“Someone I know—the head of the homicide squad,” she whispered to Nancy. “Captain Flynn!” she called.
The man stared in surprise. “Senator Kilpatrick! What are you doing here?”
“I’m certainly glad we ran into you,” she said, stepping past the door guard to take Captain Flynn’s arm. She led him aside, talking urgently in a low voice.
The captain shook his head as he listened, his face unhappy. Finally he said, “All right, Senator. You can come up for a look—on two conditions. First, nothing leaves the scene of the crime.”
Flynn gave the woman a stern look. “And second, do me a favor—keep a low profile. It’s a zoo up there, with all my people and the medical examiner’s. Let’s see if that elevator is still here. Mike,” he said to the policeman at the entrance, “if anyone asks, they’re with me.” His voice reverberated through the marble lobby.
“Captain Flynn, I’d like you to meet Nancy Drew. Nancy’s visiting me for a while, helping me out with a few things,” the senator explained when the three of them were inside the elevator.
“Nancy Drew! That’s a name I’ll never forget, not after the way you helped that tennis player a while back. What was her name—Montenegro?”
“That’s right,” Nancy answered.
“Well, pleased to meet you, Ms. Drew. You really do look just like her, don’t you?” The captain shook his head in wonder.
“That’s what they tell me,” Nancy said with a smile.
Just then the elevator doors opened and Nancy, Marilyn Kilpatrick, and Captain Flynn stepped into a dimly lit hallway.
Two police officers were stationed outside the columnist’s office, but when Captain Flynn appeared, they stepped aside to let him in. “These women are with me,” he announced. Marilyn and Nancy, with a nod to the officers, followed close behind.
Inside the writer’s office, a police team was busy dusting the place for prints and marking areas with thick white tape. Beverly’s body lay on the floor where she had fallen. It was covered with a white sheet with only the feet showing.
While the others worked, Nancy stood off to the side, scrutinizing the grisly scene. One of the corpse’s stiletto-heeled shoes was askew. The heel was dangling, as if it had twisted and nearly broken off, perhaps when the columnist fell from her chair. How odd, Nancy thought. That morning she had noticed what an impeccable dresser Beverly was, the type who wore things once and then put them away. Her shoes had looked brand-new, and they were obviously very expensive. So why would the heel come off so easily?
“We checked, and there was no sign of forced entry,” Captain Flynn was explaining to an eager young district attorney. “That indicates that she was probably killed by an acquaintance, someone who knew she was here all alone. Also, as far as we can tell, robbery was not a motive. Whoever killed her left all her cash and jewelry intact. There’s only one thing missing.”
The police captain walked over to the columnist’s desk and flipped open the Dictaphone with a dramatic flair. “You see, she must have been dictating when the perpetrator arrived—the microphone was in her hand, and the machine was still warm when we arrived. But look at this.”
The captain pointed inside the machine. “Empty,” he declared.
“Captain Flynn, what about her files?” the district attorney asked. “They must have been loaded with explosive information, the kind people murder for.”
“That was the first thing we checked. You want to see something incredible?” asked Flynn, walking to the metal file cabinets behind the desk. “Take a look at this!”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a bright red snakeskin belt. “Beverly Bishop was quite a character,” he observed. “These file cabinets are full of accessories. She’s got scarves, belts, hats, you name it. The only pencil in here is an eyebrow pencil. There’s not a scrap of paper, no computer disks, no information of any kind.
“According to her secretary and everyone else who knew about this office, she didn’t keep files. All her work was on tape or in her head, and we haven’t found any tapes. We checked here, and we’ve got people searching her home as well. But so far, nothing.” With that, and a shake of his head, he deftly pushed the metal drawers shut.
Again Nancy thought back to her interview with Beverly Bishop. What was it the columnist had said? She had finished three of the last four chapters. Two were already typed out, and she’d planned to complete the third that afternoon and send all but the final one to the publisher that day! That meant three chapters were en route by now. So there was only one chance in four that the killer had found what he or she wanted on the Dictaphone tape.
