOU’LL BE SAFE.”

  I felt a slight tingle, ripple, something run through me. Part fear, part excitement. Those old competing voices awoke inside:

  “Go! You’ve got to! Find out at last!” Crazy Ass urged.

  “Have you lost your mind? This is a killer!” Sober and Righteous countered.

  “Gotta be one of Trask’s cohorts,” Danny said, peering at me. “I don’t know what he’s up to. But you can’t seriously be thinking about meeting this guy.”

  “I have to, Danny. I don’t know how, but this guy knows things from the past. I always felt something wasn’t right about Eric’s accident. And this guy knows! I’ve got to find out.” I stared into Danny’s eyes.

  “On one condition,” Danny gave in and frowned. “Bennett’s guys are going to be all over that park. And I’ll be out of sight but listening. We’ll bug you and the freaking pigeons if we have to.”

  Sunday at Noon

  “Thanks, Albert. You don’t have to wait. I’ll take a cab back to the house.” I leaned over and called through the passenger open window.

  “Okay, Molly. Enjoy your lunch,” he said with a smile, then the window whirred closed.

  I watched him pull into Jackson Place traffic before I turned and walked into Lafayette Park. At Danny’s suggestion, Jeremy dropped me at Senator Russell’s that morning as if I was working. Later, Albert and I drove off from the Russell garage in the back so that my shadow wouldn’t know I had left the mansion.

  The trees were shedding colorful leaves and some branches were bare already, revealing their graceful bone structure to move in the breeze. Today was wonderfully warm, in the low 70s, but it wouldn’t last long. Colder winds and rain were scheduled to blow in this weekend.

  I walked past several benches filled with couples surrounded by coffee cups, chatting and sharing lunches, enjoying one of the last autumn weekends before winter set in. I passed another section, benches on both sides. Tourists, weekend workers, talking on their cell phones as they ate sandwiches … pigeons. I passed another section, benches on both sides were filled with tourist families. Children chasing squirrels. Then up ahead, I spotted a man sitting alone on a bench, not eating lunch and not on his cell phone. And he was looking in my direction.

  As I approached the bench, the man looked up at me and smiled. “Hello, Molly. I’m glad you decided to come.”

  He wasn’t what I expected. I thought this guy would be dark and swarthy and dangerous-looking. The man seated on the bench looked to be in his early sixties at least, stocky, short brown hair, mostly gray, and totally ordinary looking. The guy next door. He wore a drab brownish-gray suit jacket and dark gray pants with a raincoat overtop.

  “You’re the one who wrote the note?” I met his gaze. He had blue eyes.

  “I am. Have a seat. Don’t worry. You’re safe. Besides, Prestige has at least six guys here, so if I so much as sneeze wrong, they’ll jump me.” His smile turned sardonic.

  “Turnabout’s fair play,” I said as I sat, placing my purse with the bug between us. “You’ve been watching me for months now.”

  “Touché.” He glanced around. “I don’t see your boyfriend, but I’m sure he’s not far. Where’s the bug? In your purse?”

  “They wired the pigeons,” I said, pointing to the gray and white birds picking morsels off the sidewalk.

  He started to laugh, until a deep cough cut it off. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a white handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “I like you, Molly.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  He took a silver flask from his other
coat pocket and took a drink before answering. “You can call me Raymond. And I’m a service provider, Molly. I provide very specialized services to high-level clients. Your boyfriend will have my name soon enough, once Prestige identifies me. They’re taking plenty of photos, I’m sure.” He shrugged. “No matter. I’ll be leaving soon.” He took another drink.

  Surprised by his relaxed, almost nonchalant manner, I decided to probe as far as he’d let me. “Who do you work for? Edward Ryker?”

  He shook his head. “No. I work for Spencer Graham Associates.”

  That name jumped from the back of my mind. “The lobbyist? He used to work for Ryker, didn’t he?”

  He smiled again. “Good research, Molly. I gotta hand it to you. You hit them where it hurt the most. Publicity. Ryker’s out there twisting slowly in the wind.”

