THY STAFF WILL COMFORT THEE

A Novel of Capitol Hill

Version 2.3

By Robert Gellman

© Robert Gellman, 2015-2024

The author acknowledges with gratitude the assistance of

Mike, Joel, Pam, Lew, Alex, Don, and, especially, Elaine. Carol too.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, individuals, or organizations, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Casement, however, was a real cat.

Prologue

This isn’t an ordinary who-did-it murder mystery. I tell you that right up front. Of course, there’s a murder, and you won’t find out who did it until the end. Murders are not unusual in America. But this is a story about a murder that happened on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. Capitol Hill isn’t like any place else in America. The inside story of the investigation of that murder shows a side of the Hill that you don’t usually see. There are Senators and staff, reporters and lobbyists, bureaucrats and cops, and lawyers. All the usual Washington suspects. You see them often enough, but you don’t know how the place really works from the inside.

There are several mysteries to be unraveled, not just who killed Frank Butcher. For one thing, you have to keep reading a while to find out who I am. You’ll probably guess that soon enough. I’m not the Senator at the heart of the story. There aren’t many Senators capable of writing a book like this on their own. Most Senators couldn’t function in any successful way without their staffs. Staff members write the speeches, press releases, bills, reports, and almost everything else that comes out of Capitol Hill. Maybe some Senators could have done those things at an earlier point in their lives, but skills atrophy when not exercised regularly. Those who get themselves elected admittedly have other abilities, but they can only function effectively as legislators in partnership with their staffs. I’m not telling you much when I reveal that I was a staffer then. You probably already guessed that anyway.

For what it is worth, you’re much better off having a staffer tell this tale than a politician. Politicians share a lot of characteristics with authors. Both politicians and authors can be unreliable, sometimes notoriously so. They can’t be trusted to tell the truth, the whole truth, or even a reasonable representation of the truth. They know more than they say. They deliberately withhold vital information. They’re biased. Their interests may differ from the interests of those they serve.

I like to think I’m better than that. Here I am making an upfront disclosure that you rarely get from a politician or an author. Take it as a sign of good faith. After all, you don’t know me yet. In the end, however, only you can judge me. Just withhold that judgment for a while because I can’t tell you everything at once. I know that if I’m too boring or too insistent, or if I give you too much information, you’ll avoid me, and I’ll fail at my job. I must be interesting enough to hold your attention against others who compete for your time. I don’t want you to go elsewhere for facts or advice. I feel obliged to be fair and honest when there is more than one side to the story. I don’t want to be ignored. I want you to listen to me. I want you to agree with me. If you understand me now, you might have the makings of a Capitol Hill staffer, or worse, an elected Member of Congress.

One thing to remember in Washington is that the story itself isn’t necessarily the most important part. What matter is who reports the story, who spins the story, who gets the credit or the blame, and, especially, who leaks the story and why. People on Capitol Hill don’t necessarily care who got murdered or who did it. True insiders want to know what’s in it for them. Does it have any political consequence? Have I lost a source? Will I now be able to block or advance a legislative proposal? Can I get more access to my boss, a more important job, a better parking space?

That’s enough for now. Let’s get on with it. And remember that in Washington, it’s not over until someone holds a press conference.

Chapter 1: Labor Day

Everywhere else, it was Labor Day. The end of summer, last day at outdoor swimming pools, a final barbeque, start of the school year, harbinger of cold weather, and beginning of baseball's pennant drive. Labor Day is one of the great dividing lines of the American calendar.

It was Labor Day in Washington, D.C., too, of course. But knowing it’s Labor Day in Washington tells you nothing more about the season than you would know if you were told that it’s raining in Philadelphia. Washington doesn't live on a January-to-December calendar like the rest of the country. The city – at least the part that makes it the Capitol of the United States – operates instead on the congressional calendar and the election cycle. On Capitol Hill, Labor Day is the end of the summer congressional recess.

Labor Day in a presidential election year isn't much of a holiday. When a President – and especially a new President – is about to be chosen, politics is all consuming. Nothing else much matters. The end of one presidency is sometimes even more important than the beginning of the next. The end of a second term is a guarantee of major change no matter who gets elected President. Many count the days until the stinking corpse of the outgoing Administration is finally dragged off stage.

