Bloody Politics (15 page)

Casey stood in the doorway of my office when I returned, a package in his hand. “Danny gave me this when he arrived and asked that I give this to you. He says it's the original version of the photos this guy sent you.”

I took the package, reluctantly. “I really don't want to see these again, Casey. It's been hard to get those images out of my mind.”

“I think you owe it to Danny. After all, the photos you saw weren't the real ones. They were faked, deliberately to shock you and arouse that reaction. Danny found the originals, he said. With the date stamp on them.”

“Okay, okay. But can you stay here? That way you can throw them in the fireplace afterwards.”

“I'll be glad to.”

I opened the clasp on the envelope and slid out the file folder inside. Hesitating for a moment, I opened the folder and saw an 8 x 10 photo of Danny standing with a group of men. But this time the group showed several men in military uniforms. Navy whites. One was an admiral with a lot of braid on his shoulders. On the bottom of this photo was a time stamp. Edward Ryker was nowhere to be seen.

Beneath this photo I found the one showing Ryker standing beside Danny. On this photo, however, someone had used a marker to show exactly where the photo had been doctored. There was no date stamp on the bottom of this photo.

“You can see how it's done, Molly. That guy is good. Good enough to fool most people. But the photo lab guys can spot a fake.”

I felt a muscle deep in my chest let go. Something that had been held tight relaxed at last.

“You'll see that's exactly what he did with the rest of those photos,” Casey said.

With that encouragement, I turned to the next photo, the awful one with the piles of dead bodies. This time, the photo showed Danny and the other soldiers kneeling behind a pile of rifles, pistols, and various other weapons. I deliberately did not even glance at the fake photo, but slipped it behind the original and turned to the last one. Danny stood holding a string of fish rather than a severed head. So did the rest of the men. I saw the date stamped below, and it coincided with what Danny had told me of his tours of duty. He'd never gone into detail about the missions, and for that, I was glad.

I closed the folder. “You're right. I can see that they were faked. All of them.” I paused for a second. “Tell Danny ‘thank you.'”

“It would be better coming from you, don't you think?”

I handed him the folder. “I know. Would you burn this, please? I don't want to see it again.”

“It'll be my pleasure. But think about what I said, Molly.” He looked at me with that brotherly expression again as he left the office.

I did think about it as I settled into my desk chair. Danny deserved to hear it from me. I picked up my personal phone and scrolled through the directory for Danny's number. My finger hovered for a moment, then I pressed the text message. One of the perpetual feuding voices in my head, Crazy Ass, made clucking chicken noises while the other, Sober and Righteous, urged caution. I keyed in a text message. “Thank you for sending the original photos, Danny. It really helps.”

My finger hovered over the keys again, but I couldn't think of the right words, so I pressed “Send.” Even though it was a cowardly text instead of a phone call, I still felt better. I took a sip of cold coffee and was tempted to get some more, but I really needed to return to these spreadsheets, so clicked on the mouse, bringing them to life on my screen again.

I was just about to enter new expenses when I heard the phone buzz with a text message. It had to be Danny.

I clicked on the phone and read: “I'm glad. I don't want you hurt. Enjoy the game. The Prestige team will be there in force. By the way, Bennett told me they found the same type of listening device in Congresswoman Wilson's townhouse when they were installing security. She told them a ‘friend' advised her to check. I'm betting that was you.”

I stared at the text. My instincts had been right. Quentin Wilson was being monitored. And whoever was doing it knew his whereabouts. That means they knew Quentin had gone to Samantha's home that night. The night he died.

A myriad of thoughts started bouncing around my head then.
Who were these people or person?
Clearly they were able to gain access to Wilson's townhouse while he was on the Hill. Memories danced in my head—walking into my own home and finding that an intruder had entered and gone through my computer documents and desk drawers. My home was bugged, Quentin Wilson's home was bugged, and Natasha Wilson's phone was bugged.
Who were these people?

