already asked me where I was last night, and I told them I was with a close personal friend.â She started up the stairs and I followed. âThen they asked me the friendâs name, and I had to refuse them. I said I promised the gentleman that I would guard his privacy.â
I couldnât believe what I was hearing. âGood Lord, Samantha! You know how that sounds ? It sounds like youâre hiding something. Thatâs bound to make them suspicious.â
Samantha was quiet until she reached the top of the stairs. Then she turned and looked at me solemnly. âI cannot help that, Molly. My friendâs privacy is very important to me. Besides, itâs obvious Quent took his own life. Why would they bother investigating me?â
I followed her down the hallway leading to her bedroom, but a cold feeling started to form in the pit of my stomach.
_____
âAre the police still there?â Spencer asked.
âNo, no. They left a couple of hours ago. She must have called it in right after she came home and found him. My man picked up the cop call.â
âSo far, so good. Now, we have to watch and wait. Make sure this gets handled properly. An accidental overdose. Your man made sure of that, right?â
Raymond sighed. How many times did he have to go over this? At these rates, as many times as needed. Billable hours, Washington rates.
âIâve told you. Heâs a pro. He had plenty of time to slip inside and get it done while I distracted Wilson.â
âYou took a chance, exposing yourself like that. Besides, itâs been years since youâve done field work.â
Raymond heard the laughter behind the words. âYou never lose the knack. You just lose your speed,â he joked. âDonât worry. I used an old repairmanâs uniform in the back of the closet. Big square-brimmed hat. I looked like the Maytag man, I swear to God.â Raymond couldnât keep from laughing, despite his cough.
Spencer joined in for a minute. âWe may need some media if the investigation drags on. We want this wrapped up and forgotten.â
âHow about your guy in Congressman Jacksonâs office? Larry Fillmore. Didnât you say he had contacts with that local rag, D.C. Dirt? You might want to start there.â
âYes, he does. Larryâs got dirt on everyone.â Spencer chuckled. âHeâs the one who told us about the staffer who delivers. Gary Levitz. In fact, Levitz could turn out to be very useful, indeed. Larryâs going to stay in touch with him, just in case we need him later.â
Raymond had heard the smug sound to Spencerâs voice before. Spencer had found a fall guy.
four
Monday
âDid you read about Congressman Wilsonâs death in the paper this morning?â Peter Brewster asked as he stepped into my office. âThatâs tragic. The article didnât say how he died. Of course, that immediately makes a person wonder if he ended his own life.â
I took a large drink of coffee before answering. âI read the article, and it does ⦠uh, leave some doubts. Did you know him? I confess I donât remember meeting Wilson personally when we entertained the Midwestern congressmen and women a few months ago.â
âYes, Iâd met with him a couple of times on the Hill. And his chief-of-staff Natasha Jorgensen. Wilson was one of the sharpest congressmen around.â Peter leaned against the doorjamb, his face showing his concern. âHe was on the House Energy and Commerce Committee and was working on trade issues. Itâs a shame to lose him.â
âI know. Itâs tragic to lose talented people in their prime.â
âIâm sorry if this dredges up painful memories for you, Molly,â he looked at me sympathetically.
âTime has a way of healing over even tragic losses.â I said, glancing toward the window, sunshine bathing the Russell garden.
âItâs