Death of an Intern (6 page)

I
was so caught up in Janet Rausch that I could not stop talking about all the ramifications surrounding her life. Jerry put an ending on it by suggesting we leave things as they were. My motor didn't shut off that easily, so he made a firmer suggestion that we take a walk along the piers and show Marsha the great variety of boats in the marina. He and I never did that, and that's when it hit me, I needed to turn it down.

Our walk calmed me down some, but back on
Scalawag
, I started in again. This time, Jerry stopped me with a harsh glare. I excused myself and went below. He soon followed, after getting Marsha oriented.

“You were wearing the girl thin,” he whispered. “And you need some sleep or you will be worthless tomorrow.”

Jerry cuddled close and calmed me. I must have slept soundly, because it took him to wake me after the alarm had gone off.

Jerry, Marsha, and I breakfasted on
Scalawag.
He'd walked up to the marina gate and brought back copies of the
Star
, the
Post
, and
USA Today
, in which we three became immersed. The
Star
had trounced the other two with my inside information. The
Post
had it in their Metro section, and
USA Today
had it buried. Jerry checked the Internet and found it was most often quoting my work.

Lassiter had asked me to include in my article that this second murder had all the signs of a serial killing, but that MPD had neither confirmed this nor had they said the same person had killed both women. I did as asked, even though I wasn't one-hundred percent sold on the serial-killer theory.

The other stories in the papers Jerry brought me either said or strongly inferred that it was serial. Unwittingly, I may have fanned that impression when I was the only one to report that both women had used the 2nd Street Clinic, the last place either was seen alive, except by the killer.

The radio and TV morning news shows pirated my story. In reporting my details, they gave attribution to my article and me, which is a normal and long-standing practice.

“Will I have to talk with the police?” Marsha asked, as we prepared to leave
Scalawag.

“I'll call Captain Walsh. Give me your cell number. When do you finish up at school?”

“My last class is over at 1:30, I'll probably be here by 3:00.”

“Okay. I'll let you know.”

Marsha appeared a lot stronger than I had earlier thought. As gut-wrenching as this was for her, she maintained equanimity and expressed appreciation for my explanations and for everything we had done for her. She felt she would be better off at school rather than sitting around the boat all day, but liked the idea of staying on
Scalawag
a night or two longer. Jerry got out the keys to the harbor gate and
Scalawag's
cabin.

“You will probably have the boat to yourself most of the week,” he said, handing her the keys. “We're not planning an overnight until the weekend.”

“Marsha, there is something I need from you before we go.”

“Sure.”

“Help me out with people in the Vice President's office.”

“I only know of a couple really. Kat Turner is from Kansas and was probably Janet's best friend. Then there are Sarah McDowell, Lisa, and Alma—the party girls. Brenda plays on the softball team; I don't know Tina.”

“Are they a general pool of labor?”

“Oh no!” Marsha replied quickly. “They each have their special areas. Kat is agriculture, and Lisa finance. Jan and Sarah worked on political and fundraising events. They had more contact with Ms. Grayson and the Vice President.”

“That's a good start. What about the chief of staff, William Adam Smith?”

“He goes by Adam. Other than that, I have no idea.”

“That's okay; you've been a big help.”

Jerry dropped Marsha off at a metro station and me at the paper. As proud as I was of my headline story, I was glad few people were in the newsroom. I hoped this would be one of Wilder's late mornings.

There was a voice mail from Mary telling me of her shock when she saw the paper. I typed my news assistant an e-mail response, and started out of the newsroom. A news release from the Vice President's office was in my box, I read it on my way to the elevator.

Janet's body would be shipped back to Iowa as soon as MPD released it. There would be no service locally, and the church service along with the burial service would be private. Her family requested no interviews, as did the Vice President's office. That didn't deter me. I was heading for the White House.

The Eisenhower Executive Office Building, or EOB as it more commonly referred, was on the corner of 17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest. It was built between 1871 and 1888 for the State, War, and Navy departments. It now housed Executive Branch staff offices for the White House, the Offices of the Vice President, and other things not publicized.

The paper was about a half mile to the EOB, which sat adjacent to the President's House. My walk took me through Lafayette Park and across Pennsylvania Avenue. The park acted as my transition between Washington's two vastly different worlds. The private sector and the federal government coexisted without overtly acknowledging the other.

I cleared security, walked up the open marble staircase to the second level and down a corridor to the door marked “Vice President of the United States.” Flags and a pair of uniformed Secret Service officers flanked the entrance; I showed my pass and ID and was given entrée.

I next presented my card to the receptionist and asked to see either Adam Smith or Judith Fisher. This may or may not work, but calling ahead would have preempted any opportunity in lieu of their press release.

The receptionist called someone and spoke too quietly for me to hear. She stood up after hanging up. “Please step in here. Someone will be with you shortly.” She led me to a door off the reception area, which opened into a small conference room. I walked in and she closed the door behind me.

Photos of the Vice President, the extended Grayson family, and assorted folks adorned the walls. Captions identified them. I saw a group shot with Janet in it and one of the Vice President and his sister in tennis garb with the caption “Twins win mixed doubles third year in a row.”

Suddenly an inner door burst open, and an agitated Frances “Frankie” Grayson rushed in. “We are not giving interviews.”

