Capitol Crimes and Capital Punishments

With its web of scaffolding, the Capitol Building appeared incomplete, unfinished, as if the workers abandoned their task in the middle. Its gold gilding glittered in the hot, white sunlight. The bronze Statue of Freedom looked forlornly down from its perch on the dome, a dark shape against the electric blue sky. Important people in important suits carrying important papers scurried back and forth across the lush lawn in front of the building. Their footsteps, always rushing to and fro, fro and to, wore paths of compromise across the grass.

Activists stood outside the front of the Supreme Court building, screaming out their support or opposition to every issue under that white-hot sun. They yelled about diversity and discrimination, crosses and cash, marriage, children, the right to vote, the right to arms, and medical marijuana. Teenaged kids, bored with their morning of forced family tourism, strayed away to stand for just a moment in the musty, pungent odor swirling around the marijuana supporters.

The young man lying in a chamber off the House floor knew nothing of all this. The young man was dead.

***

Monday, September 19

9:00 a.m.

Evangeline Edwards studied the body. White male, approximately twenty-five years old, five-foot-nine, brown hair. Stabbed in the stomach. And oh, yeah, his right thumb sheared off above the knuckle. The FBI found no sign of it anywhere in the Capitol Building.

“What happened to you?” she murmured.

“That’s what you’re here to find out, right?” Evangeline flinched at the booming voice. A strand of her dark, wavy hair fell over her face. As she pushed it behind her ear, she glanced over at Farley, the forensics expert. “Congressman Barrett,” he mouthed.

She rolled her eyes up to the fresco on the ceiling—a standard image of two old white-guy politicians—and prayed for patience. Sighing, she turned around to face the man coming up behind her.

He was handsome in a Navy SEAL kind-of-way, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. Young for a congressman. On his suit, he wore the Congressional Member’s pin on one lapel and an American flag on the other. Straight out of central casting.

“Congressman Barrett,” she said. “This scene is sealed. No one is allowed. We can’t have any leaks.”

“Quintin Kyle was my Press Secretary, so I will be on this scene, and you will show me his body. Now.” He stopped booming, speaking instead in a calm, measured tone.

Evangeline bristled. How dare this pompous ass make demands at her crime scene? She opened her mouth to tell him off when she caught Farley’s eye. He shook his head, an admonishment not to mouth off.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She moved out of the congressman’s splash zone, not wanting to ruin her navy-blue suit. Taking this one to the dry cleaner a day early would ruin her suit rotation routine.

She nodded to Farley. “Let it rip.”

To her surprise, Barrett didn’t turn away or throw up. Instead, he squatted next to Quintin’s maimed right hand. “Why’s his thumb gone?”

Over the congressman’s head, Evangeline raised her eyebrows at Farley, who looked as surprised as she. She knelt and put on the glasses she used for reading and poking around dead bodies.

“Our working theory is that the murderer wanted to get into Quintin’s cell phone using the touch ID. He or she stabbed him in the stomach, chopped off his thumb and took off with the cell phone and the thumb.”

“Jesus. Why not just unlock the phone here? Why carry a thumb around with you?”

“Couldn’t run the risk of it locking up again. The question is, what’s on his phone that’s so important?”

Barrett used his pen to move a fold of the dead man’s shirt. “This wound came at close quarters. Quintin knew his attacker. Given the coagulation, I’d say this happened in the last five or six hours.”

Evangeline sat back on her heels and stared at him. His eyes continued to rove over Quintin’s body.

“Congressman, what’s your background?”

“I was a private detective before I came to Congress.” He stood, wiped off his pen, and stuck it in his pocket. “So, Quintin went to the House floor and met someone he knew in the middle of the night. I’d say neither of them were up to anything good.”

“It must have been someone with twenty-four seven access to the Capitol. Someone high up,” Evangeline mused.

“Not necessarily. Anyone with a staff ID can get in this building at any time. Now we just have to figure out who.”

