Bloody Politics (13 page)

She sampled a sliced pear. “I started off with Montclair. It took a little digging to find someone with that name and an international economic or banking connection. Turns out my money is on Anthony Montclair, who served in two British prime ministers' cabinets at an auxiliary level, not appointed. But his career was mostly in the London banks. Investment banks in particular. He also no longer works for them on a full-time basis. Apparently he consults around Europe and Southeast Asia.”

I took a bite of the rich cheddar and savored while Loretta was talking. “Who's this Kasikov?”

Loretta nibbled some of her corned beef. “Now, Kasikov was easier. His name jumped out immediately. I figure it's got to be Dimitry Kasikov, who served as a kind of behind-the-scenes economic adviser to Russian leaders. He made his fortune in oil, then sold off his company several years ago. Meanwhile, he showed up on that Epsilon Group's list of international members as a policy advisor.”

“No more until you eat something. Meanwhile, I'll talk. I called George Trudeau today.”

“Really?” Loretta said, corned beef hovering at her mouth.

“Keep eating. You're so skinny I'm envious,” I joked. “Yes, he and I are meeting tomorrow after work at the Arlington Library. Apparently he couldn't stay away from libraries after he retired. He's working part-time.”

“Sounds like George.” She took another bite of the delicious-looking corned beef.

“He came across as a very nice man on the phone. Very gentlemanly in his tone. Hey, I'll trade you a slice of cheddar for a slice of that beef.”

“Help yourself.” Loretta took a deep drink of her beer. “But getting back to these guys, I started checking what kind of connection there might be with those three cities: Geneva, Milan, and Stuttgart. First off, they're financial centers, so I checked the banks with all five names you gave me. I didn't find much. Montclair was working in Geneva for a period of time, and Holmberg gave a talk at a bank in Stuttgart. I didn't get any hits on Kasikov and the banks. Ryker and Dunston show up only as members of visiting delegations from the U.S. I made a copy of my notes for you.” She reached into her purse and handed me some folded sheets of paper.

“Thanks, Loretta. I'm impressed. I think you really found out a lot.” I raised my glass of Guinness to her, then enjoyed the rich, dark Stout.

“I told you I love puzzles. And I had that window of time to devote because my staffers were training some new hires, and all I had to do was provide advice. So my workload was greatly reduced for two days.” She bit into the cheese and closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord. My cholesterol is climbing already.”

“One slice won't hurt you,” I tempted.

“You are evil, Molly. And a bad influence.” She laughed, then devoured the rest of the cheese.

“I can't help it. It's too hard to be good.”

“I'll drink to that.”

We both laughed out loud as we raised our glasses in a toast to being bad.

Later that evening

Raymond leaned the side of his face against the cold glass of the car window. He'd had to pull onto the side of the interstate highway, the coughing fit had been so severe. His cell phone started ringing. Raymond swiped his mouth with the bloody handkerchief, smearing phlegm and blood.

If he could just make it home. The bottle of molten gold relief could help him get through it. Dark outside already. He always hated that abrupt change and early nights that autumn brought. The cell phone kept ringing until he snatched it.

Trask's voice sounded. “You'll never guess who Malone is conferring with. Intense conversation.”

“I'm too tired to play games, Trask. Who the hell is it?”

“Loretta Wade. She brought Malone some papers too.”

“
Shit,
” was all Raymond could say as he eased his car back onto the interstate.

fourteen

Tuesday morning

I watched the stream
of coffee pour from the coffeemaker spout into my mug. There were a ton of emails waiting for me, so I would need sustenance and caffeine to slog through them. Mostly caffeine. “So, how'd the surveillance go last night?” I asked Casey when Luisa left the kitchen.

Casey stood beside me, mug in hand. We were like thirsty jungle creatures at the watering hole.

“Pretty well. Danny said the team was able to scan the entire pub between them.” He took his turn at the coffeemaker.

“That would take some doing. It was pretty crowded. How do they manage that, anyway?”

“He had a camera in a book on the table aiming one direction, and she had a camera in her purse aimed the opposite direction.”

That surprised me. “A woman? Wow. I thought it would be two guys.”

Casey filled his mug, then turned with a smile. “Nope. A couple is a helluva lot less noticeable. More normal to see a couple having dinner together. We don't want to set off this guy's antennae. He's obviously skillful or you would have spotted him hanging around you before.”

I leaned against the counter and sipped my hot, hot coffee. Meanwhile, some stray memories sprang forward from the back of my mind. “You know, when Loretta and I met for lunch in that little park off Constitution, she made a comment about some guy sitting on a bench across from us. She caught him looking at us. Twice she said. We figured we looked like we were conspiring about something and laughed it off.”

Casey's expression changed. He looked at me intently. “Exactly when was this?”

“It was last week. I had called her and asked if we could meet. I wanted to give her Eric Grayson's research notebook so she could get a clue about what he was looking for years ago. And I also gave Loretta a piece of paper with some names I'd seen in Quentin Wilson's notebook.”

“You said you met Congresswoman Wilson at the Willard, didn't you? Did you notice anyone particular around you two? Or sitting too close?”

