Bloody Politics (17 page)

“Don't worry, my name isn't on it. The sender is a mythical Washington Media Corp. The address is real. But it's an Episcopal church on G Street. Almost across from the Washington Press Club. I figured any reporters who showed up there could use some prayerful reflection.”

Peter's eyes lit up as he laughed. “You're even more diabolical than I imagined. The senator will get a laugh out of that. We won't squeal on you. Have you shared this information with anyone else?”

“Only the researchers who helped prepare it. And believe me, they treasure their privacy. I did give Sylvia Wilson a copy. Her husband Quentin was investigating Ryker on his own before his unfortunate death last summer. I figured if anyone in Congress could start asking questions about Ryker's past, who better than the widow of an idealistic congressman fighting corruption.”

Peter looked at me, clearly surprised. “You amaze me, Molly. However do you find out so much of what's happening in Congress without setting foot on the Hill?”

I had to laugh. “Sometimes you need to get away from the fog to see clearly. And I have very good sources.”

“I'm impressed.” He wagged his head with a wry smile. “The Widow Wilson. Who would have thought?”

“We've seen her in action already. I think she can handle it. She'll have plenty of help from the press.”

“I promise the senator and I will give this our full attention tonight.” He turned toward the doorway to leave.

“By the way, Peter. Were you aware that Senator Dunston has a son who works for a bank in Stuttgart?”

Peter spun around. “
What?
Where'd you hear that?”

I pointed to the folders. “It's in there. If I'm not mistaken, there was recent legislation in the senator's subcommittee that dealt with transfers of U.S. funds to European banks.”

Peter nodded. “Thanks for the heads up. I think I'd better start reading this in the car.”

“Happy to help, Peter,” I said as he hurried from my office. Meanwhile, I settled in my desk chair, took a deep drink of coffee, and returned to the daily email onslaught.

Late morning

“
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
…” Spencer's voice came over the phone. Soft enough to sound like an actual prayer.

“Yeah, I'd say we'd better start praying to all three,” Raymond joked. “No telling where that information is going to turn up.”

Spencer was quiet for a long moment. “This is not going to be received well.”

“I figured that. How did Montclair react when you told him about Loretta Wade? You know, all those searches Fillmore discovered she was doing.”

Another long pause. “I didn't tell him.”

Uh, oh.
Raymond heard the hesitation in Spencer's voice. Not a good sign.

“I … I let the committee think we stopped Malone's snooping with Jorgensen's death. They calmed down after that.”

“Okay …” Raymond could tell Spencer was afraid of telling Montclair. He could hear it in his voice. Normally loquacious, Spencer was now quiet. “Are you going to tell them about Malone? Or just wait and see what happens?”

“God knows …”

Raymond picked up on the hint of panic behind the fear in Spencer's voice. He felt a warning jab inside.
His
instinct.
Not having anything else to give Spencer, he said, “Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and whoever gets that information will just sit on it.”

Spencer gave a disbelieving snort but said nothing.

Raymond didn't believe it either. But he didn't have anything else. Their luck had clearly run out.

Thursday evening

The doorbell rang, and I hastened to my front door, opening it to see Danny standing there, illuminated in the bright security lights. “Hi, Molly. I wanted to bring these photos over so you could take a look at them.”

Seeing him standing in the doorway now, smiling, reminded me how much I'd missed him. Seeing him. Being with him. The feeling had never left, actually. I'd just been able to push it away. I realized I no longer wanted to push it away. Or him.

“Sure. Come on in.”

“I promise it'll only take a few moments. I've heard how busy you've been lately.” He looked at me with that familiar amused expression as he walked inside. “Jeremy said you took several packages for special delivery.”

“Prestige is doing a good job of keeping track of me, I see.” I gestured toward the living room sofa.

“I'm guessing you sent out that research on Ryker and others.” Danny sat on the edge of the sofa, as if he expected to jump up and leave any second.