Evangeline fixated on one word. “We aren’t doing anything. You’re going back to your office to do whatever it is you do, and I’m dealing with this.” Shit. If one more power-hungry jerk interfered in her work, she’d murder someone herself¾and she knew how to make it look like an accident.

Barrett looked at her, his face tense and his jaw flexed. Then he relaxed and gave her a “we’re-all-friends-here” smile. A typical politician move she’d seen hundreds of times.

“With all due respect, you can reverse out of politician gear. I can smell fake charm from a mile away.”

His smile disappeared. “Your definition of ‘all due respect’ intrigues me. You know I can have you fired, yes?” He stepped close enough for her to smell whatever fancy aftershave he used. She met aggression with aggression, stepping close enough so he could smell her determination.

“Do it and you’ll lose your best detective.”

She felt the challenge in his appraising look, and prepared for a battle. Then he barked out a laugh and stepped back. “Let’s compromise. You keep me apprised, and I’ll be as helpful as I can.”

She eyed him, not willing to relent. “You’ll stay out of my way, congressman?”

“Yes, but only if you stop calling me ‘Congressman’ and start calling me Jason. And I should call you . . .?”

“Officer Edwards. And I’m not comfortable calling you anything other than ‘Congressman’.” She turned her back and squatted back next to the body. Behind her she heard a long, low whistle.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, after several uncomfortable moments.

“Did what?”

“Made you so distrustful?”

She stood, straightened her jacket and met his gaze without blinking. “Ask Congressman Allen.”

He nodded. “Got it. Allen’s cocaine scandal. I assume you’re the officer who tried to prove his guilt and got kicked all the way back to desk duty for the next five years.”

“You assume correctly. Now let’s stop the chit-chat. I’ve got work to do.”

***

Monday, September 19

10:00 a.m.

Evangeline stood next to the congressman’s desk, taking in the melodramatically-magnificent office. A thick, dark blue carpet patterned with the Congressional seal, gold velvet drapes at the windows, and dark mahogany furniture gave the place the feel of a high-class bordello. Several portraits of middle-aged men loomed over her. They might have been the exact same ones depicted in the Capitol building. You couldn’t tell any of them apart. A heavy, crystal decanter sat on the coffee table, and over the mantle hung a set of gold-plated dueling pistols. In the corner sat a top-of-the-line, 110-inch, flat screen TV.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

A petite blond, with big brown eyes, full lips, and an air of innocence, walked straight up to Evangeline and took her proffered hand in both her own.

“I’m Heather, the congressman’s Chief of Staff, and I want to be as helpful as I possibly can.” Between her high voice, red suit and angelic appearance, she could have come straight out of Little Red Riding Hood. As the heroine or the wolf remained to be seen.

“Please, have a seat,” Evangeline said, extracting her hand. Heather smiled and stepped behind the congressman’s desk, taking his chair. It gave her a height advantage of several inches.

Quite the power move. This woman’s less docile than she looks. Remember that.

“I’m so glad we’re able to assist,” Heather said. She placed two phones on the desk and shifted them so Evangeline couldn’t see the screens.

“Do you mind?” she asked. “In case something comes up.”

“You Congressional staff rely on your phones, don’t you?” Evangeline asked, amused.

“One of these is Jason. . . Congressman Barrett’s.” Heather blushed under her porcelain doll skin, but Evangeline saw no other signs of embarrassment. She looked like a poker player counting cards.

I’ll bet she can blush on command.

“The congressman gives you his phone? He doesn’t mind you reading his personal messages?”

“We’d never violate his privacy.” She reached out and touched the phone with an intimate gesture—almost a caress. “If we do accidentally see something, it’s almost always an exchange with his daughter. ‘Hey, kiddo, let’s get coffee.’ That sort of thing. He has nothing to hide.”

Right. A politician with nothing to hide. They must have some unicorns around here as well.