If there’s also a real prospect for a change of control in the House or Senate in the upcoming election, the tension on Capitol Hill can be palpable. Everything that happens or doesn’t happen is influenced directly by the thought that next year could be significantly better, worse, or different. Under those conditions, each congressional staff member is like the manager of a mediocre baseball team. A staffer never knows if he (or she) will have a job next season. Personal merit rarely has anything to do with the decision. A staffer’s fate rests with how others perform, the vagaries of the electorate, and the inner workings of the congressional seniority system.

Labor Days in odd numbered years when no election looms are innocuous on the Hill. That first year after a presidential election – especially when a new President is in office – is like May in the baseball calendar. In the absence of the political equivalent of a managerial crisis, injury to a key player, or early season losing streak, it’s a calm and maybe even hopeful time. The beer is still cold, and many things still seem possible. That hope is an illusion, but the city falls for it every time.

The third year in the cycle is also innocuous, except the beer has long since gone flat. There’s still a chance for an occasional success, but most start aiming toward next season, next election, and a chance to start over.

Year five, when a President was reelected, is permeated by the realization that the end of the President’s tenure is in sight. A reelected incumbent becomes a lame duck on election night, and the President’s power and remaining agenda melt month by month for four long years. Year seven is the same but further along toward the inevitable end of an administration that has worn out its welcome.

The Labor Day of this story occurred decades ago, long before the Internet, cell phones, surveillance cameras, and 24-hour cable television news. It was 1978, one of those ordinary election years, when no President was being elected and when no one expected a change in control of Congress. Congress was about to reassemble to begin its rush to a pre-election adjournment.

The Hill was empty on Labor Day itself. On big holidays and in the summer, people in Washington tend to go home, that is, where they came from to Washington. On meaningless holidays, like St. Patrick’s Day or Halloween, people stay in town and have parties. On Labor Day, Washington quietly waits for the return of people and politics.

Frank Butcher, a staffer on the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Investigations and the best congressional investigator of his day, worked in his Capitol Hill office on Labor Day. Butcher could be found in his office on many weekends and holidays. That was normal. What wasn't normal was that someone entered his office in the Senate Russell Office Building mid-afternoon on Labor Day and stabbed him.

Butcher wasn’t the only murder victim in America that Labor Day. There were eighteen other murders around the nation. But only in Washington did the investigation provoke a constitutional crisis. Only in Washington did the investigation personally involve the Director of the FBI. Only in Washington did a suspect negotiate the terms of the investigation with the investigator. Only in Washington were the local police not allowed to investigate the murder. Only in Washington did someone have to specify that a poker game was “off the record.”

Everywhere else, a murder investigation is an ordinary murder investigation. Except on Capitol Hill. That’s the story here.

Chapter 2: The Rainout

One of the politicians returning to Washington that Labor Day was William Benjamin Milton, Senior Senator from Pennsylvania. Ben Milton was not up for reelection that year, and he planned to spend Labor Day afternoon watching the Philadelphia Phillies play an important game against the Chicago Cubs. The Phillies were only a half game out of first place.

But it happened to be raining that day in Philadelphia, and the game was in doubt. Milton wasn’t the only fan waiting to learn if there would be baseball that day. He had one advantage that others lacked, inside information.

His phone rang mid-morning. “Senator, this is Jack Tate from the National Weather Bureau’s Philadelphia Office. I understand that you’re planning to go to the game today. Unfortunately, we’re now 98% certain that the game will be rained out. We don’t expect the rain to stop until sometime tonight. I don’t think that there’ll be a definitive word from the Phillies until noon. They’re hoping for a miracle. They don’t want to give up a sell-out crowd easily.”

“Thanks, Jack. Sorry to hear that. I wanted to go to the game, and I hate to see them play a doubleheader this late in the season to make it up. That kills the pitching staff, but what can you do?”

Jack had an answer. “How about a domed stadium? That would help.”

Milton was amused. “Now you tell me. I need some more notice on major projects like that. Besides, if I pushed for a dome here, I’d have to do the same thing in Pittsburgh. The Philly fans would hate it more that the Pirates got a dome than they’d like having one themselves.”

