“And would that mentor happen to be you, Nathan?”
“Indeed, it would. I’ll also be your immediate supervisor. According to Mac, you take supervision pretty well, and now that you’re independently wealthy, if you don’t like having me as your supervisor and/or mentor, you can always walk out of Senator Allen’s office and never look back.”
At that moment, for some reason, I had a feeling Nathan Lockett and I would become good friends.
While that premonition turned out to be true, it took us six years to get there, and we managed to hit a few bumps along the way.
Well, actually, those bumps were more like potholes.
Chapter 3
Senator Davis Allen occupied SR335 in the Russell Senate Office Building located on Constitution Avenue across from the U.S. Capitol.
SR335 was actually a suite of offices, and according to Nathan Lockett, they’d been remodeled numerous times in the senator’s twenty-five-year congressional career in order to accommodate his growing support staff, which now numbered twenty-three, including two interns.
When I agreed to join Senator Allen’s staff six years ago, I was shown three large rooms at the end of a corridor where the R & I Group had their offices.
The moment I’d seen the setup, I’d expressed my disapproval. The offices were located down the same corridor as the senator’s conference room—Corridor C—and I was concerned about all the comings and goings in that hallway. I thought they might be a distraction to my investigative team.
However, Lockett had assured me Corridor C was the perfect location for the R & I Group.
He told me the name of the game on Capitol Hill was networking, and the parade of men and women going in and out of Senator Allen’s conference room would give me an excellent opportunity to connect with the movers and shakers in both houses of Congress.
After working for the senator a few months, I saw the validity in Lockett’s argument, and I thanked him for his insight.
Lockett gave me a half-smile and said, “Thanks for the affirmation, Mylas. I get more criticism than praise around here.”
I’d noticed the same thing.
Lockett ran the senator’s office with military precision, which wasn’t too surprising since he’d served twenty years in the Air Force as an intelligence officer before becoming the senator’s chief of staff. Although he was no drill sergeant, his leadership style wasn’t always well received, especially by the younger staffers.
Even though Lockett’s methods didn’t always set well with those he supervised, there was no denying his ability to get things done or his skill at handling the senator.
Personally, I liked the man, but that was because he treated me as a co-worker and not as someone he supervised. On the other hand, if he thought I was out of line about something, he didn’t hesitate to let me know about it.
I’d been grateful to have Lockett as my self-appointed mentor when I’d first come to work for Senator Allen. Not only was his experience on Capitol Hill invaluable to me, his intelligence background provided me with a wealth of information on how to conduct an investigation into every aspect of a person’s life.
By combining those skills with what I’d learned from my father, along with incorporating the tactics I’d learned from Mac, I soon felt confident in my role as the senator’s chief investigator.
Being comfortable in that role was another matter, and it took me almost a year before I stopped asking myself if the position was a good fit for me. It took me another year before I realized how much I was enjoying doing investigative work for the senator.
At the end of my third year, when Nathan Lockett and I were discussing my annual evaluation, he let me know I’d gained a reputation on Capitol Hill.
“Good or bad?” I asked.
“A little of both, which is a good thing.”
“Could you expand on that?”
He flicked his hand at me. “Don’t use those interrogation techniques on me, Mylas. I don’t mind telling you what I’ve heard.”
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
“There’s a case in point. You have a reputation for being apologetic one minute and defiant the next. You’re seen as fair because you’re willing to hear both sides of an argument, yet passionate about cutting through the posturing and learning the facts.”
“Vetting a judicial nominee isn’t that much different from interviewing a client or questioning someone accused of a crime. Sometimes, you need to use velvet gloves. Sometimes, you need to use brass knuckles.”
“And that pretty much sums up your reputation around here,” Lockett said. “People see you as an aggressive, detail-oriented investigator who doesn’t lose any sleep over the enemies he’s made but doesn’t put much stock in the people who consider him a friend.”
Although I accepted Lockett’s evaluation of my reputation and thought my hard-nosed image probably benefitted my career as an investigator, I found something disturbing about his analysis.
I wasn’t sure what it was, though.
* * * *
As I rode the elevator up to the third floor of the Russell Building for my lunch appointment with the senator, I chatted with a couple of other Senate staffers who seemed embarrassed they’d overslept and were just now getting to work.
Most Capitol Hill employees put in twelve-hour days, arriving at seven o’clock in the morning and not leaving until seven o’clock at night.
I wasn’t one of them.
Don’t get me wrong. I still put in long hours.
I just didn’t spend all my time behind a desk in SR335.
As the senator’s chief investigator, my primary responsibility was thoroughly vetting all judicial nominees. Vetting a nominee usually took about thirty days, and I spent at least seven of those days traveling to various locations around the country checking out the nominee’s background.
I spent another ten to fourteen days interviewing the candidate and his staff—which meant working around their schedules—and if something inconsistent turned up in those interviews, then I’d have to spend extra time rechecking their answers.
As a result, my daily schedule required a lot of flexibility.