“Anything else you want to know?” Flynn looked around the room at everybody.
Just the identity of that fourth person, Nancy said to herself. That’s all.
“Motive seems clear in the case of someone called the Poison Pen,” the D.A. reflected.
“I know what I forgot to tell you,” Flynn announced, smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand. “The perfume. The security guard said the place stank of perfume when he got here. I sent him down to the lab to test some fragrances to see if he could identify the brand.”
The senator cast Nancy a nervous glance. If the perfume had been Worth, it would implicate her in the murder—especially when the police discovered the perfumed threat note. They both knew it. And the politician’s missing gun would only make her more of a suspect. Nancy wondered if she should call her father. If the police didn’t find the real culprit, Marilyn was going to need a good lawyer—soon.
“So we know it’s a woman,” said Flynn confidently.
“I think you may be jumping to conclusions, Captain. A man might have worn a woman’s perfume to throw us off his trail,” the D.A. objected.
“Maybe.” The captain shrugged. “But we also have this.” Pulling a clean handkerchief out of his pocket, he walked over to the other side of the room and opened a police-department exhibit case. “We found this little sweetheart, and it’s definitely what you’d call a woman’s weapon.”
With that, he reached into the case and pulled out a small revolver. A revolver that looked just like the one that Marilyn Kilpatrick had lost.
Chapter
Eight
NANCY QUICKLY GLANCED over at Marilyn out of the corner of her eye. The senator showed only the faintest glimmer of surprise, but Nancy knew that she had to be dying inside. Whoever was out to frame Marilyn Kilpatrick was doing an excellent job of it.
When the police traced the gun and found that it was registered to the senator, her political career would be finished forever. Even worse, she might have to go to jail! Nancy couldn’t even say for sure that the politician was innocent; she had disappeared for a long time that evening, and she had no way of proving where she’d been.
“Well, Captain, I guess we’ll get out of your way,” Marilyn Kilpatrick said in a faint voice. “Thank you for letting me take a look around.”
“Okay, Senator. Take care. Nice to meet you, Ms. Drew.” The police captain threw the two women a friendly smile and waved quickly before he turned back to his work.
The senator, with Nancy right behind her, bolted out of the room and walked briskly to the elevator, her eyes straight ahead. Once they made it downstairs and outside, she let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’m glad we got out of there,” she told Nancy as they walked down the stone steps toward the crowd of reporters and police officers. “It made me so nervous, being in there with that—that woman’s corpse!”
Just then a woman who had been hurrying up the stairs of the building toward them stopped. Nancy recognized her immediately. It was Jillian Riley, hot on the trail of her latest scoop.
“Senator, I thought you never got nervous,” she commented wickedly. “Is something wrong?” Chuckling, she continued up the steps and flung open the door.
The two friends hurried down the stairs to their car. “It’s okay, Marilyn,” Nancy assured the older woman. “She doesn’t know anything
, believe me.” Nancy didn’t believe it herself, but she had to calm the senator down somehow.
“This is a nightmare!” The senator’s voice broke the silence as she raced her car toward her apartment. “An absolute nightmare! Nancy, who’s going to believe that I had nothing to do with all this? Can you imagine what the press will do to me? And what if Matt Layton finds out about this? He’ll eat me alive! What if that gun was mine—you know it has to be!”
In spite of herself, Nancy winced. Things were really looking bad. It was as if all the senator’s problems were multiplying before their eyes.
Teresa Montenegro’s life was still in danger, and now the career and reputation Marilyn Kilpatrick had earned for herself were about to be destroyed, too. And one person was dead. Nancy leaned back into the leather-upholstered passenger seat and tried to think. There had to be a clue, a piece of information that would show how everything fit together and who was behind all this ugly activity, and why. Who hated Beverly Bishop enough to murder her? Or who hated Marilyn Kilpatrick enough to frame her for murder?