“You’re probably right about that. I don’t know how you manage to represent Philadelphia and Pittsburgh at the same time. Not to mention upstate.”

“No one ever said it was easy being a Senator from this state. Anyway, thanks Jack. I’m grateful as always for the notice. I guess I’ll head back to Washington early. Meanwhile, if there is something that your office needs that costs less than a domed stadium, just let me know.”

The weather alert was a Washington courtesy of a sort, but with a purpose. Its origin dated back to an Appropriations Committee hearing years earlier and a sidebar conversation between the Senator and the Director of the National Weather Service. Having learned that the Senator was an avid baseball fan, the Director conspired with the Senator’s staff whenever a Phillies game was on the Senator’s schedule. The Director often called the Senator directly with weather news, especially when the Weather Service needed help with its appropriations. Otherwise, he left it to local weather bureau staff to call. Even on a holiday, calling a Senator was a prized assignment, and the Philly office staff fought for the opportunity.

Milton caught the 1 p.m. Metroliner instead of the ball game. Only the naive might ask whether the Senator had any difficulty getting a reservation on the train. The Senator's scheduler had a reservation for him on every train leaving Philadelphia that day between 9 a.m. and midnight. To be safe, she also had reservations for him on several flights to Washington.

The Senator expected that the rest of the congressional session would be ordinary. He viewed the looming off-year election – when all of the House and one-third of the Senate stand for reelection – like the Minor League World Series. Knowledgeable fans know about it, but few others care. Only insiders worry whether Representative Smith will finally lose his precarious seat in the 4th District of Indiana. It doesn't matter to normal people. It may not matter much to the voters in the 4th District either.

It matters a lot, however, in Washington. If Congressman X isn’t reelected, his chairmanship of the Subcommittee on Widgets becomes vacant. Congressman Y, next in line in seniority, takes over Widgets, leaving his chairmanship of the Gizmo Subcommittee vacant. That means that a junior House Member, chairman of no subcommittee, moves up the ranks and obtains a bigger share of power. So does his staff. The tree of subcommittee chairmanships has many branches in both House and Senate. Sharp staffers can follow each branch down to the last leaf, assessing the possibilities for political power, the chances for legislation, and their own personal prospects. For his part, Milton was next in line to be chairman of the Judiciary Committee. This election would not affect his wait. The current chairman was a feet-firster. That is, he wouldn’t give up his safe Senate seat until he was dead.

On the train, Senator Milton spent most of his time reading newspapers, the Philadelphia Bulletin, the Philadelphia Inquirer, and the New York Times. The Senator was in his late 50s, tall, still handsome, with a full head of partly gray hair. He didn’t have the imperial look that many long-time Senators achieved. He looked more like a lawyer going to meet a client. He was virtually the only one on the train wearing a suit. He was reluctant to appear in public in casual clothes. He even wore suits to the ballpark, although he didn’t look that out of place sitting in a private box. It took years before he appeared in public without a tie and jacket.

Rod, a member of his staff, sat next to the Senator, appearing to read a book. He patiently waited for the chance to engage Milton’s attention. Rod was about 30, dressed in jeans and a knit shirt, with a thick briefcase. He seemed interchangeable with any of D.C.’s bright young Capitol Hill staffers. He appeared casual, but he worried that the train ride would end before he had his chance with Milton.

When Milton was finished reading one of the papers, he put it aside, turned to Rod, and asked for a progress report on the rest of the session. “Let’s go over the batting order for the month. What about Appropriations?”

Rod sat up straight and smiled narrowly. This was what he was waiting for. “Yes, Senator. We’ve got a few items in the Treasury Postal bill.”

“I recall that we’ve got money in there for a Customs Service building in Philly and…what’s the other thing, Rod?”

“An ATF office in Pittsburgh.” Rod didn’t need to consult notes. It was all in his head.

“Right. I knew there was something else. Where does it stand?”

Rod answered, “The staff is meeting today. The word is that no one’s rocking the boat on this bill so our funds should be okay. It’s an appropriations bill. They mostly protect the important pork barrel projects, then take the House and Senate numbers, divide by two, and they’re done.”

“I wish that technique worked for legislation. What else are we watching? What about the insurance privacy bill?”