In fact, when I was offered the position, I told Senator Allen I was willing to accept the job if I wasn’t required to adhere to a daily schedule like the rest of his staff. He responded by saying I could set my own schedule as long as I got the job done.
He made one exception—his Tuesday lunch appointment.
It was mandatory unless I was out of town.
After I signed on the bottom line, I negotiated a similar flexible work schedule for the other members of the R & I Group.
However, Nina Rivers still continued to arrive at the office every morning by eight o’clock.
That wasn’t the case with my deputy investigator, Floyd Cunningham. When I told him he didn’t have to show up at the office every morning by seven o’clock, I thought he might hug me.
Floyd, who was in his sixties, said, “You’ve saved me from having to retire early. Maybe I can manage to hang on a little longer now.”
Floyd had been a successful PI in New York City for many years before the senator recruited him to be a Judiciary Committee Investigator. When the senator decided to have his own investigative group operating out of his office, he made Floyd the deputy investigator and then he hired Pete Dunham as his chief investigator. Nina Rivers had been with Senator Allen as a data specialist forever.
When I was hired to take Pete’s place, I was happy to hear Floyd would be sticking around, especially after Lockett mentioned Floyd was an excellent surveillance guy.
Surveillance was my least favorite investigative activity.
For the past six years, Floyd and I had enjoyed a good working relationship, but three weeks ago, he finally retired, and ever since then, I’d been conducting interviews for the deputy investigator position.
Actually, Lockett had done all the preliminary recruiting and initial interviews, but once he found f
ive acceptable candidates, he gave me the responsibility of choosing one.
I’d narrowed it down to two people—a man and a woman.
Today, I had a two o’clock appointment with the woman. Her name was Leslie Irving, and she was definitely at the top of my list.
For one thing, she had an outstanding resume, and for another, she looked outstanding. The guy I was considering, Noah Phillips, just had an outstanding resume.
My plan was to do my second interview with Leslie, and then schedule an appointment with Noah. Unless Leslie totally blew it, I didn’t think Noah would have much of a chance.
As I thought about Leslie, a yellow caution light started flashing on the right side of my brain—the gray matter controlling my emotions.
I reminded myself I’d walked away from a long-time relationship less than two months ago, and it was entirely possible the breakup was affecting my professional judgment.
However, I quickly brushed aside such counsel.
For one thing, I seldom let my emotions get the best of me, and for another, I felt certain I was basing my decision solely on Leslie’s qualifications and not on her gender.
While all that might be true, that didn’t mean I wasn’t looking forward to working with a woman as attractive as Leslie.
* * * *
The moment I walked through the door of SR335, Jenna Myers, the senator’s receptionist, motioned me over to her desk. After handing me a couple of messages, she asked me to wait a moment, and then she picked up the phone and informed the senator I’d arrived.
After she hung up, she said, “You can go in now. The senator’s waiting for you.”
I glanced down at my watch. “I’m not supposed to meet with him for another hour.”
She shrugged. “Mr. Lockett just told me to clear the senator’s schedule and let him know the minute you arrived.”
She paused and grinned at me. “Those were his orders.”
Jenna seldom passed up an opportunity to mention Lockett’s tendency to issue orders instead of making requests, although I’d never heard her openly criticize Lockett to anyone but me.
I suppose that meant she saw me as a sympathetic soul. Even though I often encouraged her to talk about her feelings about Lockett, in reality I was a hypocrite about the matter, because I thought Lockett was a fair-minded supervisor.
I had two self-serving reasons for being so hypocritical.
First, Jenna was the daughter of Colin Myers, a well-known Washington newspaper reporter whose columns influenced a great many people around the Beltway. In addition, he was someone I occasionally consulted about matters related to the judges in the District of Columbia Circuit.
That wasn’t the only reason I tended to indulge Jenna’s feelings. She was also a wealth of information about what was going on in other congressional offices, and I figured the best way to access that information was to stay on her good side.
“So those were his orders, huh?” I gestured in the direction of Lockett’s office. “Maybe I should go in there and say something to Nathan about those orders before I see the senator.”
“Mr. Lockett isn’t in his office. He’s with the senator. They’re both waiting for you.”
I leaned in a little closer and asked, “Any idea what’s going on?”
She lowered her voice and said, “All I know is that Senator Allen has been making his own phone calls this morning. He doesn’t ordinarily do that unless there’s some sort of crisis going on.”
“Were those local calls or long distance calls?”
“Mostly long distance. He was calling area codes in Missouri.”
I thanked Jenna and headed down the hallway to the senator’s office. To me, it sounded like Senator Allen could have received the same information on Judge Cameron Woodard I’d uncovered several days ago.
If so, I could understand why he might want to see me immediately.
Since I had the one-page summary sheet on the judge in my briefcase, I felt sure I was prepared to handle the senator’s crisis.
Or not.
With the senator, I never knew.