“The worst part is, I don’t even have an alibi!” the senator moaned. “There I was, alone in my office, while Beverly Bishop was being murdered with my gun. No one will believe that in court.”
The senator pulled into a parking space in front of her apartment building and got out of the car. The two women walked inside in silence. Marilyn slipped her key into the door of her apartment and sighed. “I wish this day would just end,” she admitted.
When the door opened, Teresa jumped up from the sofa. “Thank goodness you’re back. What happened? Did you find the files? Is everything okay?” The expression on her pretty face flitted between fear and hope.
The senator fidgeted with her keys when she answered. “I’m afraid not, Teresa. There wasn’t anything to get. Beverly Bishop didn’t keep any files. She kept the book in her head, or she sent it on to her publisher.”
Teresa dropped her gaze to the floor. “So there is nothing to be done.”
“Well, that’s not all,” the politician went on bleakly. “Please fill her in, Nancy. I’m too upset.”
Reluctantly, Nancy looked straight at Teresa and told her the awful news. “Beverly Bishop was killed with the same type of revolver Marilyn bought for you. Since the senator’s gun is missing, it’s very likely that someone is trying to frame her,” she explained.
“No!” Teresa gasped. “But why?”
“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” said Nancy.
As Senator Kilpatrick lowered herself onto the rose-colored sofa in the living room, she looked utterly defeated. “You know,” she said sadly, “I’ve always prided myself on not having enemies. I like to keep my relationships, both personal and professional, harmonious, even with political opponents. I know not everyone agreed with all of my views, but I never dreamed anybody felt such hostility toward me. I guess I was wrong. . . .” The senator nervously smoothed a hand over her auburn hair.
“Marilyn,” Nancy interjected, sitting down next to her. “We’re not giving up. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I promise—but I’ll need assistance.”
“I can help you, Nancy!” cried Teresa. “You’ve helped me so much that I’d be happy to—”
“No, Teresa.” Nancy shook her head. “You’ve got to stay in hiding. Your life might be in danger. Until we find out what’s going on, I want you to keep a low profile. Besides, I need someone who’s experienced. Marilyn, is there any chance of involving Dan Prosky with the case? I know he’s supposed to be guarding Teresa, but I’ve got an awful lot of ground to cover, and not much time. Can’t we find somebody else to stay with Teresa? I know I can rely on Dan.”
The senator took a long look at Nancy. Then she massaged her temples as if she had a bad headache. “Nancy—Dan Prosky thinks the world of me. He doesn’t know I bribed people in San Carlos to get Teresa out, and I just can’t imagine what he’d say if he learned the truth. He used to be with the police, and—Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I should just hold a press conference and tell the whole world what’s going on. My career could be ruined, but at least I wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. If it wouldn’t endanger Teresa’s life, I’d do it this minute!”
But calling in the press at a time like this was out of the question, and they all knew it.
“How’s this for an idea?” Nancy said, brightening for a minute. “We’ll keep Dan in the dark, for as long as possible, anyway. Maybe we can find the killer before we have to explain the whole San Carlos affair.”
After a tiny hesitation, the senator responded. “I guess I can live with that,” she muttered. “I’ll call Dan and ask him to come over right away. And I’ll get another bodyguard to take care of Teresa.”
“I am so sorry I bring you such trouble, Marilyn—after all you have done—” Teresa’s eyes were filled with unshed tears.
“Never mind that,” the senator replied. “I don’t know how she’s going to do it, but I have faith in this girl to get us out of this.” She put an arm on Nancy’s shoulder. “She can work miracles, as we all know.”
Nancy blushed and shook her head. “As long as we stick together, we’ll do fine. You’ve got to remember that. It takes teamwork,” she said.
“Okay. I’m sold,” said the senator, standing up. “I’d better make the calls to get you some help,” she said as she left the room.
Nancy went over to the VCR and rewound the videotape, which had been recording ever since they had left.