The insurance privacy bill started a year earlier with a first-class scandal uncovered by the New York Times. The Health Information Association, a non-profit run jointly by the industry, had been caught playing games with its records, and a scandal mushroomed.

Life insurance companies created the HIA to pool information on insurance applicants. If one company turns down an applicant because of a heart condition, the company tells the HIA. If that same guy later applies to another company, that company checks with HIA. If the applicant didn’t disclose his heart condition to the second company, the HIA rats him out.

That was all ordinary, behind-the-scenes, activity. At least it was until the Times reported that the insurance industry used HIA data to classify job applicants and to evaluate the health of principals in business deals. Those uses were strictly out of bounds by HIA rules. That revelation by itself might not have resulted in anything other than a one-day story. It was the alleged political use of HIA information that galvanized attention in Washington and led to the insurance privacy bill.

No one knew that Pennsylvania freshman Congressman Peter Doyle, winner of his seat by 419 votes, had Addison's disease. Yet two weeks after the condition was reported to the HIA on Doyle’s insurance application, the information appeared in the press. No one could prove that HIA was the source, but the circumstantial evidence was strong because all other knowledgeable parties had known the information for years. The Times story put HIA in the focal point, and that made it easier for Doyle to use the scandal to deflect the significance of the disease on his capabilities and to portray himself as a victim of an industry plot.

The Doyle disclosure upset Members on both sides. More than a few worried that their own health records could end up in the newspapers, especially those with a medical history of substance abuse, sexually transmitted disease, or mental health treatment. Everyone saw the risk. The result was the Privacy of Insurance Records Act. It was Doyle’s bill in the House. Milton was the Senate sponsor.

Rod gave an update. “Staffers are meeting again today, but there hasn’t been much progress. Ed’s covering it for us. The main problem is the narrow scope of the Senate bill. We only managed to get the bill out of the Senate by framing it as an amendment to the criminal code. You’ll recall that was your idea.”

Milton did not recall. “Was it? Which one of you came up with that?”

“It was Ed. That was the only way to do it without stepping directly on the toes of the Banking or Commerce Committees. This way, neither committee has jurisdiction, only Judiciary. Those committees are unhappy, industry opposes it strongly, and the cops don’t like the restriction on their access to HIA information. Cops don’t object so much about the House bill, which focuses mostly on remedies for individuals. Only the Senate bill restricts disclosure of insurance industry data, and the cops hate that.”

The Senator shifted in his seat and seemed skeptical. “It sounds like there are a lot of players, too many disagreements, and not much time. And the differences aren’t divisible by two.”

Rod agreed. “The staff’s been meeting for a while to see if a deal is possible. If we get agreement, the formalities can follow. The downside is that the informality makes it easier for the insurance lobbyists to attend. Their friends on the staff bring them along to serve as “experts.”

Milton wanted to know more. “Remind me, how long has this been going on?”

“The House passed its bill last year. We only got the Senate bill out right before the August recess. No one blocked it because it was presumed that the bill would die at the next stage. The odds of progress aren’t good because the insurance industry is trying hard to kill the bill. That’s why it’s been a good bill for fundraising. Industry comes to every fundraiser it can, not that it didn’t before.”

The Senator took off his reading glasses. “You know, Rod, I’ve always wondered about the leak. Doyle’s a multi-millionaire. He financed his own campaign. Why did he want a lousy $50,000 life insurance policy that he knew he couldn’t get? It doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe he applied for the policy and leaked the information himself.”

Rod was intrigued by the idea. “Interesting thought. But if it got out that he was the source, it would kill his campaign. The scandal is helping his reelection.”

Milton had no real hope for the bill. “Well, I’d like to see this bill pass. But I don’t see that there’s much I can do to help. If the staff can’t resolve it, attention from Members isn’t likely to matter. We’d probably make it worse.”

Rod said a little nervously, “To be honest, that’s been the staff’s view as well. The only ones pushing for Member involvement are those on the industry’s side. Industry wants to erect every possible barrier. There’s still a chance because the House guys and Doyle care a lot about this bill. I figure that whoever cares the most usually wins.”

“That’s not a bad rule of thumb, but I’ve found in my years in the Senate that it’s no guarantee. It’s more likely to be true if the person who cares the most is against something. Do we have anything on underhanded industry tactics to give to the papers?”