Evangeline brought the conversation back to the case. “Speaking of phones, Quintin’s wasn’t found on his body. Would you find that unusual?”

Heather nodded. “Absolutely. Staffers use their phones for everything.” She stroked the congressman’s phone again. “Every pleasant memory and dark secret will be on that phone.”

Creepy. If “cell phone obsession” was a clinical diagnosis, this woman would be the poster child.

“Do you know where Quintin’s phone might be?”

“How could I? I didn’t even know it was gone.” Innocent face. Poker eyes.

There was a knock on the door, and a boy who seemed better suited to a high school classroom than a Congressional office stuck his head in.

“Heather, you told me to interrupt you if that story started on CNN.”

“Thank you, James.” She reached for a remote control sitting on the Congressman’s desk and turned on the flat screen TV.

“Do you mind? We’ll have to respond to this right away.”

“Please, go ahead.” Evangeline liked to catch people in a crisis. Their reaction to stress always revealed something interesting.

The familiar strains of a major cable news lead-in filled the room, and a coiffed brunette with blue eyes, matte skin and the look of a ravenous weasel sat at a table in front of a backdrop of the Capitol. She spoke directly to camera, showing more teeth than any human being should have.

“Congressman Barrett, in a tough re-election race, is facing more controversy this week. We take you to Laurence Snow at the Capitol for more.”

The scene switched to an inoffensively attractive man standing just off the Capitol steps, gripping a microphone. “That’s right, Sarah. Just an hour ago, Quintin Kyle, Congressman Barrett’s Press Secretary, was found dead in a chamber near the House floor.”

“This isn’t the first-time Congressman Barrett’s name has been in the news this week, is it Laurence?”

“No it isn’t, Sarah. He’s been making headlines with his legislative agenda. Just yesterday he introduced HR 4372, his final bill in a series of jabs at congressional leadership. Combined with the bills he introduced last week, HR 4371 and 4370, he’s proposing to eliminate most of the financial perks of being a member of Congress. All part of his image as a good government crusader, a position many believe he needs to solidify to keep his seat.”

A scrolling banner across the screen read Good Government Congressman’s aide murdered. Possibility of connection between policy and murder not yet confirmed or denied.

Heather scowled and turned to the scared-looking kid.

“James, please get those assholes at fucking CNN on the phone and tell them to stop scrolling bullshit. Tell them I will happily disembowel them if they don’t.” Evangeline blinked. It was as if a Disney princess swallowed a foul-mouthed sailor.

The anchor woman continued. “How do you think this latest scandal will impact Barrett’s ability to move these bills?”

“Well, he needs to get some heavy-hitters on his side, including Congressman Allen, Chair of the Oversight Committee, Congressman Adams, Chair of the Finance Committee and Senator Russell, Chair of the Senate Administration Committee. It would take a miracle at this point. He’ll have to kiss his seat goodbye.”

Heather turned to Evangeline, who, based on the look on Heather’s face, felt sorry for whomever was on the other end of what was coming. Many of the serial killers she’d collared looked less intimidating.

“Officer Edwards, as you can see, Quintin’s decision to get himself fucking killed has put us in a bit of a situation here. Can I send Peter in? I’ll be happy to talk after that.” Heather walked toward the door, not waiting for approval.

“Just out of curiosity, how will you respond?” Evangeline called after her.

Heather turned, and Evangeline saw red-hot rage roiling under the cracks in her ice-blue armor.

“Something along the lines of ‘Although I can neither confirm nor deny that anyone from the leadership participated this horrific murder, I can say there are many who would like to silence Congressman Barrett. Despite the opponents, the congressman remains committed to his work in promoting good government. His constituents deserve a better future, and Congressman Barrett will continue to fight for their interests.'”

“That’s good,” Evangeline said. Heather clearly spoke fluent politician. Both sides of mouth fully engaged.

