“I don’t have time for romance, not now. Wouldn’t be fair to get someone else involved in this crazy life of mine.”
“All that remark tells me is that you haven’t met the right girl. I know a sweet young lady at my church-”
“Effie, stop.”
“Sings like an angel. Makes a fabulous artichoke dip for all the church functions.”
“Effie, you’re worse than my mother.”
“It’s only because we care so much about you, Jason. And sometimes those blue bloods out on the Sound aren’t as good at match-making as an old busybody like me.”
Jason tried not to laugh out loud as he watched the old biddy leave the office. Blue bloods indeed. Everyone always assumed he came from money. It was the way he talked, the way he dressed, the way he carried himself. No one seemed to get that it had nothing to do with the way he was raised. It was all either learned or earned. He had a good ear. He’d learned how to talk Massachusetts better than a Kennedy. He’d learned how to dress snappier than politicians who had private wardrobe consultants. He still didn’t have much money, but he had learned how to spend what he had in the right way to produce maximum good impression for minimal investment. He was very directed, very determined. He always got what he wanted, eventually.
Witness the case in point.
He had been fascinated by politics since he was a young boy. On election nights, his parents would let him stay up late to watch the returns roll in. He was in college on the fateful night the Bush-Gore race came down to a handful of votes in Florida. He never slept, not for forty-eight hours. After that, he knew what he wanted to do with his life. He started ingratiating himself with local politicians, working in their campaigns for free, running errands, fetching coffee, making photocopies. Eventually he moved up to more important tasks and, in time, developed a reputation for himself.
After two years of low-level gophering, he heard that Senator DeMouy was looking for a new chief of staff. He wasn’t from DeMouy’s state, he didn’t know the man, he didn’t have the qualifications, age, or experience for the job-and he didn’t let that stop him. He didn’t just apply for the job; he orchestrated a blitzkrieg. He sent tapes, papers, videos, strategy plans. He knew DeMouy was planning a reelection bid so he learned everything there was to know about the man’s state, his traditional constituency, and what he could do to increase it. When it was time for his interview, he had more than just a resume-he had a battle plan. DeMouy was suitably impressed. Said he’d never seen anything like it in all his years in the Senate. Of course Jason got the job.
But that was just a start. Was he content with a chief of staff position? No. It was just a stepping-stone. A benchmark on the way to something greater, something much more important. He wasn’t satisfied with the corner office down the hall. He wanted the big office. Senator DeMouy’s office.
And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t even stop there.
There were many things he could accomplish by hard work, schmoozing, exchanging favors, displaying exemplary resourcefulness. But there was one thing all the smarts in the world couldn’t give him: money. Big money, the kind you would need to run a federal campaign. That had been a stopper for him, the one puzzlement he couldn’t resolve.
Until he met Belinda DeMouy.
In retrospect, it was amazing he didn’t meet her sooner, but he had been busy impressing her husband and for the most part the husband didn’t seem to have all that much to do with her. That should’ve been his first clue. When he did meet her, he was able to size her up in a single glance: lovely, lonely, frustrated, isolated. Trapped in an empty life that had no meaning. Days filled with obligations and teas and meetings and charity events and a lot of other crap that she cared nothing about. Her ice princess act didn’t fool him. He knew there was a very sexual woman locked up in there, desperate to get out. All he had to do was find the key.
As it turned out, it wasn’t hard.
He couldn’t know how bad her love life was, how impotent her older husband had proved, how he papered over his sexual failings with a slavish dedication to his work. Give the woman an orgasm, indulge her perverted little danger fantasies, and Jason found she would do anything for him. Anything at all. And in truth, it was DeMouy’s own fault. His failings and his absences made their affair more than possible. It made it easy. His stupidity had made him a cuckold.
And it was about to make him dead.
Then Jason would have everything he needed.
His cell phone beeped, just once. He glanced at it-Belinda. That was the signal.
Jason slowly withdrew the envelope marked PHOTOS from his briefcase and deposited it on the desk where DeMouy would be sure to see it. Then he left the office and started down the corridor to office 212-D. Because something had occurred to him these past few days, something he had not even shared with Belinda. The death of Senator DeMouy by identical means as Senator Hammond was sure to confuse and mislead, but it was still possible the police might figure it out. He couldn’t be sure he had matched the previous crime in every possible respect.
There needed to be two deaths, both by the same means. That would clearly tie all the murders together and make them seem undeniably the work of a terrorist advancing some twisted political goal. The obvious reason to target Senator DeMouy was because he was one of the leading advocates for the proposed constitutional amendment.
So the other victim should be Senator DeMouy’s partner, the other leader in the fight to get this amendment through the Senate.
It would all be so obvious. The police might not even bother to question Senator DeMouy’s loving wife.
Jason couldn’t help but smile as he walked down the corridor. He had considered everything, every possible contingency, worked it all out to perfection.
Guess what, Senator Kincaid? he thought as he walked briskly down the marble stairway.
You’ve got mail.
37
Senator DeMouy entered his office with a big smile on his face. He’d had his doubts when the president wanted to make Kincaid his Democratic point man for the amendment drive, and he hadn’t hesitated to express his misgivings, either. Oh, Kincaid seemed amiable enough, but he was a novice, had no power coalition, had no one who owed him favors, and seemed…a bit on the weak side. Not the charged particle you need to ram something like this through Congress quickly. Admittedly, the list of Democrats who might be persuaded to take the job was slim-but surely they could do better than Kincaid?
The president had assured him that he had given the matter careful consideration and dismissed DeMouy’s concerns with a blithe nonchalance that he found baffling at the time. Now he had a little more perspective on the matter. The president evidently knew something he did not-that Kincaid had a powerhouse chief of staff. She was a novice, too, but it didn’t matter. She was everything that Kincaid was not. Where he was merely smart, she was savvy. Where he was prudent, she was bold. Where he was gentle, she was pushy. And where he was…well, perhaps the kindest way to put it would be…undistinguished in appearance-she was a firecracker.
The reporter at the Post was naturally refusing to identify his source, but DeMouy had a few sources of his own, and all the evidence was pointing toward Kincaid’s little firecracker. The plan he had outlined over gumbo had worked-and then some. Good grief-in all the years he’d had to put up with legislative holds, why hadn’t anyone thought of this before? Of course he knew the answer. Even if the thought had occurred, no senator would do it or authorize their staff to do it. It would be considered an unpardonable breach of congressional ethics. But Christina McCall was not a senator, and DeMouy rather suspected she had not asked for permission before she acted. She