Rod shook his head and shrugged. “We don’t have anything dramatic enough to warrant a news story. It’s all campaign contributions and business as usual. But we might get there if the bill progresses, and industry gets more desperate.”

“Keep me as informed as you think I need to be.” The Senator rolled his hand, signaling it was time to move on. “What else?”

“The Death Bill.” At that moment, the train passed a cemetery, and Rod pointed it out to the Senator. “Good timing, and maybe a good metaphor.”

Milton knew more about this one. “I find it hard to believe that bill made it all the way to a conference committee. It’s an amazing story. You weren’t around for the Research Time Fraud Scandal, were you?”

Rod shook his head. “No. It was before I got here, but I heard the basic story from Frank. What’s the connection to the Death Bill?” Rod knew all about that scandal, one of the Senator’s past investigative triumphs, but he never heard the story directly from the Senator. He was happy to listen to the Senator’s version.

“The connection is Dr. Norman Nelson. He became the fall guy in the research scandal, not that it was his fault. He decided to rehabilitate himself by taking up the definition of death as his cause. He got his home state Senator to introduce a bill for a national commission. Nelson worked it like a pro. He linked the proposal to the demand for kidneys and other organs for transplants. A big issue is how to tell when someone was actually dead so you could take the organs without being a ghoul. Every time there was a story about a child who needed a transplant, Nelson used it to get support for the bill. No Member could supply a kidney to a kid in need, but they could cosponsor legislation to study the problem. It was an easy press release and a great local news story. Before you knew it, everyone was on board, and the bill passed. And Nelson got to be chairman too.”

Rod asked, “Were you a cosponsor?”

“Of course. I didn’t have anything personal against Nelson. He took his fate in the scandal well and didn’t come after us. I told the White House that I had no objection to his appointment as chairman. I heard that he was unhappy that everyone called it the ‘Death Commission’ and not the ‘Nelson Commission’.”

“Even before I started working for you, I noticed all the attention that the Commission got from the press.”

The Senator dropped his glasses on the papers on his lap. “You’re not kidding. The press loved the Death Commission. Headline writers had a field day. Wherever the Commission met, the papers called it ‘Death Row.’ Senator Rockford, the Commission's sponsor, used to pass around the clippings at caucus meetings. I remember a few of the headlines. When the Commission met at Aspen, it was ‘Death Takes a Holiday’. When it met in Dallas, it was ‘Death and Texas.’ When the Commissioners visited the Archbishop Somebody Medical Center in Nebraska, it was ‘Death Comms to the Archbishop.’ Anyway, the Commission proposed the ‘Uniform Definition of Death Act.’ We passed it a long time ago, but I’ve lost track of what the House did….” The Senator blinked, trying to remember.

Rod knew. “The House passed it too not long ago, and it’s now in another staff conference. They’ve been meeting regularly for two weeks. The disagreements aren’t all that major, but they’re tricky. Religious groups jumped on the bill after it passed the House, and that made the politics much more complicated. I can’t tell what will happen.”

“Is Nelson still involved?”

“Yeah. I hear he’s at all the meetings.”

“Nelson wants a trophy law. Well, it’s okay with me, Rod. I hope it passes, but it sounds like there’s a lot to overcome. What do you hear about adjournment? It’s when we adjourn and not what we do before we adjourn that matters to most of my colleagues.”

Rod reported a rumor. “I heard from a House staffer that the Speaker’s wife has tickets for a cruise starting September 28. The theory is that we have to be out by then.”

“I heard one like that one a few years ago from another Senator who supposedly got it directly from the Speaker. We were absolutely guaranteed to be out at the end of September. Yeah, right. We adjourned on October 15th that year. What about a lame duck?”

“There are rumors, but it’ll depend on what passes and what doesn’t. I’ve never been here for one. Coming back for another session after election sounds promising and scary at the same time.”

“I tell you, Rod, there’s always a lame duck rumor. Luckily, they rarely happen. Sometimes a lame duck lasts through December, and nothing passes. One year, though, we got a ton of legislation through at the last minute, after Christmas, if you can believe that. Anything can happen in a lame duck. You remember the old line, ‘No man’s life, liberty, or property are safe while the Legislature is in session’? That goes double during a lame duck session. It can be an amazing time. Dead bills come back to life like zombies. Live bills fall over dead in an instant.”

