Murder on Capitol Hill (8 page)

The choice of MacLoon to chair the committee had disheartened Lydia, but she decided not to allow her feelings to interfere with her performance. She had, however, raised the question with Veronica Caldwell about whether it was a wise idea to have an avowed political enemy of her husband’s heading up a committee to investigate his murder. Veronica’s answer made sense. Because MacLoon and Caldwell were known to dislike each other, it could only add to the public’s confidence in the committee’s integrity. MacLoon would be under the gun to disprove any personal grudge, would be doubly aggressive in the investigation. At least that was the theory.

***

Lydia was kept waiting in MacLoon’s outer office for fifteen minutes before an aide ushered her inside, where the senator was giving an interview to a young newspaper reporter. “With you in a minute,” he told Lydia, waving his hand. He said to the reporter, “It will be the duty of the committee to assure the American public that the murder of Senator Caldwell was in no way connected with any government institution, nor did it have overtones or implications that in any way reflect on this nation’s governing bodies or those of its allies. Got that?”

“Yes, I think so. Thank you, Senator.”

MacLoon grinned broadly, stood and shook the reporter’s hand. “Anytime, my dear. The door is always open to you.”

The reporter nodded at Lydia as she left the office.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” MacLoon said. “Sit down.”

Lydia sat in an armchair next to his desk. “Isn’t it a little premature to be giving interviews about the committee’s work?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. No sense in trying to play games with the press. I’d like to see this committee be an open one that the press and public can have faith in. No stonewalling. Doesn’t that make sense to you?”

“Of course… within reason.” She observed MacLoon as he swiveled his chair and began rummaging through a file drawer. She could hear his heavy breathing, the result of a lifetime of cigars and cigarettes and a paunch that threatened to burst through his belt. MacLoon was almost totally bald, and had a full face that was made to appear even more so because of a tight shirt collar that pressed into the flesh of his neck.

He found what he was looking for, turned back to his desk and suppressed a belch as he opened a file folder and thumbed through its pages.

“Senator MacLoon, I know you’re busy but so am I. I wonder if we could discuss the committee and my role on it. I assumed that was your purpose in asking me here.”

“Yes, sure. Just give me a minute.” He frowned as he read a page from the folder, then called through the open door, “Margaret, in here.” One of his aides, a buxom young woman wearing heavy makeup, entered and MacLoon handed the page to her. “Copy it and get it out to Markovich right away.”

Lydia fought down her impatience, cleared her throat. “I’ll come back when you have more time.”

MacLoon looked up, appearing to be surprised.
“Relax, we’ll get to it in a moment. How about lunch? I’ll have it sent up—”

“No,
thank
you. Senator MacLoon, I accepted this committee post at the request of Veronica Caldwell. I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand I’m pleased to be able to contribute something to solving this tragedy. On the other, I have a pretty successful law practice that will suffer during my absence. I want to get on with my work on the committee. I want you to understand that.”

He looked at her as though she were an errant daughter. “Miss James, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. Frankly, when Veronica insisted on you as special counsel I opposed it. As far as I was concerned, what we needed was an attorney with a clean sheet who’s used to working behind the scenes and fitting into a team that has a clear-cut game plan—”

“Why do men always use a sports metaphor? And in this case a mixed one.” Before he could answer she added, “I just left Horace Jenkins at the MPD and he talked about playing an inning at a time. You talk about teams and game plans. I’m sorry, but I don’t see this as a game.”

He squinted through the heavy, mottled flesh of his face. “No need to get testy, Miss James. We’re in this together, after all.”

“Over your objections.”

“That’s right. After Veronica did some talking I decided that having you on the team might not be such a bad idea after all. Your reputation is solid, no obvious skeletons in your closet, you’re close to the family and you understood Caldwell and all this arts nonsense he was involved with.”

Lydia shifted in her chair. “You might as well know, Senator, that I don’t consider it nonsense. I’ve been involved myself, which is how I got to be friends with Veronica Caldwell.”

“
Senator
Veronica Caldwell,” he said.