Heather nodded. “Of course it is. It’s the truth.” She fixed her gaze on Evangeline. “The old guard—those hordes of old, white men, with their superior attitudes and their death grip on power—they’re out to get Jason. You’ve seen them. They’re here,” she waved around at the portraits. “They’re in the halls. They’re on the damned murals, looking down at Quintin’s body right now. Well, they’ll regret they ever messed with us.” She spun back around and stalked toward the door.

“I’ll send Peter in.”

Evangeline took the power position in the congressman’s chair as she waited. After a few minutes, a striking man walked in. He would have impressed most women—at least six-feet tall, dark curly hair, blue eyes, lean physique. Pretty, like a fashion model. She’d met Peter Thompson’s type before. He might be pretty, but he was also smug, vain and arrogant.

“Thank you for taking the time, Mr. Thompson. I know this is a busy moment.”

“Call me Peter,” he held out his hand and she shook it. Long fingers. Dry skin. Rough cuticles. She’d have bet her pension he was the type who got manicures, but this hand seemed better suited to an artist than a Congressional aide. He held onto her hand as he leaned closer and whispered. “To tell the truth, I’m glad for a respite. Heather’s a bit . . . intense.”

Evangeline nodded. “So I noticed.” She gestured toward the couch and he sat.

“Speaking of Heather, what do you think about this story?”

“Slander is the manna of the news gods, isn’t it?” he asked, cocking his head. “It’s all part of the game, though. All in good fun.” Then he frowned. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so cavalier. There’s a good kid dead here. We should be focusing on that, not fights with the leadership.” Evangeline saw real sorrow on his face.

“When did you last see him?”

“Last night around seven. He said he was on his way home, and I went home myself around ten. I didn’t go out after that. Then this morning . . .” His voice broke.

Either truly upset or a good actor.

“You say Quintin said he was going home. Do you know whether he really did?”

Peter shuffled his feet. “Where else would he go?”

“You tell me.”

He stayed silent for a moment, shaking his head. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “He might have been going to meet Anne, the congressman’s daughter.”

“They were dating?”

“I don’t think the congressman knew, and if he did know, he wouldn’t have approved. Jason adores Anne. He would never have thought Quintin good enough for her. He wouldn’t think Prince Harry good enough for her.”

Interesting. Congressman Barrett, investigator extraordinaire, not know? Doubtful.

The remainder of the interview with Peter, as well as those with the rest of the staff, yielded little new information. People liked Quintin, and he was good at his job. James seemed to worship him.

“Quintin always knew what to do and say. That press stuff came naturally to him. His dad is Andrew Kyle of the Washington Post. You know, the investigative reporter? He’s amazing. The real deal, you know? Focuses on the truth.”

Evangeline noticed the fervor in James’ eyes.

“Why did you come to DC, James?”

“There’s so much to do for this country. Reduce poverty, clean the environment, rebuild our infrastructure, improve access to education–I want to be part of doing it, you know?” Evangeline didn’t have the heart to crush his ideals. But from what she’d seen, DC would eat up this eager young man, spit him out, then feast on his bones.

***

Tuesday, September 20

10:00 a.m.

After a couple hours sleep, Evangeline returned to the Capitol, and spent several hours in the makeshift office at the scene, reworking her way through the evidence. Stabbed at close quarters. No struggle. Thumb chopped off. No phone. Stabbed at close quarters. No struggle. Thumb chopped off. No phone. Stabbed at . . . the puzzle pieces kept going around in her mind.

“You’re a hard worker.” Evangeline looked up to find Congressman Barrett leaning against the wall holding two coffee cups.

“Yes. Having a murderer on the loose does inspire me,” she said.

He nodded. “As it should. That’s why I figured you could use some coffee.” He held out one of the cups. “You seem like a black, no sugar or cream person. Is that right?”

“Do you have it in an IV?”

He laughed. “I’m afraid all I have is a plain old cup.” He handed it to her. “Now that I’ve plied you with coffee, will you tell me what you’ve found?”