The Senator reached for another newspaper. “Well, it’ll all get done. Or not. There isn’t much of great note left on the agenda, and I expect it to be dull for remainder of the session.”

Rod’s face time was over. The Senator put his glasses back on and turned pages. Rod waited a minute and then picked up a book and appeared to read. When the train reached Washington, the Senator and Rod left together, walking through a mostly empty Union Station, a cavernous old train station in desperate need of rehabilitation. The crowds hadn’t started to build for the end-of-holiday rush.

It was still raining lightly that day in Washington, and the Capitol grounds just beyond the train station seemed empty. At midday, a few tourists wandered around despite the weather. The Capitol was fully open to tourists back then, but most stuck to the Smithsonian museums on the Mall. In any event, tourists blend into the background like the trees and aren't noticed by insiders. To the casual onlooker, Capitol Hill appeared damp and deserted. Groups of staffers worked in various locations on the Hill, hidden from public view.

It was understood without speaking that Rod would accompany the Senator until he reached his office or his home. Despite the drizzle, Senator Milton decided to walk to his office. Rod, of course, had an extra umbrella. It was a short walk to the Russell Senate Office Building. There were two Senate buildings then, with a third under construction. Each building was more than a full city block long, four stories above ground – so as not to undermine the view of the much taller Capitol Building itself – constructed of the finest marble and granite and protected by the Senate’s own police force. It was a proper setting for a legislative house that considered itself to be the world’s greatest deliberative body.

As they approached the closest entrance at First and C Streets NE, it was apparent that something unusual was going on. About 30 people stood outside the building door. D.C. police cars, an ambulance, a fire truck, and a dozen other vehicles parked haphazardly in the street nearby. Milton recognized three reporters in the crowd, who approached, asking questions that he didn’t understand.

Ignoring the reporters, Milton pushed through the crowd, and opened the door. A short, overweight, uniformed Senate police officer who looked more like a college student than a cop stood nervously inside, held out his arms, and tried to stop the Senator from proceeding. “Our orders are not to let anyone in the building.” The crowd quieted and leaned forward to listen.

Milton scowled. He glared at the cop and started to speak, but the officer folded before Milton said three words. “But I guess ...umm…I’m not …. we don’t…. umm…no one expected a Senator here today, and… umm…it’s probably okay…. you can come in, Senator Milton.” The cop may have been a kid, but he could recognize Senators, as could all Capitol Hill cops.

He tried to reassert his authority. “But only you.” He shook his head and pointed a finger, meaning that Rod could not enter. Rod, now uncertain of his status, stopped, but Milton pulled him along, ignoring the cop. Milton said slowly, fiercely, and with a senatorial finality that no mere policeman could withstand, “I’ll take responsibility for him.” The cop looked around, hoping for backup, but there was none, and he knew resisting a Senator was futile. He couldn’t exactly pull a gun or lay a hand on a Senator, and especially Senator Milton, of all Senators. The cop let them both pass.

Once they were inside and the door closed, the officer told Milton that a staffer had been murdered.

“What? Whose office? Where?” the Senator demanded, now flustered himself. He turned and stared blankly at Rod, as if he expected Rod to know.

The cop shrugged. “I don’t know. No one told me much. All I know is that it happened on the fourth floor, and I wasn’t supposed to let anyone in. They found the body about an hour ago.”

The Senator’s office was on the second floor, so he was relieved at first. But a dim bulb lit up in his head. Turning to Rod, he asked, “Doesn’t our Subcommittee have space somewhere on the fourth floor?”

Rod already was pale and anxious because he knew all about the fourth-floor office. “Frank’s office is on the fourth floor.” He turned to the officer. “Male or female?”

“Sorry. I don’t know.”

The Senator was more than a little apprehensive. “I haven’t visited a crime scene since I was a prosecutor. We’d better go find out.”