I had no answers, simply more questions bombarding me. Work was waiting. I clicked on the computer mouse and returned to Senator Russell's expense spreadsheets. Only numbers could chase away nagging thoughts. A heavy dose of numbers.

sixteen

Wednesday evening

“Here, help me eat
this popcorn,” Loretta said as I climbed into the bleacher section where she was seated, halfway up the Gonzaga side of their gym.

“Thanks, I only grabbed a banana, so I'm starving now,” I said as I sat. I'd dashed to my home and changed into a sweater and jeans before leaving to meet Loretta.

“Good, because popcorn is one of my weaknesses. Here, take it and save me from myself.”

She handed over the half-filled box, and I greedily dug into the crispy popped kernels. “Which one is your son Bobby?”

“Dark blue shirt. Number thirty-three.” She pointed toward the group of tall, lanky boys racing down the basketball court. Their white-shirted opponents had the ball and were closing in on Gonzaga's basket fast.

I checked the scoreboard. Gonzaga was not in the lead. Arms and elbows clashed beneath the basket as shots went up and missed, then tried again and were blocked. A Gonzaga guy stole the ball and dribbled like mad down the court toward the opposition basket. The pack was right on his heels, the sound of sneakers squeaking on a polished wood court. Fast stops. I'd forgotten that sound. That's what I loved about basketball. It was nonstop action until a whistle blew, like right now. Foul against Gonzaga. One of the opponents got a free throw. I watched the player go through his own personal routine of preparation for the shot. Bouncing the ball, again and again, then letting it fly.
Swish
.

“
Damn!
That kid is way too good. He's killing us with free throws,” Loretta complained, then sipped her cola.

“Hey, Father, say a prayer for us, okay?” a balding man on the bleachers ahead of us called loudly.

I looked over and saw a man in clerical collar and Gonzaga jacket climb the bleachers, carrying a popcorn bag and a cola. “Don't worry, I will,” the sandy-haired, bespeckled man replied with a smile as he went past us, climbing higher into the nosebleed seats.

“We could use some prayers,” Loretta said, shaking her head.

Another whistle blew and the official called time-out for Gonzaga. I decided this was as good a time as any to update Loretta. Plus, it would get her mind off the game. The other team was ahead by a lot.

“Listen, Loretta, I wanted to tell you what I learned from George the other day.” I glanced over both shoulders. “Should we move down a little, just to be careful?”

We both scooted down the bleacher row a few feet, so there was no one close by. I'd noticed that the gym was only half full; obviously preseason games didn't have the same draw for attendance.

“What did George tell you?”

“Basically, the CD has all of my brother-in-law's research into Ryker's corruption. All meticulously detailed by Eric. The disc also has those other names you saw earlier, Dunston, Holmberg, Montclair, and Kasikov. Eric goes on to list allegations of money laundering that even touched the Epsilon Group. Years ago the group had a developing nations investment fund in Europe. It was run by a Russian who had ties to Kasikov. This guy, Breloff, was implicated in a money laundering scandal in Europe. Ryker, Dunston, and Holmberg withdrew their investments in the fund. Breloff was supposed to be indicted, but charges were suddenly dropped. No links to Montclair or Kasikov were ever established, but the Epsilon Group closed its developing nations fund soon afterwards. Montclair and Kasikov were on the governing board. Breloff disappeared from the scene.”

Loretta stared at me, her dark eyes wide. “Good Lord, Molly. Do you think that Epsilon Group is actually involved in money laundering?”

“I don't know. There's no proof Montclair or Kasikov knew what was going on. But it raises a lot of suspicions. But the disc also contained all the allegations made against Ryker starting back with that mining company years ago. Eric and George gathered a lot of detailed information. Listing different people who'd talked ‘off the record' about their personal knowledge of Ryker taking bribes. They even found a copy of a letter that someone with the mining company wrote years ago, alleging the same.”

Loretta looked at me. “What are you going to do, Molly? I can tell you're chewing over something.”