She leaned back in her chair, appraising him, then decided to start with what she’d learned from Peter.

“Did you know your daughter was dating Quintin?”

“Yes.” She waited for something more, but it didn’t come.

“Peter thought you might not like that.”

“I wasn’t wild about it.”

“Do you think it was a serious relationship?”

He shrugged. “Enough that she didn’t want to tell her father.”

“Congressman, if I’m going to find Quintin’s killer, you need to be a little more forthcoming here.”

“Is there any way I can get you to stop calling me Congressman?”

“If I do, will you answer my questions?”

“Absolutely.”

She laughed. “You win. How about Barrett?”

“I’ll take it.” He grinned back, then started gathering up the near-empty coffee cups. “But I’m afraid I can’t answer questions now. I’ve got a hearing to prepare for.”

“A hearing?”

“Yeah. Damndest thing. Adams scheduled a mark-up of my bill. It didn’t seem like it had a chance in hell, right?”

“Congratulations. Sounds like you might be able to keep your seat.”

He cocked his head and looked at her.

“Yes, that’s true. I’d like to continue to represent the people of my district. I feel like I’ve done good. I’ve brought infrastructure dollars in, and we’ve created thousands of new jobs. But I’d still work on these bills even if they cost me my seat. They’re good policy.”

Evangeline almost snorted coffee out her nose, until she saw the earnest look on his face. He believed what he said. She scrutinized him, trying to figure it out, when there was a commotion at the door, and Heather came rushing in.

“Jason,” Heather’s eyes were red and she panted as if she’d been running and sobbing at the same time. “It’s Anne. She’s . . .”

Barrett stood so fast his coffee fell to the floor. Evangeline stood as well.

“Tell me,” he barked.

“She’s. . . God, Jason, she’s dead.”

***

Tuesday, September 20

1:00 p.m.

Evangeline stood under the Taft Carillon on the Senate-side of the Capitol, staring at Anne Barrett’s body. Stabbed in the stomach at close quarters. Thumb chopped off. Evangeline felt Barrett’s hand clasp her shoulder, and she reached up to put her hand over his.

“Barrett, you should go. I promise I’ll keep you apprised of anything I find.”

“I’ve got to call her mother,” he stammered. No acting here. Real anguish.

“Go. After you’ve talked to her, stay in your office. I’ll come brief you,” she promised again.

She heard him sob and felt his hand leave her shoulder. Once she knew he was gone, she squatted to get a closer look at the body.

“Is the phone gone?”

“One of them.”

Evangeline looked up. “One of them?”

“Yeah, take a look at this.” He handed her a plastic evidence bag holding a cheap cell phone. “We found it tucked into her boot. It’s a burner.”

Evangeline grabbed the bag and stood up. “You keep digging. I’m taking this to the mobile unit. We’ve got to get any messages off it. Now.”

She handed it to a technician in the mobile crime lab and paced outside for at least twenty minutes, waiting for the results. Finally, an officer stepped out the door.

“Looks like this phone was used for two different exchanges. The first at 7:53pm on Sunday, September 18. A DC number registered to a ‘Quintin Kyle.'”

I think they know I know.

Go to your father. He won’t hurt you. He’ll protect you.

I don’t even know what it means. “Cocaine. Allen. HR 4372”? “Prostitution. Adams. HR 4371”? “Real Estate Fraud. Russell. HR 4370”?

The less you know when it comes to blackmail, the better. We’re both in danger. Go to your father.

“That’s it. Nothing else.”

“And the next one?”

“Happened last night. Read it for yourself.” He handed her his notepad.

Quintin told me you know.

How did you find me?

I won’t hurt you. I just want to explain it. It’s not what you think.

Tomorrow at 9 am under the Taft Carillon.

I’ll be there.

She flipped the page so fast, she almost tore it. The killer. She’d found the killer. And there it was. A DC number.

It was registered to Congressman Jason Barrett.