“Ms. Grayson? Ah, we met last Friday night at—”

“And would appreciate your—”

I interrupted. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

Grayson's ears finally caught up with her mouth. She looked at the card in her hand, my card, and said, “Friday night? I wasn't aware reporters were there.”

“I wasn't there as a reporter. I attended with my husband, Jerry Fields, a friend of Ralph Morgan's.”

Grayson's rage calmed precipitously. “Did we meet?”

“Ralph introduced us to the Vice President, and he introduced us to you.”

The light went on. “Oh, Ralph's attorney.”

I hoped I had not just created a problem for Ralph, or Jerry.

“What can you tell me about Janet Rausch, Ms. Grayson?”

“Eh, her bio will be available later this afternoon,” the restless woman said.

“I was thinking of the more human interest things, like what you do together as a group,” I said evenly.

“We have a softball team, but most everything else we do involves working with and for the Vice President, which is a very busy schedule,” she said tersely.

“I'm sure Janet's death is tragic for all of you. Since the killing took place Saturday night, would you know anyone she might have been with?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think her killer could have been somebody she knew?”

“Knew? What are you talking about?” Grayson flared. “Her murder was another grizzly act in a city known for its human tragedies. There's a serial killer out there.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

Grayson's face contorted as she struggled to maintain control. “I don't keep up—” She interrupted herself, appearing to make a mid-course correction. “Can't you appreciate our situation?” She picked up a phone. “Have Kat come to conference room two.” She hung up. “We are not doing interviews about Janet,” she said defiantly.

I replied gently. “I'm only interested in her private life.”

Grayson's athleticism showed in her square stance and posture. She looked like she was ready to pounce on me. The door Grayson had entered from opened.

“Ms. Turner will show you out,” Grayson said, as a woman entered.

No words passed between the two, as Grayson walked out and Turner closed the door. It was obvious Kat knew her instructions. However, this was also Janet's friend Kat Turner, a windfall opportunity. “Sorry to be seeing you again under these terrible circumstances,” I said sincerely.

Kat moved to the hall door. I moved to the softball team picture. “How often does your team play?”

“One, two times a week, in late spring and early summer,” she said disinterestedly.

“Were you and Janet regulars?” I asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

“Pretty much.”

That fell flat. Kat opened the hall door that would lead to my exit.

I had noticed that the door Grayson and Kat used went into an office area opposite from the reception area. I decided to gamble. I walked through the doorway Kat had indicated, but made a quick move to the right, instead of left as Kat was expecting me to do, catching her by surprise. That gave me a head start toward the office area.

“No, that's not the way out,” she called out to me.

I had gotten three or four strides ahead of her, entering a large room that resembled a small version of our newsroom: rabbit hutches. Kat caught up. “Where did Janet work?” I asked.

Kat almost lurched at my question. “There,” she whispered.

I moved the few short steps to the small space to get a look. “And you?” I asked.

Kat pointed to the station next in line. “Please, you shouldn't be…”

I quickly took in Janet's space that included a photo. “Her mother, father, and…?” I hoped my inflection would invite Kat to fill in the blank, which she did.

“Her sisters. You need to leave,” she said anxiously.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to cause…” I turned and headed back to the reception area. As agitated as Kat appeared about my being in the office area, the others around hadn't paid attention to my presence. “We met last Friday night,” I said, as we left the area.

“I remember.”

“I assume you knew Janet was pregnant?”

Kat didn't answer. We arrived at the entrance door and stopped, “I hope I didn't cause you any problems.”

Kat's reticence was obvious. “Have a nice day,” she said formally.

“Thank you, Kat. You too—the best you can possibly have under the circumstances.” I exited. This was not the same Kat I had seen at the party. I chalked it up to my not being used to the secret world of the White House. This may all be normal conduct.

K
at took a deep breath in an attempt to settle herself. Knowing that Frankie Grayson would hear that a visitor had been in the work area, she went immediately to her boss's office. Her door was open and she could hear Grayson speaking to someone. Kat stopped in the open doorway when she saw Secret Service Officer Donna Talbot.

The Vice President's sister saw Kat, and gestured for Talbot to hold on.

“Yes, Kat?”

“Sorry to interrupt Ms. Grayson, but…”

“Did you show that reporter out?”

“I did; however, coming out of Con II, she went right as I was closing the door, and she walked into the office area.”

“What?” Grayson jumped to her feet.

“I thought she'd go toward reception, the way she came in. I caught up to her, but by then we were into our work area.”

“Did she touch anything?” Talbot asked.

“No, she only asked where Janet's desk was. We were right next to it. I pointed it out. Then she asked about the family picture on Janet's desk. I told her the office was off limits, a secure area, and that she had to leave.”

“And did she?” Grayson asked sharply.

“Right away, without a problem,” Kat said, not adding that the reporter had asked her where
she
worked.

Grayson nodded. “Thank you, Kat, that'll be all.”

Kat nodded, turned, and as she started out, heard Grayson say, “We don't want outsiders in here. You never know what political axe strangers may have to grind. Have security clean out Janet's things and give her personal stuff to Kat.”

Kat thought that to be reasonable, but wondered if it was the complete reason.