“George said he was giving me the disc because I would follow through on Eric Grayson's wishes. I would find a way to make it public knowledge. But I haven't decided exactly how yet. Last night I made a file and copied all the allegations and charges and listed them in chronological order. So it will be easier for people to investigate. My first instinct is to give the information to the press. Distribute it to multiple media outlets anonymously. But Ryker, with all of his cronies and his accumulated wealth, might be able to trace the source of the information back to George and me. And who are we to accuse the most powerful member of the U.S. House of Representatives? Chairman of the House Financial Services committee.”

Loretta shook her head. “Molly, I've heard enough stories about that man. You need to be careful.”

“That's why I think I may need to give the information to some politicians at the same time. They could find allies in Congress to confront Ryker. He's made many more enemies in all those years since he set out to destroy my husband Dave.”

Suddenly a loud buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. “Good Lord, the game's over.” Loretta looked up, shocked.

A skinny teenaged boy in a Gonzaga uniform came bounding up the bleachers, long legs sprinting over seats. “Hey, Mom, Brian's having the team over at his house for pizza after the varsity plays. Joe said he'd drop me back at home. Okay? Homework's already finished.” He flashed her a winning smile as only teenaged sons can when they're trying to wheedle concessions from their moms.

Loretta nodded. “Yes, you can, but you'd better be back before ten thirty. And where are your manners, young man? Say hello to my friend Molly Malone. Molly, this is my youngest, Bobby.”

“Hey, Bobby. You guys put up a good fight. But the other guys had some beasts under the basket.”

Bobby grinned and gave me a schoolboy nod. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Malone.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Oh, yeah, Mom … Coach cut practice short because of the game, so I went home to grab some new sweats. And this guy was coming out of our house. Some computer guy. Truck said ‘Geeks, Inc.' Told me you had problem with the computer and he came to check on it. What's up with that?”

Loretta's eyes popped wide. “What the—? He was coming out of our
house!”

“Hey, Bobby! Get down here!” A guy in a Gonzaga jacket waved his arm, beckoning Bobby back on the court.

“That's Coach. See you later, Mom.” Bobby leaped over the bleachers like a gazelle, heading for the court.

“Who in the hell would be in my house?” Loretta demanded, clearly outraged.

A cold feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
Oh, my God! This guy was checking Loretta now!

“Loretta, you're going to have to get a security system installed at your house right away! I never told you this, but someone got into my house last summer and went through my computer files. I could tell because he left the back door partly ajar. Who knows how he got in. I had security put in that very afternoon.”

Loretta turned to me, dark eyes wide. “What was he looking for on your computer?”

“I had files on flash drives of Karen's research, and Celeste's too. And someone broke into Celeste's apartment last spring. But he deliberately left signs that he'd been there. He moved things on her desk, opened closets, stuff like that.”

“Someone went into Celeste's place?!?” Loretta looked truly shocked.

“That's what really drove her out of D.C. and her job. She told everyone else the office politics were driving her out, but she confided to me the break-in spooked her so she didn't feel safe anymore. She gave me flash drives with her research on them. Now I'm worried that's the same person who broke into your house today.”

Loretta stared at me. “Now you're scaring me, Molly.”

“That's exactly how I felt when I came back from Senator Russell's one morning and found my computer running, the chair pushed back, and the desk drawers open.” I looked into Loretta's eyes. “And I think someone's been following me. If that's true, he's seen the two of us together. He's seen us pass papers to each other. Maybe that's why he broke into your house. He wanted to look at your files.”

She looked skeptical. “Just because someone got into your house doesn't mean he'd be following you, Molly. You've been watching too many movies.”

“This guy has sent me a package with photos of people. People I know. That told me he was watching. That's when the security company started monitoring me. They were at the Irish pub the other night, and they were at the library when I met with George.” I glanced out into the gym, only a third filled with fans. “And they're here now. They're sorting through faces, looking for people who would show up at all three locations.”

Loretta stared out into the gym. “Good Lord … you think someone followed you here?”