“Good guess,” I smiled at him. “First, I took out all references to Karen's or Celeste's notes and wrote up only Eric Grayson's research, focusing on the scores of allegations against Ryker and others. Bribery, connections to money launderers. Then, I printed it out and sent copies to five global news outlets. Let them dig up the dirt on Ryker. That way the press can bring him down.”

He caught my eye. “Good job, Molly. Let's hope it works.”

“It better. Ryker and his cohorts are behind all of this. That guy breaking into houses, following me around, spying on Loretta. It's got to stop.”

“We're going to stop it. I promise. Ryker's only part of it, though. Those connections go farther than you think.”

I eyed Danny carefully. “You and Prestige have figured that out?”

He grinned. “Not all by ourselves. I've shared the information you gave me with some of my military associates. I figured you wanted me to. That's why you gave me the file.”

“You figured right. I want to shine as much light on them as we can. Drive the rats out of the corners.”

“Oh, yeah. We'll also drive out the rat who's spying on you.”

Danny opened the file folder he'd brought with him. Inside I saw several photos. He spread different photos on the coffee table. Three different men. Or, it looked like three different men. One had shaggy blond, longish hair, mustache, and wore a brown sweater. The next was an older man with fuzzy gray hair and black-rimmed glasses, he looked kind of old, judging from the lines on his face. The third had touseled black hair and a mustache. I stared at the photos.

“Do any of these men look familiar, even slightly?”

I examined the shaggy professor, the old man, and then stared at the dark, mustached guy. “I think this one looks like the guy who was on a park bench across from Loretta and me about two weeks ago. We met for lunch so I could give her Eric's notebook and the notes I got from Sylvia Wilson. Loretta said she caught him looking at us twice. I only noticed him checking his phone.”

Danny pointed to the shaggy-haired man. “This guy was at the Irish pub. And this guy was at the library.” He pointed to the gray-haired man. “Jeremy also spotted a cycle or a bike several cars behind him every day. The guy was usually wearing a helmet and had different clothes. But he was able to spot him remove the helmet once. And this is the guy.” He pointed to the dark-haired man.

I stared at the three photos. “I wish I could bring back more memories. But I didn't even pay attention to the people at the pub. Loretta and I had so much to talk about. Same thing when I was at the library with George. Darnit. I wish I'd looked around more.”

“How about at the Gonzaga game,” Danny said and placed another photo on the table. This one showed a man with blond hair, wide face, and spectacles—and wearing a black clerical collar. As well as a Gonzaga jacket.

I stared at the photo. “The priest! Yes! I remember seeing him at the game. He walked right past Loretta and me, going up the bleachers. Some guy shouted out to say a prayer and he said he would.” I looked at Danny, incredulous. “A priest? That can't be right.”

Danny gave a wry smile. “It's a damn good disguise. Most peo
ple don't even notice the face. The clerical collar stops them. It's like staring at a nun in full habit. You don't want to stare, so you glance away.”

“So you're saying all four of these photos are the same man?”

He nodded. “Facial recognition software shows the same facial structure and features; even with a mustache, the program can tell. The priest's face is the most exposed. I have a feeling this guy doesn't think anyone is checking on him. Yet.”

“You think you'll be able to identify this guy?”

“Oh, yeah. We're getting really close. In fact, he resembles someone I knew. Just a hunch.” He slipped the photos back into the folder and stood up suddenly. “Thanks, Molly. You've confirmed what we've found. Now, keep an eye out for those faces you've seen so far.” With that, Danny walked toward the door.

I was surprised by his abrupt move and followed him to the door. Now that he was here, I realized I didn't want him to leave. “What … what will you do when you find out who he is? Confront him or something?”

Danny turned toward me and smiled. “Oh, yeah. I definitely plan to confront the son of a bitch. Depend on it.”

“Good. I want to be there when you do.”

“I'll see what I can arrange,” he grinned. Then he looked away. “I'd better go.”

I reached out and grabbed his jacket. “Not so fast,” I said, looking into his eyes as I yanked him toward me. Danny tossed the folder aside and reached for me.