“That’s right. I also became friendly with
your
wife through the arts.”

“The difference there, Miss James, is that my wife’s dabbling never influenced my Senate duties.”

“Are you saying that Veronica Caldwell’s activities influenced her husband’s?”

“You know it. You might also be interested to hear that Senator Caldwell was about to get in some hot water over it. The arts section of the last Interior bill upset a lot of people around here. The same thing happened when he worked behind the scenes to kill a committee bill to investigate these damn cults and the brainwashing they use. That was one of the things that drove Jimmye McNab out of the Caldwells’ life.”

Lydia wasn’t sure whether to admit her ignorance of what he was saying or to pretend some knowledge of it in the hope that it would encourage him to say more. She decided to say nothing. It didn’t work. MacLoon looked at his watch. “Tell you what, Miss James, I have some things to do. I’ll have one of my people show you to the office we’ve found for you. It’s not much but it’ll have to do. We’re cramped for space all over the building.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. What about staffing?”

“It’s in the budget. I’ll have someone fill you in completely. I’d like to get started on this immediately so that we can get it over with.”

“I’ll do all I can to see that it’s a thorough and efficient investigation. I’m concerned about leaks to the press of the committee’s activities. I feel it’s vital we be able to function quietly.”

“We can talk about those things later.” MacLoon unwrapped a cigar and chewed off its tip. “Hope you don’t mind working with a cigar smoker.”

“Not at all.”

He held a lit match close to the cigar’s blunt end and slowly, carefully inhaled. As his first exhalation of blue smoke curled easily toward the ceiling he said, without looking at her, “Let’s understand one thing right from the top, Miss James. This investigation in the Senate has nothing to do with solving Cale Caldwell’s murder.”

“Pardon?”

He drew on the cigar again, stood and came to the edge of his desk, and leaned on it, his face close to hers. “Solving murders is for the MPD. This committee’s function is to assure the American people that the murder had nothing to do with their government.”

She leaned away from him as she said, “I gathered that was your position from what I heard you tell the reporter, although I assumed you viewed it as only one of the committee’s functions. Now I take it you view public assurance as our only function.”

“That’s right.” He perched on the edge of the desk.

“I’m afraid I don’t agree.”

“You will as it progresses.”

She stood. “Thank you for your time, Senator. I’d like to see my office.”

He told a young man who’d been reading a newspaper in the outer office to escort Lydia and see that she had access to any supplies, furniture and staff help she needed. The young man, who introduced himself as Rick Petrone, and who told her he’d been working for Senator MacLoon for over a year, led her down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs to an office which, Lydia instantly decided, had once been a large storage closet that had recently been cleaned out. A battered metal desk occupied the center of the room. Rings of dirt on the buff walls outlined where a row of file cabinets had once stood. Two small windows were caked with dirt, and what light they did allow to pass through had a yellowish-gray cast to it.

“Just name it and it’s yours,” Petrone said. Lydia had taken an instant liking to him. He was tall and undeniably handsome, with a mop of brown hair that was appealingly unkempt. His smile was warm, genuine. He wore a brown plaid vested suit and tan knit tie.

“I can think of a lot of things,” she said lightly, surprised and a little annoyed at her tone.

He took a notepad and pen from his pocket. “Let’s make a list right now.”

Twenty minutes later the list was completed. She thanked him for his courtesy and said she had to go back to her own offices for an appointment.

“Just call on me anytime, Miss James,” he said. “I guess I’d be less than candid with you if I didn’t admit that I’m hoping to be able to hang around during the investigation. I graduated from law school last year and took this job with Senator MacLoon as
a way to get a look at how government works. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve enjoyed it, and it’s been interesting. But I’d like to get back to something that’s a little closer to the law. I don’t want to be a pest but—”

“Maybe I can have you assigned to me for the duration of the investigation. I’ll suggest it to the senator, if you’d like.”

“I’d really appreciate that, Miss James. I really would.”

“All right, then consider it done.”