“The security firm says they've made some matches already, so they're hoping to narrow it down after tonight. After all, how many people who went to the Irish pub also went to Arlington Library and Gonzaga gym tonight?”

“What are they going to do when they find a match?”

“Danny says they'll catch him. He's convinced.”

“Danny's this guy you've been seeing, right? The former Marine?”

“Yeah. And I believe him.” I realized I meant it. Now, I had to let Danny know. “Anyway, I feel responsible, Loretta, that this guy has started checking you too. So I want to make sure you've got the same kind of security I've got. This firm will make sure no one gets into your house again who isn't supposed to.”

Loretta frowned. “I don't know, Molly. Maybe Bobby was mistaken. Maybe this guy was just trying the doorknob or knocking on the door. Maybe he wasn't really inside.”

“Whatever. I'll feel better if someone comes with us to check your house. And I know exactly who.” I slipped my phone from my purse and found Casey's number in the directory. “Casey Moore is the security guard for Senator Russell. Former military with lots of experience. Plus he knows what happened at my house. He can take a walk through your house with us, just to be safe.”

“
What!”
Loretta screwed up her face. “I don't want some strange man going through my house!”

“He's not going through your house, he'll just be there to make sure that …” I wasn't sure how to put it.

“What's he going to do? Check to make sure there's no one hiding under the bed?” Loretta looked aghast. “Molly, I have to tell you, I think your imagination has totally gotten hold of your good sense.”

I admitted it did sound outrageous. Casey's voice came over the phone then. “Hey, Molly, what's up? How's the basketball game?”

“Gonzaga's not doing so well. Listen, Casey, can you get away from Senator Russell's for about an hour? I'd like you to meet Loretta Wade and me at her house. Her son saw a guy coming out of the house this afternoon when he came home from school. The guy told him Loretta called with computer problems. Of course, Loretta says—”

“No such thing! I didn't tell anybody to go to my house!” Loretta enunciated close to the phone.

“Is that her?” Casey asked.

“Yes. So, given what happened at my house, you can understand why I'm concerned. My antennae are going off, Casey, and you know what that means.”

“Yeah, Molly. I've learned to pay attention to your antennae. Let me check with Peter. Everybody's still drinking and talking with the senator and will be for hours it looks like. I probably could slip away for a little while. I gather she'd like me to go through the house with her.”

“Yeah, I think Loretta needs someone to check out the house, and—”

“Loretta does
not
!” she said sharply.

“Okaaaaay. Sounds like she's not really buying that, but I agree with you. It wouldn't hurt to have a look around.”

“Good. I'm also trying to convince her she needs security installed.”

“Good idea. What's her address?”

“Loretta, what's your address?” I asked her.

Loretta frowned, obviously debating whether she wanted to reveal that information or not. Finally she recited it and I repeated the Potomac Avenue location to Casey.

“Okay, I'll leave in a few minutes if it's okay with Peter. See you there.”

“We'll wait outside. Is that okay, Loretta?”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell him to park at the Harris Teeter across the street. We'll meet him inside the store.”

“I heard that. See you soon.” I recognized the amused sound in Casey's voice.

_____

I took another sip from the Styrofoam cup of coffee as Loretta and I hung out in the café-like area near the front of Harris Teeter grocery store. I was perched on a chair stool at one of the tall, round tables. Loretta, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth in front of the windows looking out onto Potomac Avenue. At nine thirty at night, there weren't any others seated around us. Only the cashiers looked at us strangely. And the uniformed security guard, who was stationed near the front door. He glanced at us from time to time. He'd recognized Loretta when we first entered, so she told him we were waiting for someone. We'd been waiting for five minutes and Loretta had paced the entire time.

“Senator Russell is entertaining at home tonight so I'm sure that's why Casey is delayed,” I said, glancing toward the door again.

“Hmmmph!” was Loretta's reply. She'd “hmmmphed” several times already.

Just then, I saw Casey push open one of the glass doors and hold it open for an elderly woman to enter ahead of him. “There he is,” I said, trying not to sound relieved as Casey glanced our way.