We grabbed each other. Our mouths hungry. Clothes disappeared, tossed, torn, dropped—in the living room, up the stairs. We reached the bedroom just barely. And there we stayed. Skin against skin, devouring each other, satiating ourselves until morning.

eighteen

Friday morning

I walked into my
upstairs bedroom and saw Danny, still damp from the shower, towel draped around his hips, standing at the window and staring into the breaking dawn. “C'mon out, you little shit, so I can get a good look at you.”

“You think he's outside already?” I handed one full coffee mug to Danny as I sipped from the other.

“You left early yesterday, so he may assume you'll do it again today. We killed the video feed, so the only way for him to keep track of where you're going is to show up.” Danny took a drink. “Thanks. This may be breakfast. I can let Prestige know I'm taking you to Russell's. Do you want to stop at a café on the way?”

“No, I want to get there early. I have a feeling Peter and the senator will want to talk to me this morning before they leave for the Hill. I gave Peter a folder with all the information on Ryker, Dunston, Holmberg, and the Epsilon Group. The money laundering connection with that Russian guy years ago. Ryker's bribery charges, everything. The senator's subcommittee handled the international banking legislation recently, so it really got Peter's attention.” I pulled off my tee shirt and began dressing.

“Hey, hold on. I've missed this,” Danny said with a grin. He leaned back against the bed pillows and watched as he sipped his coffee.

“Are you going to try to leave before he appears? After all, he thinks he broke us up.” I caught the last bra hook, then slipped on the lacy panties from Samantha's favorite lingerie shop.

“Naw. I want him to see my car and figure I was here overnight. Then he can watch us leave together. If this guy is who I remember, that will piss him off. And that's what I want.” He took another sip while I pulled on pantyhose.

“Is that what you're doing? Trying to goad him into showing himself?” I walked over to the closet.

“Yeah, if I can. But he may not bite. I've been thinking, once we get his face isolated, we may need you to go someplace where there
are less people around. Someplace where he'll stick out more if he
shows up.”

I zipped up my skirt and slipped on a short-sleeved sweater. “Well, I'm game. Whatever it takes to catch this guy. Put him away … or whatever.”

“It'll be more
whatever
, if I get my way.” Danny's smile disappeared.

I slipped on my heels, then picked up the coffee, taking a sip as I walked closer to the bed. “Oh, by the way, I was wondering,” I said with a wicked grin. “Did the makeup sex live up to your expectations?”

Danny laughed so hard, he spilled coffee all over the bed and himself.

_____

“My, you're early this morning, Molly,” Luisa said as I stepped inside the Russell mansion foyer. “You must have a sixth sense. Peter said he and the senator wanted to chat with you in the library as soon as you arrived.”

“You're right—that sixth sense has kept me out of trouble over the years. Let me drop my purse and briefcase and I'll—”

“I'll do it. Coffee is already in the library. Now, you go in and see the senator and Peter.” She made a shooing motion with one hand as she relieved me of my things with the other.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said and hastened down the hallway, pausing to knock on the half-open library door.

“Come in, Molly,” Senator Russell's basso voice rang out. It always sounded deeper in the mornings.

“Good morning, Senator, Peter,” I smiled at both men as I entered. “I thought you two might want to chat this morning. So I came early.”

“Perceptive as ever, Molly,” Senator Russell said with a smile as he leaned back in one of the armchairs near the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I hastened to the tray with the white porcelain coffeepot and saucers. “Ah, Luisa's nectar. Oooooo, and are those cinnamon rolls?” My mouth started to water. “Heavenly.”

Peter sat behind his desk, cinnamon roll in hand. “Take one of these—Luisa baked them fresh this morning.”

“If you insist.” I snitched a smaller roll from the plate on the corner of his desk, then settled into a matching armchair near the senator. He wore one of the dark-gray suits that set off his silver hair perfectly.

“If it weren't for the cinnamon rolls, I'd say this would be a perfect photo to send to the Colorado constituents. Hard-working senator and staff—not quite nose to the grindstone, more like stuffing our faces.” I took another bite.