Tuesday, September 20

***

1:45 p.m.

Evangeline stopped at the door to Barrett’s office, anger welling within her. He sat with his elbows on the desk and his face hidden in his hands. His faked despair disgusted her.

“Evangeline.” He hurried over to her, trying to put his hand on her shoulder. She pushed it away, and handed him the transcript.

“Look familiar, congressman?”

“No.” Barrett acted bewildered. Damn, but he was good.

“It’s a text exchange. From last night. Between your daughter and her killer.” She jabbed at the number on the top of the page. “Look familiar? It’s with you, congressman.”

Barrett staggered back, almost tripping over the coffee table. “You think I killed my daughter?” He stared at the paper in his hand. “I don’t even know what the hell this means.”

“Do you want to hear my theory?”

His jaw flexed. “Most assuredly.” Evangeline saw anger on his face, but no fear. Or guilt. The bastard was without morals.

“Then sit. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

He moved to the sofa and sat, keeping his hands on top of the coffee table. “I don’t know what you’re getting at here, but—”

She sat across from him and glared. “I’m getting at the fact that your bills were going nowhere, so you dug up dirt on your opponents.”

“Preposterous.”

“Congressman, my superiors told me to treat you with “all due respect,” given your position. As you know, I think little of that. So, I will stop talking and arrest you if you don’t shut up.”

He glowered, then drew his fingers across his lips, as if zipping his mouth shut.

“You knew something about Allen and his cocaine habit, so you decided to blackmail him to get his support for HR 4372.”

She paused to gauge his reaction, but got nothing. He gestured with his hands as if to say “go on.”

“I think that’s the key to those patterns. You knew something about Adams and a prostitution ring. Then, lo and behold, Congressman Adams “unexpectedly” schedules a mark-up of your bill?”

His hands on the table were clenched, and she figured he might want to throttle her. That’s how she’d feel in this situation. She readied herself for some hand-to-hand combat, moving closer to the heavy crystal decanter on the coffee table. Hitting him with it would at least slow him down.

“May I see your phone, Congressman?”

He shook his head, then raised his eyebrows and pointed to his lips.

“Go ahead.”

He let out a long breath before speaking. “I don’t know where it is. I’ve been looking for it all day.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Go ahead and look. It’s not here.”

Evangeline made a thorough search, even knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He would have tossed the phone a long time ago.

“Where were you last night?”

“I was here with Peter and Heather until almost midnight. Go ask them.”

“I’ll do just that. I’d arrest you if I could, you know. We’re not done here, Congressman,” she snarled.

“No we aren’t,” he snapped back.

***

Tuesday, September 20

2:15 p.m.

Peter Thompson called in sick that day, so she made a trip to his house. He came to the door in an artist’s smock. Not at all like his suave self.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside and waved her over the threshold.

“Thank you.” Once inside she tried to hide her surprise. She’d expected a clean, sterile setting. Instead, she found a cluttered mess. A large canvas and a table covered in tubes of oil paints stood in the middle of a living room littered with books. The scent of turpentine and french fries wafted through the air. Bach played on the stereo.

“Sorry, you caught me in the middle of an inspiration.” He covered the canvas with a sheet.

“Why aren’t you at work today, Mr. Thompson?”

He became absorbed in straightening his paint brushes. “To tell the truth, I’m not sick. I needed to get away and do something creative.”

“Can you tell me about your movements last night?”

“Certainly, but why?”

“Because Anne Barrett is dead.”

He stared at her for a moment, then fell on a pile of newspapers and take-out containers covering the couch. She sat in a chair across from him.

“So, where were you last night?”

“Heather, Jason and I worked late. Until midnight or so, I think.”

“You were together the whole time?”

“I think Heather went to the bathroom, and maybe Jason went to get some dinner. I didn’t pay much attention.”

“Can you tell me about the congressman’s mood—” Before she could finish, Peter’s phone buzzed. He looked at the number.