  I recalled that notorious phrase from the past, and it gave me pause. Arrogance was always our downfall. “Okay, Raymond. Tell me about Eric Grayson. I always had a feeling something wasn’t right about that accident. Eric was a fanatic about being careful. And he certainly would never drink and drive.”

  “You’re right. That traffic accident was arranged. His car was forced off the road by an operative, after two large gas cans filled with gasoline had been placed in the trunk. That ensured a quick and fiery explosion once it crashed into the ravine below the turnpike.”

  The man’s matter-of-fact description of my relative’s horrible death sent an ice-cold chill over me. I stared at him, aghast, letting disgust fill my voice. “You cold-hearted bastard.”

  “I simply follow orders from higher-ups.”

  “Ryker.”

  He shook his head. “Way higher than that, Molly. You’ve already uncovered some of those names. But that web stretches even farther. A committee. Those people had gotten wind of Grayson’s research and were watching him. He’d made no secret that he believed his brother David had been right to suspect Ryker of corruption. I was told the committee decided to act before Eric Grayson could go public. They wanted to make sure the information never got out.”

  The guy’s cough started again and sounded even deeper this time, causing him to lean forward and hold onto the bench. I stared out into the park, wondering which bench sitters were Prestige operatives. Danny was out there too. And they all were hearing this man’s recitation of how Eric had died. He’d been eliminated. Other names pressed forward.

  I waited until the man’s cough subsided. He took an even longer drink from the silver flask this time. “Others have gotten too close, haven’t they? My niece Karen and Celeste Allard. Were they eliminated too?”

  He nodded. “We let Molinoff confess because it shut down questions. Then we wrote his suicide note. And the little staffer on the eastern shore. That gas explosion was no accident. There were a couple of others.”

  I knew immediately who he meant. “Quentin Wilson and Natasha Jorgensen.”

  He nodded and wiped the handkerchief across his mouth. I spotted red on the white cloth.

  “We dumped sedatives and Vicodin in Wilson’s beer. He just went to sleep. Jorgensen was messier. She fought back.”

  I had to ask. Who knew how much longer this guy was going to sit here and talk to me. “The guy who’s following me, did he kill them?”

  “Yeah. One operative did them all, including Eric Grayson. And that’s why I’m here. Ryker’s out of the picture. Spencer Graham is gone. And I’ll be leaving soon. But this guy is still out there, and I wanted to warn you. He’s got a vendetta against your boyfriend DiMateo, and he’s using you. I don’t know what he’s got planned, but it won’t be pretty. I told him to give it up and get out of town now. But he’s made it personal. That’s always a mistake.”

  I observed Raymond. Clearly, he was a very sick man; that cough had a death rattle to it. “I guess I should thank you, but somehow I can’t bring myself to say it.”

  Raymond started to laugh again, a hearty laugh this time, until another coughing fit began. Even deeper. I watched him grasp hold of the bench and lean his head between his knees, shaking. Deep racking coughs, droplets of blood dripping onto the ground. I sensed he was already dying, and he knew it. The coughing gradually ceased, but Raymond continued to hold himself over the bench, gasping for breath.

  “You really should get something for that,” I offered quietly. It was all I had.

  Raymond sat up a little and wiped his mouth, smearing some of the bloody phlegm across his cheek. “There’s a bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch waiting at my office. That’s good enough.”

  He upended the silver flask, draining it, then shoved the uncapped flask into his pocket. He slowly pulled himself up from the bench. I spotted a gun in a holster below his arm as his jacket fell open. So I pointed to it.

  “Were you going to use that on me if I started screaming or something?”

  Raymond smiled at me with that sardonic smile. “No, I wasn’t going to shoot you, Molly.” Then he peered at me. “I can tell you’re feeling sorry for me despite yourself. Don’t. There’s something else you should know.” He paused. “Your husband David didn’t kill himself. I shot him. He was the first job I did for Spencer Graham and the committee. Your husband was asking too many questions and stirring up too much attention. People really liked him, and they started to believe his charges. That was enough for the committee.”