“Molly, I wanted to thank you for sharing your brother-in-law's research with Peter and me,” the senator said, leaning forward, both hands clasped between his knees. “Your assessment of the information as potentially explosive and sensitive is indeed astute.”

“I started going over the folder in the car and Albert had to force me out when we reached the Hill.” Peter's intense blue gaze focused on me. “You were right when you said ‘allegations.' But the money laundering connections between the Epsilon Group members and those European financiers are really troubling to say the least.”

I took a deep drink of the dark brew. “I thought so too. That's why I wanted you to know of it, Senator. Even though there was never anything that showed the Epsilon Group members were involved in that Russian guy's money laundering schemes, simply shining the light of public scrutiny on those past activities should stop any potential threat now. If there was any group out there who hoped to divert U.S. funds transfers for illegal purposes, they'll abandon those plans. Once the press starts digging, they're bound to uncover these past activities, and all of this should come out. At least I hope it will.”

“It's already started, Molly,” Senator Russell said. “Phone calls started late last night. One of the networks had a breaking news story on the ten o'clock news. I'm surprised you didn't see it.”

Danny and I were already in bed by ten o'clock and not watching television. I tried to hold back the smile as I remembered last night. I honestly answered, “Oh, I was already in bed. I missed it.”

“Well, you'll have plenty of time to catch up today.” Peter gave a small smile. “The other networks are starting to run with it. The
Post
had a story on the inside pages, but I'll bet it will be splashed all over the front page tomorrow.”

“Good. I have to admit I will enjoy watching Ryker squirm. Ambassador Holmberg will probably leave the country. And the rest of those financiers will go to ground, quickly.” I sipped Luisa's rich coffee. “Nothing like the bright light of publicity to drive rats out of dark places.”

Senator Russell laughed softly. “I never knew you were a muckraker at heart.”

I shrugged. “I suppose we've all got a little of it inside. Corrupt politicians have always roused my ire. I guess I inherited that from my father.” I took another bite of the sweet, cinnamon pastry. Buttery goodness.

“Well, I promise I shall keep this information confidential, but the press has already started asking questions. Some of the more senior members of the Senate committee have gotten calls.”

“You'll be called too,” I reminded him with a smile. “But I'm not worried about you, Senator. You're not involved.”

Peter glanced at his watch. “We'd better be leaving, Senator. This is going to be a long day. Molly's right. The press is bound to start asking questions about Dunston now that the rumors are bouncing everywhere.”

I finished the rest of my coffee and stood as the senator and Peter gathered briefcases and papers. “Well, Senator, I promise I will be glued to the television tonight and see what the press has brought forward. Frankly, they've moved on this even faster than I thought.” I walked toward the library door.

“That's because it's potentially such a juicy scandal,” Peter joked as he and the senator followed. “I'd leave the television on. You don't want to miss anything.”

Senator Russell paused in the hallway and put his hand on my shoulder. “That was good work, Molly. Bringing all this to light. Your brother-in-law would be proud. As well as your father.”

That made me feel really good, which surprised me. “Well, it isn't my work, Senator. It's Eric Grayson's. He deserves the credit.”

“Ah, but you put it together, my dear. And you knew what to do with it. Not everyone is smart enough to do that. Don't be modest.”

“You're very kind, Senator. Now, I leave that information in your capable hands because you have the instincts to know when and how to use it. If at all.” I gave him a sly smile.

Senator Russell laughed and wagged his head. Peter gave me a wink as he followed Russell out the front door.

Friday mid-morning

I had just gotten a coffee refill and barely sat down in the desk chair when my personal cell phone burst into life. Springsteen's “Dancing in the Dark.” I had to scramble to find my purse, then dig out the phone, so Bruce and the E Street Band had a full minute of my attention. A beat so strong, you could follow it home.

Samantha's Southern drawl broke through the beat. “Molly? Have you seen the news? Cameramen and reporters have been chasing Ryker through the halls of the Capitol. They've cornered him several times already. He's sweating buckets.
My Lord!
If his face gets any redder he's going to have a heart attack right on camera!”