“It’s Heather. I’ve got to get this, do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

Peter stepped into the other room saying, “What’s up?”

Evangeline, interested in Peter’s art work, walked over to the easel and pulled up the sheet. On the easel, she found an exquisite oil of one of DC’s famous cherry blossoms. The canvas listed to the left and, fearing it would overbalance the easel, she tried to straighten it. As she did so, she felt a hard, plastic object behind the canvas.

What the hell? She pulled it out.

It was a cell phone with Anne’s picture as the wall paper. The congressman’s phone.

Peter came out of the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry. Heather needs to see me. We’re finally making some progress on our bill. I’ve got to . . .” He looked at the phone in her hand, then back at her. She shifted, preparing to reach for her service revolver.

“Oh, good. That’s where it is.” He took the phone from her grasp. “It’s the congressman’s. I accidentally stuck it in my pocket last night.”

Evangeline kept the unconcerned look on her face while inside she debated what to do next. If Peter had the congressman’s phone last night, then he may have been the one who texted Anne. And if Barrett or Heather saw him pocket it, he’d be after them next. Did she have enough to make an arrest?

Peter’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get changed and go. Can we follow-up on this later?”

Evangeline, remembering the “all due respect” admonition, let him pass.

***

Tuesday, September 20

3:30 p.m.

She raced to the Capitol building, leaving messages for Heather and Barrett, telling them to stay put until she could talk with them. Just as she reached the Library of Congress building, her phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Farley here. We’ve got another one.”

Shit, shit, shit. She should have arrested Peter right away.

“Who is it? Heather? Or Barrett?”

“Neither. It’s Peter Thompson.”

***

Tuesday, September 20

4:45 p.m.

Evangeline went straight to Barrett’s office, knowing who she’d find. There she stood in her conservative suit looking out the window at the Capitol building. Despite having murdered three people in the last two days, not one blonde hair seemed out of place. Evangeline pointed her service revolver at Heather’s back.

In the window’s reflection, Evangeline saw Heather’s beautiful face covered in an ugly sneer. “Took you long enough. Too bad for you.” She spun, and Evangeline found herself faced with one of the guns from the mantelpiece. Heather’s brown eyes took on a predatory look, and Evangeline shivered.

All the better to eat you with, my dear.

“Put down the gun, Officer Edwards.”

“I think not.”

Just then, the door swung open and Barrett rushed in.

“Heather, Peter’s been killed—” He stopped, looking confused. “What’s going on here?”

Heather’s expression went from snide to adoring. “Jason, thank God. She’s accusing me of committing the murders. I pulled down this gun to protect myself. She’s trying to kill me.”

Barrett moved between the two women, arms stretched out. “OK, put the guns away. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Jason, listen to me.” Evangeline spoke to Barrett, but kept her eyes on Heather. “Heather cooked up a plan to blackmail members of Congress into supporting your bills. Between her access and Quintin’s investigative skills, they dug up some pretty damning stuff. But he got nervous, so Heather killed him. She checked his phone to make sure his deep, dark secret wasn’t stored there. But she learned he’d told Anne. Well, that wouldn’t work, right? So, while in the office last night, she used your phone to lure your daughter to her death. She meant to erase it right away, but Peter took your phone home by accident. You know what happened next.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Heather said.

“I bet you’ll find your phone sitting in your desk drawer. All nice and clean. No fingerprints. No texts.”

“She’s crazy,” whispered Heather. “Jason, you’ve got to believe me.”

“Am I? When you gave your little speech about the ‘old guard’ being out to get Jason, how did you know that Quintin’s body was found under a fresco of two politicians? I can’t believe I didn’t catch that.”

Heather stiffened. “I just . . .”

“That scene was sealed. No one knew. Except the investigators, the congressman here, and the murderer.”

Barrett moved toward the desk, not looking away from Heather. “It’s OK. We can work this out. I’ll get my phone, and we’ll leave. Together.”