* * * *
The senator’s office was at the end of the hallway in Corridor A. This location afforded visitors a breath-taking view of the U.S. Capitol from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the senator’s office.
I suspected the senator also enjoyed the view.
When Lockett opened the door and ushered me inside, I wasn’t particularly interested in the view. I was more interested in the look on the senator’s face as he sat behind his massive wooden desk in the center of the room.
Senator Allen had snow-white hair, a high forehead, and an elongated face. His pale complexion usually had a pinkish tint to it, but today he looked ashen.
“Have a seat, Mylas,” he said, gesturing at one of the guest chairs in front of his desk.
When Lockett sat down in the chair next to me, I reached over and unsnapped my briefcase, intending to retrieve my summary sheet on Judge Cameron Woodard.
The senator shook his head. “Don’t bother giving me your briefing paper on Judge Woodard. I have more important matters to discuss with you today.”
“Okay, sure. What did you—”
“Lizzie’s missing,” he said, taking a deep breath, “and I want you to find her.”
“Lizzie’s missing? I’m not sure I—”
“My daughter Lizzie is missing,” the senator said, as if I didn’t know he was talking about his daughter.
“I get that, sir, but I’m not sure I know what you mean when you say she’s missing.”
He rubbed his forehead a moment. “I’m . . . I’m not making myself clear, am I?”
Lockett spoke up. “That’s understandable, Senator. If you don’t mind, I’ll be happy to tell Mylas what’s happened.”
He waved his hand at Lockett. “Go ahead.”
Lockett turned to me and said, “Lizzie’s roommate said she didn’t come home last night, and she’s not answering her cell phone. No one’s seen her since yesterday afternoon.”
Lizzie was the senator’s youngest daughter.
She was a junior at the University of Missouri, and the last I’d heard she was a journalism major.
“Maybe she spent the night with some of her friends,” I said. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
The senator nodded. “Yes, his name is Gus Montgomery, but he hasn’t seen her either. When I talked to Savannah, she said she’d been texting all of Lizzie’s friends, and none of them knew where she was.”
“Who’s Savannah?”
“Savannah Ridley. She’s Lizzie’s roommate,” Lockett said. “They share an apartment together off campus.”
“I assume the police have been contacted?”
The senator gestured over at his phone. “I’ve been on the phone with them several times this morning.”
The room suddenly turned quiet.
I realized the senator was expecting me to ask another question.
I didn’t have another question to ask.
“Well?” the senator said. “How do you plan to find her?”
“Uh . . . don’t you want to leave that to the local police?”
“No, of course not. You’re my chief investigator. I want you there on-site. Nathan’s already booked you a flight to Columbia.”
He looked over at Lockett. “What time does his plane leave?”
“Around five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Couldn’t you get him on an earlier flight?”
“No, sir, I couldn’t. Believe me, I tried.”
Suddenly, just like that, my day had taken an unexpected turn.
While I was used to making adjustments to my schedule, I was afraid this adjustment might turn out to be my worst nightmare.
The senator wanted me to assume the role of a run-of-the-mill private detective—something I’d refused to do all of my life—and he was sending me back to my hometown of Columbia to do it.
My parents still lived in C
olumbia, and whenever I flew in for a visit—once or twice a year—my dad took great pride in introducing me to his numerous acquaintances. “I’d like for you to meet my youngest son, Mylas. He’s the chief investigator in the office of Missouri’s greatest senator, our own Senator Davis Allen. My son, an investigator on Capitol Hill. Can you believe it?”
My dad had been pleased with my successful law career, but that paled in comparison to how he felt about my job with the senator.
Now, here I was about to show up in Columbia to investigate a missing person, something the local police could handle a lot better than I could.
How was I supposed to deal with that?
To make matters worse, the senator’s daughter had probably just gone off with some friends. More than likely, she’d be home by the end of the day.
The senator seemed disappointed in Lockett’s answer. “It’s a shame you couldn’t get Mylas on an earlier flight. The first twenty-four hours are critical when it comes to finding a missing person.”
That wasn’t necessarily the case, but I wasn’t about to correct the senator at this juncture.
As a matter of job security, I seldom corrected the senator.
“I wouldn’t be able to get away before five o’clock anyway,” I said. “I’ve scheduled an interview with a candidate for the deputy investigator’s position at two o’clock.”
“You can cancel that interview,” the senator said. “I’ve already offered the position to someone.”
I was speechless.
Evidently, if Lockett’s face was any indication, the senator’s announcement had also taken him by surprise. “I’m sorry, Senator,” he said. “I had no idea you had a candidate in mind. I gave Mylas the list of candidates I’d already vetted and told him to choose one.”
“Charlie Hayes wasn’t on the vetted candidates’ list,” the senator said, “but I assure you he’s well-qualified for the position.”
Lockett said, “I’m not familiar with that name.”
Neither was I, although I suspected he might be related to Malcolm Hayes, one of the senator’s major contributors.
The senator confirmed this a few seconds later.
One Day Gone Page 3