Chapter 3: The Confrontation

Once on the fourth floor, Rod saw from a distance that the office, with the open door and a mob of people nearby, belonged to Frank Butcher. Butcher was the Senator’s chief investigator on the Judiciary Committee’s Subcommittee on Investigations, and Rod’s close colleague. Rod felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Another young Senate policeman, scared and uncertain, stood at the elevator when they got out. He made no attempt to stop the Senator.

Rod asked, “Who is it? Is it Frank? Frank Butcher?”

The cop, this one even younger than the one at the front door, nodded yes. “The Chief’s down there,” pointing down the hall. The Senator and Rod glanced at each other briefly. The two of them turned toward the assembled mass of people at the other end of a long hall, each lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

The news stunned both Rod and the Senator. “I can’t believe this,” Rod said quietly. “I talked to him on Friday. We were supposed to meet tomorrow morning.”

Milton whispered, “You can’t run investigations the way he did without making enemies. Still, I never would have expected….” His voice trailed off.

Outside Butcher’s office, the Chief of the Senate Police stood, wearing a paint-stained T-shirt and white overalls, with a badge pinned crookedly on the shirt. The area in front of the office was roped off, with the door to the office open. Six Capitol Hill police, along with a dozen D.C. police and FBI agents and twenty or so spectators stood in the vicinity, peeking into the office, staring at a pool of congealed blood. There was no body visible. The Chief was like a deer in headlights, pacing outside the open office, visibly unsure what to do.

As they neared the office, Rod stopped the Senator and spoke to him with a soft voice. “Frank’s office is filled with open investigative files, information from confidential sources, and evidence about political appointees, CIA and FBI agents, and who knows what. If the police or FBI rummage through the office, it will breach promises of confidentiality. It could identify informants all over the city. It’d be a disaster. You need to do something to protect Frank’s records. There’s got to be a senatorial privilege, or something, that applies here.”

The comment jarred the Senator back to reality. “You’re right. I should’ve thought of that.” He scanned the scene and immediately recognized the confusion and the lack of leadership.

“What’s been done here?” he asked the Chief, who appeared visibly surprised, nervous, and relieved all at the same time as he turned to face the Senator.

“Oh. Hello, Senator. I’m glad you’re here. This is awful. One of my men found the body of Frank Butcher about an hour ago. He was stabbed in his office. We immediately called the D.C. medical examiner, the FBI, and the D.C. police. The medical examiner took photos and, two minutes ago, removed the body.” He pointed toward the elevator at the end of another hallway, but the examiner and the body were gone. “This is awful. This is awful….”

“I’m trying to keep order here and figure out what to do. I was going to call you shortly. There’s never been a murder here before, and I…I…”

Milton nodded in the direction of the local police and FBI agents. “And them?”

“They’re fighting over who has jurisdiction here.”

Milton asked, “Why aren’t you in charge?”

“I guess I am. I don’t know. But...” He began to whisper.

“I got to tell you, this is the first murder I’ve seen since my days on the Paw Paw police force, and we didn’t have many murders. The local police say it’s their jurisdiction, and the FBI says that a murder in a federal building is a federal crime so it’s their jurisdiction. All the resources I’ve got here are college kids with patronage jobs who work weekends and holidays. We don’t have any real forensic capabilities. We don’t have any criminal investigators. I’d rather let someone with experience go over the crime scene, but I don’t know who should do it. I only got here a few minutes ago myself. I was painting my house….”

Milton turned to an FBI agent wearing gloves with his tie tucked in his shirt. “I’m Ben Milton. Frank Butcher worked for me. Have you done anything in the office other than deal with the body?”

“No, sir. We got pictures and then we wanted to get the body out of there as quickly as we could, and we did that. We’re preparing to examine the rest of the crime scene.”

Milton objected. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

The agent looked surprised. “There’s been a murder, Senator. We need to examine the crime scene. That’s the routine. What do you propose we do instead?”

“This is a U.S. Senate office. It’s a Senate Committee office. My staffer’s office. It’s my office. We need to be more deliberate. I don’t know who has jurisdiction here. We need to recognize that first. We may have a big problem, a constitutional problem.”

The agent responded, “I don’t know, Senator, it’s a murder investigation. We collect evidence, talk to witnesses, find clues. What else do you have in mind?”