I shook my head. “No, no one was seated close to us. Frankly, most of the people in that lobby looked like relaxing visitors or guests, and some obvious tourists with fanny packs and maps. I didn't see anyone suspicious lurking around.”

“Well, ordinary is the best disguise of all. We don't pay attention. Tell me, what do you remember about that guy sitting across from you in the park? Anything at all?”

I closed my eyes and reached for that brief glimpse. “I think he had dark hair … and a mustache. Yeah. A dark mustache. That's it. He was having lunch and talking on his cell phone.”

“Okay, that's something. I'll tell Danny.”

I eyed him. “Why not tell Prestige? They're the ones doing the surveillance.”

Casey smiled. “Yeah, but Danny is directing them. He's got people going over those Irish pub photos already. They're studying faces, getting a file going. So the next time you go out, they'll have something to compare. Facial recognition software.”

“Interesting.”
I was impressed but didn't want to show it. Why, I wasn't sure. Just my contrary nature, I suppose.

“Do you remember any other time you were meeting with Loretta or Natasha Jorgensen and noticed someone? Anyone at all?”

“Oh, boy. Natasha and I often met to run along the Canal before work. I would just be starting my run, and she would be finishing hers. We passed a lot of people. And I never really paid attention to any of them.”

“And you two met regularly to run there?”

“Yes, usually when Danny was out of town, and I already know what you're thinking. The killer was probably running there, too, and learned both her schedule and mine.” I stared off into the kitchen.

“There's no way you could have known that. We're dealing with a professional. That much is clear. Never leaves a trace. No fingerprints. Nothing. Probably wears a different disguise every time. Smart.”

I changed the subject, before those memories of Natasha's body being carried out from under Key Bridge returned to haunt me. “So, will that couple be there tonight? I'll be meeting George Trudeau, Loretta's former boss at the Congressional Research Service. Five o'clock at the Arlington County Library in Ballston. He retired a few years ago and is working part-time at the library. Peter already said it's okay for me to leave early. Jeremy and I still have to fight our way across Key Bridge in rush hour traffic. Then up Wilson Boulevard. Stop and go.”

“Yeah, that couple will be there. Disguised, this time, of course. Target won't even recognize them. They'll be a gray-haired elderly couple.” He gave me a wink.

“Two can play the surveillance game,” I said and raised my mug to him in salute.

Tuesday afternoon

Larry Fillmore picked up his pace as he walked down Independence Avenue, cell phone to his ear. “I lucked out this morning. Jackson was meeting with some of his biggest donors, and they wanted a little private time with him. I was able to slip away to the Congressional Research Services and run a search.” He glanced over his shoulder for oncoming traffic as he crossed over South Capitol Street, heading toward the Rayburn House Office Building. “I had to be careful, though. I didn't want Loretta Wade to spot me in her fiefdom. So I used some of the computers on the upper level.”

“Good, what did you find out?” Spencer prodded. “Raymond said Wade handed Malone some papers, so she must have been researching something.”

“I'll say. She was looking at people and banks. European banks. One was in Stuttgart, another in Milan, another in Geneva. As far as people, her most recent searches showed she was looking at Ryker, Dunston, Holmberg, then some others. Anthony Montclair and Dimitry Kasikov.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Larry prompted, “You still there?”

Spencer's voice came, sounding a little different than he'd heard before. Tighter. Something changed in the tone. “Yeah. I'm here. Good job, Larry. I'll … I'll be in touch.” He clicked off.

Larry pocketed his phone and sped up the steps of the Rayburn Building. With luck, he'd get back to the office before the congressman.

Tuesday evening

“Could you tell me where to find one of your staffers, George Trudeau?” I asked the older woman seated behind the Information Desk at the Arlington Library.

“Yes, I saw him over in the reference section. Ah, here he comes now.” She pointed to the tall, distinguished-looking older gentleman who strode toward me. Silver-haired, he could have been a retired senator or judge.

“Molly?” he asked, extending his hand. “I'm George.”

I gave his hand a firm shake. “George, it's nice to meet you. Thank you so much for taking your own time to speak with me.”

“I'm happy to. Follow me, and we'll find a cozy corner where we can talk,” he said as he turned toward the reference section and headed down an aisle.

I followed behind, scanning the various shelves filled with books on different time periods in history. George led me to a corner where there were two small armchairs angled close together. No one else was seated nearby.

“Here's a good spot. Have a seat.” He gestured toward an armchair.

I settled into a chair. I had brought a takeout coffee with me, which was the only thing between me and hunger pangs. “This is good. Quiet and no one is about.”

I wondered how on earth the Prestige team would arrange a way to scan all the library patrons. So many were standing or sitting in the aisles, spread out everywhere. Lounging on some of the sofas near the center or entrance to the library. Studying at the tables lining the walls.

“Yes, it is. That's why I suggested this place. Because some of what I'm about to tell you is rather sensitive information. So I wouldn't want anyone overhearing our conversation.”

Needless to say, that got my interest and I leaned on the arm of the chair, getting a little closer to George. “Let's start at the beginning. What did Eric Grayson tell you he was researching? And did he ever tell you why?”