  I stared at Raymond, as shock was swiftly overtaken by fury. “You sonofabitch!” I whispered as I rose from the bench. Rage burned inside me. I took one step toward him.

  Raymond stood where he was. “Watch your back, Molly.” With that, he turned and slowly walked down the sidewalk, heading out of the park.

  My fists clenched and unclenched as the fury inside slowly ebbed. I wanted to follow him, but I knew Prestige already was. They would know where he was. Where to find him.

  Suddenly Danny appeared by my side. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Molly, you okay? I heard it all.”

  I turned to Danny and stared into his eyes, letting him read all the regret and anger and grief that I felt churning inside. “I need to get away. Go somewhere to think. Alone.”

  “I’ll take you anywhere you want Molly. And I’ll leave you alone. But I’m gonna be right there watching. Just in case.”

  I simply nodded and grabbed my bag. Danny took my arm and escorted me out of the park.

  Later Sunday afternoon

  I watched the Potomac rush past. Only a few feet below me as I sat on the riverbank above Chain Bridge. Away from tourists, away from people. This close to the water, I could hear it running fast and deep as it rushed toward the sea. The relentless pull of the sea. Out there, pulling at all of us.

  It was deep here. People drowned regularly. Fishermen, drinking too much, would slip and fall, then try to scramble up the bank. But the river’s current was stronger than they were. Powerful currents would pull them along, then pull them under. The river could mesmerize you. Trick you into thinking you were safe. Come too close, and suddenly it was too late.

  I sat there, not moving. Danny stood way above me on the riverbank, giving me space and time alone with my thoughts. And memories. Oh, God, the memories. And the guilt. Overwhelming guilt had replaced the anger.

  God help me. If there was forgiveness out there, somewhere, maybe I could find it. I’d have to find a way to explain to my daughters. How, I didn’t know yet, but I would find a way.

  Pushing off the boulder where I’d sat, I climbed up the bank. Danny met me halfway down and offered his hand. He held his cell phone in the other.

  “I just heard from Bennett. Raymond’s dead. The team followed him from the park to an office building on H Street nearby. He had a front office on an upper floor, looking out toward the avenue. They trained their cameras on him and watched as he stood at the window and drank, probably that Scotch he spoke of. Suddenly he put a pistol to the side of his head and s
hot himself, then fell away from the window. Bennett’s calling the police, so they’ll check his office.”

  I stared into Danny’s dark eyes. “He said he was ‘leaving soon,’ and he wasn’t kidding. Who was he, exactly? Did they find out?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Danny looked at his phone screen. “Raymond Montague. Sixty-five. Did two army tours in Southeast Asia, then he quit and became a hired gun. Mercenary for South American guerillas. He was also in Africa and back in Southeast Asia. Then he dropped off the radar screen. That probably was the time he started working for Spencer Graham.”

  Suddenly I felt very, very tired. I slid my arms around Danny. “Let’s go back. I want to go where it’s warm. Let’s make a fire in the fireplace tonight, okay?”

  Danny kissed my forehead and wrapped his arm around me as we climbed the rest of the riverbank together.

  twenty-one

  Monday morning

  “How’re you doing, Molly?” Casey asked as I walked into the hallway from my office. Coffee mug in hand, he was also heading for a refill. Even though it was sunny outside and promised to be warm, I still felt chilled inside.

  “I’m doing okay, considering,” I said, as we turned into the kitchen. Luisa was out running errands with Albert. “I take it Danny updated you on yesterday’s adventures.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll bet Prestige had that park covered with their people. Every other bench.” He gestured to me, so I refilled my mug with a fragrant black stream.

  “Apparently. And they were all listening in on the conversation. That didn’t bother Raymond Montague at all. He even joked about it, asking if the bug was in my purse, which it was, actually.” I took a hot sip.

  “Raymond Montague,” Casey said in an amused voice as he filled his coffee mug. “The name sounds like an art appraiser or something, not a hired gun.”

  I closed my eyes and gave a shudder. “At least I have to thank him for the warning.”

  “Thank God you’ve got Prestige watching your house. And you.” He looked at me with a worried expression.