“I didn’t want to touch any of the buttons,” Teresa confided. “I was afraid I would break it.”
“This is really going to be bizarre,” said Nancy, as she pushed the Play button and sat down to watch the murdered woman’s last TV interview. A little shiver slid down her spine as the image of Beverly Bishop walked across the set to be interviewed by the talk show host. They had filmed the show late that afternoon, and now the columnist was just another body on the way to the morgue. Nancy and Teresa sat on the floor in front of the TV, eyes riveted to the screen.
The senator stepped back into the living room and sank into a chair close to the TV set. “Dan’s on his way over now. He wants us to fill him in,” she whispered.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to ‘Late Night.’ You all know Beverly Bishop—one of this town’s most famous and most controversial columnists. Beverly, do you consider yourself a gossip columnist? Or is gossip a bad word these days?” Jim Long, the young blond talk show host, leaned toward the woman he was to interview.
Beverly Bishop smiled mischievously. “It’s always been a bad word, Jim,” she replied, “but I don’t mind being called a gossip columnist. I’ve never cared much what other people thought of me—except my readers, of course.”
“She doesn’t seem like a nice person, does she?” mumbled Teresa.
“Beverly,” said Long, “everyone wants to know about your new book.” He looked directly into the camera. “For those of you out there who were born yesterday, the book is called Tell Me Everything. Several people have predicted that it will be a blockbuster, and I hear that the rumors about the book’s contents have sent several well-known Washingtonians into hiding.”
Beverly smiled again. “You said it, Jim, I didn’t. But if my book isn’t number one on the best-seller list, I’ll drop dead of shock!”
Laughter followed from the audience. Nancy couldn’t help noticing how ironic it was that the columnist’s last interview had been about this “blockbuster” book. The book had killed her, in effect. Nancy stared at the columnist, fascinated.
“So come on, we’re all friends here, Beverly. Tell us everything,” Jim Long quipped. “Who’s going to be run out of town when this volume of information hits the stands?”
Beverly’s devilish smile grew even wider. She crossed her legs and put her hands pertly on her knee. “Well, I’m not going to say too much, Jim,” she taunted him, “but I will tell you this. The ‘big four’ had better start packing, an
d you know who you are!” She gave a throaty laugh. “Seriously, though, I’ve just finished three of the last four chapters, and they’re on the way to my publisher, Pringle Press, right now. I’ll finish the fourth tonight, and the book should be out in less than a month.”
“What do you want to bet I’m one of the so-called big four?” moaned the senator.
“I’m sure you are,” agreed Nancy. “But what we care about is who the other three are. One of them framed you, and we’ve got to nab him or her before the police arrest you!”
“You see, Jim, certain people in Washington pride themselves on their so-called integrity. But when you scratch the surface, you find out that these people are as sleazy as everybody else. And I think the little people have a right to know it,” the columnist went on.
“This is making me sick,” said Marilyn. “Beverly’s talking about me, which won’t make me seem any less suspicious. Everyone knows I stand for honesty and integrity. With her hurling insults at me, and my gun as the possible murder weapon . . .” She broke off, not wanting to finish the awful thought. “Oh, well. At least I reported the gun being stolen.”
Nancy didn’t say what she was thinking—that Marilyn had called to report the missing gun after the murder had occurred. No need to worry her friend further, Nancy thought.
“Well, there can’t be too much more,” the senator said. She picked up the remote from the floor. “Maybe we should see if there’s an old movie on. Anything but watch this wicked—”
“Hold it!” Nancy suddenly cried out, spotting something. “Marilyn, wind the tape back just a little—no, too far—stop! Yes, right there. Now play it in slow motion.”
Nancy studied the moment that had caught her eye. Her legs crossed, the columnist was talking up a storm. As Nancy watched, she saw her absentmindedly reach down to touch the stiletto heel of her left shoe. While she spoke, Beverly fiddled with the heel for at least fifteen seconds.
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