They walked down the hall together. Lydia’s gait was considerably faster than it had been earlier in the day, and Petrone had to move quickly to keep up with her. It had occurred to her as she stood in the small, temporary office that she deserved to be treated exactly as she had been since becoming involved with the Caldwell murder—like a small, helpless female child in awe of male authority. She’d been suffering from an unjustifiable fear of leaving the genteel comfort and security of her law practice to once again enter the more combative arena of Congress and criminal law, and was ashamed of how wishy-washy it had made her. Her dead father had had a favorite saying—“Drive it like you owned it,” and the warm memory of him and his insistence that she work for excellence in every phase of life filled her, at once, with guilt, and with determination to jump into this new and challenging role with all the vigor and dedication she could manage.

“Remember what I said.” Petrone shook her hand. “You can call on me for anything. I just want to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Very much, she added silently to herself.

***

Petrone went back to MacLoon’s office, where he resumed reading his newspaper until the senator returned.

“She squared away?” MacLoon asked.

“I think so. We made a list of what she needs.”

“What she really needs is a man,” MacLoon said. “You up to it?”

Petrone smiled. “I’m always up for that. She intends to ask you to assign me to her for the duration of the investigation.”

“I’ll put up a good argument against it but she can have you. Just make sure you stay close to her and keep me filled in on whatever the hell she’s up to.”

“No problem there, Senator. I just want to help in any way I can.”

The next two weeks passed quickly for Lydia. Rick Petrone proved to be a most helpful and efficient young man, and Lydia’s office was transformed into a workable, comfortable one. Besides providing all the necessary furniture and supplies, Petrone ordered extra touches—fresh flowers, prints on the walls, a radio and a love seat on which Lydia spent more and more time as she pored through a steady buildup of paperwork.

If she had had any illusions about being able to split her time between committee business and her own law practice, they were soon put down by the demands of her committee responsibilities. There was a daily meeting of the full committee—six senators, aides from their offices and the staff Lydia had brought together, five people in all including Rick Petrone, one of Lydia’s associates from her law office and three people assigned by MacLoon, two secretaries and a researcher named Ginger Johnson.

Lydia’s first reaction to Ginger had been less than enthusiastic. She seemed too young and flighty to provide the research Lydia was counting on. Short, tending to chubbiness, with long red hair that seemed
always to be in search of a comb, Ginger had been introduced to Lydia by MacLoon as a former
Time
researcher, a graduate of the University of Missouri Journalism School and more recently employed by HUD in research. She didn’t appear to be old enough to have gotten such experience and background, and Lydia took the time to question her during her first week. Ginger’s answers, plus an informal background check, verified everything MacLoon and Ginger had claimed. And as the second week wound down and Ginger’s efforts started to pile up, Lydia began to see her as a good tough questioner, at home with detail and not afraid to roll up her sleeves and make order out of the piles of material that soon took over nearly half the office.

The Friday meeting at the end of the second week ran until six in the evening. It dealt mostly with routine matters until Lydia told of her decision to examine all the circumstances surrounding the unsolved murder of TV journalist Jimmye McNab.

“Why?” she was asked.

“I think it’s applicable,” she answered. “And even if it proves not to be, we’d be derelict not to at least look at it and evaluate its potential relevance to the Caldwell murder…”

She didn’t mention that her renewed interest in the McNab murder had been aroused by a long article in a national scandal newspaper, the
National Voyeur
. Ginger Johnson had routinely included the article in her research files and had mentioned it to Lydia, more as a joke, a light moment, than as a matter seriously to be considered. Lydia had laughed along with her researcher, but late the previous night
she’d settled down on the love seat in her office and read it, along with other materials Ginger had marked for her attention. The writer of the piece had, of course, sensationalized every aspect of both the McNab and Caldwell murders to suit the style of the publication, but as Lydia made her way through the florid prose and shaky cause-and-effect scenario concocted by the writer between the McNab and Caldwell murders, she realized, in spite of herself, that it was a reasonable proposition… Two people had been murdered. Jimmye McNab, a TV journalist, had been raised by the other, Senator Caldwell, since infancy.