George shifted in his chair and leaned a little closer as well. “At first, he simply asked me to search for the organization called the Epsilon Group. He wanted to find out what it was and who were the members and if any politicians were involved with the group. He knew they focused on international monetary issues and wrote papers, but he wanted to know if I could find any connections that group had to European banks or other financial institutions.”

“Was Edward Ryker a member of the group?”

“Yes, along with Senator Dunston. They were both adjunct members, whatever that means. We were never able to find any information on the organizational structure of the group.”

“What about connections to European banks? Did you find any?”

George nodded. “Indeed I did, after a lot of searching. Years ago the Epsilon Group offered grants and economic aid to developing countries, helping them build infrastructure. Wealthy donors and charitable organizations contributed to the fund. The fund was managed by a Russian, Boris Breloff, who had connections to the group through one of its members, Dimitry Kasikov. A couple of years into the funds operation, however, it was uncovered that Breloff had engaged in money laundering for the Russian mafia.” George's voice dropped lower when he said that.

“Uh, oh. Not good. Was the Epsilon Group ever involved in any wrongdoing? Any complicity?”

“Not directly. There was never any connection established between the group's members and Breloff's misuse of the fund's capital. Breloff was supposedly going to be charged with misuse of funds or embezzlement, but the case was dismissed a year later on insufficient grounds. Then Breloff simply disappeared from the scene. It was as if he disappeared into thin air. Needless to say, the Epsilon Group discontinued its developmental fund completely.”

I stared at my coffee mug for a minute. “And this is what Eric Grayson was researching for all those months?”

George nodded. “Yes. It took us quite a while to comb through all the research materials. This sort of information requires a great amount of digging. It's a lot of minutiae.”

“And none of it proves any wrongdoing by any of the people involved. Except that Russian guy, Breloff. But it looks like he never went to jail either. So I still don't understand why Eric was so determined to take time from his own committee work to dig into something like the Epsilon Group. They still come off looking squeaky clean.”

“Not quite. You see, Eric was also digging into the investment activities of one of Congress's most powerful politicians, Edward Ryker. And he found not only a connection between Ryker and the Epsilon Group's development fund, but he also learned that Ryker had taken money from a huge agricultural conglomerate and a mining company. Ostensibly the money was intended as contributions to Epsilon Group's development fund. But we found a letter from an employee who was convinced Ryker was skimming off a healthy percentage of the donation for himself. There's a letter in the files. Unfortunately, the man never formally accused Ryker or brought charges, and he left the company within months.”

I stared at George as long-ago memories crossed my mind of my young husband Dave's desperate attempt to expose Ryker's underhanded dealings with a large mining company. But Ryker let loose his hounds of destruction that smeared Dave's reputation and ruined his career. Ryker had once again successfully kept all charges of his corruption out of the public eye. No one dared speak of it, only whispers around the outskirts lest the hounds be set on them. Everyone had seen what had happened to David Grayson.

Those memories must have shown on my face, because George looked at me solicitously. “I can't help but remember your husband David and his fight against Edward Ryker. David was never able to bring any of the rumored bribery witnesses to give statements against Ryker. It was tragic how it ended.”

“Yes, it was,” I said with a sigh. “And it looks like Ryker's corruption and greed increased over the years. And his tactics have become more sophisticated.”

“You're right, Molly. And that's the second level of Eric Grayson's research.” George reached inside his suit jacket and withdrew a CD in a plastic case and handed it to me. “Eric never put anything he found involving Ryker in his notebooks where someone could see it. He was very careful that way. He put all of his Ryker research on this CD. And he always gave it to me to keep whenever he left the Library of Congress.” George gave a rueful smile. “Poor Eric. He was so careful. And then he died in such a tragic accident.” He shook his head. “I've been keeping this CD for all these years. I would have given it to his daughter Karen except I remember Eric saying one of the reasons he was being so careful was he didn't want anything to hurt Karen's blossoming career. Knowing what was on this disc, I decided to just put it away and hoped there would be an opportunity to tell Karen about her father's research, but that time never came.” He glanced away.

I sensed George wouldn't have brought the disc with him tonight if he hadn't intended to give it to me. “It sounds like you want me to have it, George. Am I right?”

He smiled. “Yes. It's obvious you're serious about uncovering wrongdoing. So, I think Eric Grayson would approve of my handing over his research to you. I sense you'll make good use of it.”

I accepted the plastic case, my curiosity growing. “Thank you, George. I promise I will definitely make sure this information comes to light. Somehow.”

“It won't be easy. There was never a case of anyone putting their accusations against Ryker on paper. But there are layers and layers of allegations, from the mining company to the agricultural conglomerate. We also found instances when Ryker steered legislation that benefited the mining company years ago. Rumors of bribes. Eric tried to get something concrete. He even spoke with two different men in Montana who claimed they knew of Ryker's bribes. They'd seen the money. But then, both those men dropped out of sight. Eric never could find them. They may have panicked at the thought of going public with the charges and changed their minds. Or, they may have simply fled the country. Who knows?”