Evangeline shifted her stance. Was he playing for time? Or did he mean it?

Heather apparently believed him. Her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears. Still pointing her gun at Evangeline, she reached in her pocket and held out his cellphone, still with Peter’s bloody finger prints on it. “I didn’t have time to clean it yet.”

If Barrett found the phone disturbing, he didn’t show it. “I know you were trying to help,” he repeated.

“It was for you,” she cried. “You were going to lose the election unless those bills passed. Allen, Adams, Russell . . . they committed horrible crimes. They deserved it.”

As Heather gazed at Barrett, Evangeline silently screamed at him to move so she could shoot while Heather focused on explaining her psychotic love. “We can leave here. You can get diplomatic immunity. She won’t be able to stop us.”

“Of course we can,” Barrett soothed. “Just give me the gun.” As he moved closer, reaching his hand to Heather, he shifted his eyes to Evangeline and gave a slight nod. Heather’s hand trembled, on the verge of pulling the trigger, as Evangeline grabbed the crystal decanter on the coffee table with her free hand. She swung it at Heather’s head the same moment Barrett lunged for her. A gun went off.

***

Monday, September 26

10:00 a.m.

Evangeline stood on the lawn in front of the reflecting pool, looking up at the Capitol. Scaffolding still shrouded the dome, but she saw signs of progress. In the last week, workers replaced two of the deteriorating modillions, and the Statue of Freedom seemed to shine a little brighter.

A shadow fell across her path. She looked up to see Jason Barrett smiling down at her.

“By the way, I forgive you for suspecting me.”

“Don’t take it personally. I suspect everyone. It’s the only way to get through a case.” She nodded at his arm. “Everything OK?”

“Just a scratch. Didn’t even need stitches.”

Evangeline smiled. “Good.”

“Wow, a smile. I’m honored.” Evangeline admired Jason’s effort at teasing in the midst of his sorrow.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said. Then she cocked her head and peered at him. “I’m curious about one thing. In that room, when Heather and I were pointing guns at each other, when did you decide I was right—that Heather was the murderer?”

“Isn’t it obvious? When you called me Jason.”

She laughed. “I think I’ll stick with ‘Congressman’. Titles are more appropriate.”

He shrugged, then winced, rubbing his upper arm. “Well. that won’t be my title for much longer.”

“Why?”

“I’m resigning.”

“Really? What happened to all that ‘for the good of my constituents’ stuff?”

“I hired a homicidal maniac who was responsible for the deaths of three people. I think my constituents would be better served by someone else. Plus,” he looked down and Evangeline heard him take a shuddering breath. “There’s Anne. I just can’t. . .” She put her hand over his and patted it.

“It’s OK. I understand.” She ignored the brightness in his eyes when he looked at her again.

“And you?” he asked.

Evangeline considered that question. Could she still work for an organization that protected the people in this God-forsaken place? The drug addicts and swindlers and power hungry charlatans?

But there were good people here too, trying to do good things. Like Peter Thompson. Or James, the earnest intern intent on saving the world. Or like the man next to her. The ones fighting for the people outside the beltway who didn’t care about tax breaks on yachts or regulations about banking. Those people needed her help, and she thought maybe she could sleep at night providing it.

Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Have you thought about going back to being a private investigator?”

He raised his eyebrows. “No. Why do you ask?”

“I think you’d be a good one. In fact, maybe we’d be a good team.”

 

Stephanie Vance is a thirty-year veteran of the Washington, DC political scene, where she’s held positions as a lobbyist, congressional aide and grassroots consultant. She is the founder of Advocacy Associates, a firm dedicated to helping citizens communicate with Congress, and the other of four books on effective advocacy. Stephanie holds a Master of Legislative Affairs degree from George Washington University, a Master of Liberal Studies degree from Georgetown University, and a Master of Fine Arts Degree from Western Colorado University.