“Oh, my,” was all I said, then sipped my coffee.

Samantha's contralto laugh sounded. “Molly, this has your fingerprints all over it. You have got to tell me what you've been up to. I know you gathered all that information, girl. Now, you owe me the details. I'm canceling lunch plans, and I will bring a gourmet lunch over to the Russell ranch. We have to talk. I want
intel
!”

Now, it was my turn to laugh so hard, I spilled my coffee. “Okay, okay. I'll see you at lunch. We'll go sit in the garden and I promise I'll give you all the details. For your ears only. It will be the biggest mouse dropping you've ever seen.”

Samantha was still laughing as she clicked off her phone.

_____

“Now we know what she did with the info,” Trask said as he leaned back into a café chair. It was sunny outside, but November's morning chill chased the outdoor brunch crowd inside the cozy French caf
é
. The sound of traffic along M Street was muted.

“Oh, yeah,” Raymond's voice came over the phone. “Gotta hand it to her. She hit them where it would hurt the most. Nothing gets their attention like publicity. Lots of it.”

Trask tasted the fresh-squeezed orange juice the waitress set before him. Along with a plate of fresh croissants. “All major news outlets at once. Those guys are probably frothing at the mouth. What did Spencer say?”

“I haven't talked to him. It's still early in today's news cycle. The press has probably camped out around Ryker's home. This melodrama is just starting. We're gonna watch it play out. Now you know why they had you eliminate Eric Grayson years ago. They had to keep that information under wraps.”

“Well, they bought themselves more than ten years. No one else has raised questions since.”

“By the way, what's Malone been up to? Any early morning vis
its?”

“Nope. She already had a visitor. DiMateo must have wormed his way back into her good graces. His car was already in the driveway when I got there, and he drove her to Russell's. No escort.”

Raymond chuckled. “My condolences, Trask. That must have been a disappointment. But, you know … women are fickle.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll keep an eye on her. Who knows what other surprises she's got planned. More politicians. More press.”

“Keep track of her. Let me know if she contacts anyone else. Meanwhile, stay low.”

“Don't worry. I always do.”

Friday noon

I smeared a spoonful of duck
p
â
t
é
on a super-thin cracker and savored. Luscious and deadly. I didn't even want to know the fat calories. Off the scale, no doubt. Ducks were fat, anyway. I remembered watching the caterers spooning off rendered duck fat from their roasted creations.

“Oh, this is divine,” I said to Samantha before I took another sinfully rich bite.

“Isn't it, though.” Samantha polished off her last bite of p
â
t
é
and chased it with a fat green olive. “I thought we deserved to celebrate. Thanks to you, Molly, one of the biggest bastards in Congress is finally going to be exposed.
Hallelujah!
”

I grinned. “Amen, to that. But it's Eric Grayson's doing, not mine. And I know I can trust you to keep my role in this totally private.”

“No one will ever hear it from my lips, girl.” Samantha leaned back against the bench in the shaded gazebo at the edge of the Russell gardens.

All the fall plantings had been mulched and pruned and were ready for winter. Boxwood hedges were neatly trimmed and had fresh pine bark layered around. So did the other perennials. I wasn't ready. I was never ready for winter or cold weather. Colorado's low humidity made winter much easier, especially with all the sunshine. But I was back east now, the damp, humid east, where the cold penetrated and winter lingered.
Brrrrrrr
.

“Let's hope the press doesn't let up on him. Ryker has always been able to slip away from scandal before.” I held up crossed fingers.

“Don't worry. The press is more vicious now. They've drawn blood already. People have started to talk. All those skeletons will come out of the closet.” She poured more of the sauvignon blanc into the wineglasses she'd brought along.

“A gourmet picnic basket. I love it.” I lifted my glass. “To us. And to fighting the good fight.”

Samantha raised hers as well. “May we keep it up. Bloodied but unbowed.” She sipped, then gave me a smile. “I still can't believe you gave that info to Sylvia Wilson.”