Milton was unsure for a second, but then he had an idea. “Is Charlie Parisi in town?” Milton knew that the FBI Director lived on Capitol Hill.

“As far as I know, Senator,” the agent answered. “I believe he has already been advised of the murder. That’s standard for a high-profile crime like this.”

“Call him and tell him to get over here.” Milton spoke sharply and immediately regretted his tone as it quieted the crowd.

“Excuse me, Senator, but it would be highly unusual to ask the Director to come to a murder scene. We have our own protocols for investigations, and they don’t involve the Director. I’m the Special Agent in charge here.”

“Excuse me, Agent….”

“Hughes. David Hughes”

Milton continued. “Thanks. With all due respect, Agent Hughes, we have a problem that’s going to have to be resolved above your pay grade. Maybe above mine too. We’re dealing with the protection of confidential investigatory files and the constitutional prerogatives of the Senate.”

The Senator repeated his request in a softer tone and a lowered voice. “Would you please call the Director and tell him that Senator Milton personally requested that he come here. I know he lives on the Hill, not far away. Tell him I said that his presence would be very helpful. I expect that he’ll respond favorably to a request from me. Let’s hold up on everything else here until he comes. Is that agreeable to you?”

The agent didn’t quite know how to respond. He’d never heard of a similar request. He wondered whether the Senator should be treated as a suspect. Milton interrupted the agent’s thought, “Would you be happier if I made the call? I’ll call him if you won’t.” That was enough to get action.

“No, sir. I’ll do it.”

“And you’ll hold off on everything else until he arrives?”

Hughes was unhappy but didn’t feel that he had a choice. “Okay. Will you agree to stay out of that office until I get a response from the Director?”

Milton nodded in agreement and turned to the Chief. “Find this man a telephone.”

Milton then said quietly, “While you’re at it, go put on something that will make you look like a policeman and not a handyman.” The Chief’s face turned red.

The Chief and the agent went down the hall, trailed by several Capitol Hill policemen and FBI agents. Everyone else stood there staring, whispering, waiting to see what came next. A few people in the crowd had been crying.

While they waited, the Senate policeman who found the body repeated the story of the discovery for the Senator. There wasn't much to tell.

Within a few minutes, Charles Parisi, FBI Director and former federal district court judge, arrived along with an entourage of four more FBI agents. Parisi was in his 60s, six feet tall, mostly bald, and dressed casually in dark blue slacks and a yellow knit shirt as if on his way to play golf. He was right out of central casting for a senior statesman, perfect for an FBI Director. He carried himself with authority and self-confidence.

As he came in, several new people had joined the crowd, including the reporters who had been outside earlier. Milton’s staffer nodded in their direction to let Milton know that they were there. Neither was surprised that the reporters found a way into the building, and no one thought for a second about asking them to leave.

Milton and Parisi shook hands. “Thanks for coming, Charlie.” They began to speak quietly. Milton said that he arrived on the train and walked into the middle of the crime scene. The crowd strained to hear, as did the others. Rod was nearby.

The Senator rambled on, still in a state of disbelief. “How could something like this happen on Capitol Hill? Butcher is on my staff. He’s worked for me for years. He is...he was… the best investigator on the Hill. His files are filled with allegations and investigations covering misconduct in almost every agency in town, including the Bureau, the CIA, the White House. Butcher had a lot of enemies from his past investigations, and some will be pleased that he’s dead. But… this just isn’t the way things happen on the Hill. We yell at each other. We write nasty press releases. We issue subpoenas. We make accusations. It’s how we play the game. We make policy and laws, and none of it is pretty, pleasant, or perfect. It just isn’t personal. It’s politics. We do character assassination from time to time, but this isn’t Rome where you murdered someone so you could become emperor. That doesn’t happen on the Hill.”

Parisi waited for the Senator to finish with his arms folded on his chest. “Well, it’s happened now. I can’t recall any similar incident, and neither could any of my guys. I have people going through our records, but this is a new one for us. We want to start our investigation immediately, if you have no objections.”

Milton shook his head, stood taller, and spoke louder. “I don’t think that I can let you do that. The records in that office belong to my subcommittee, to the Senate. I can’t turn those files over to the FBI. I can’t let your people see our raw investigative records.”

As they spoke, the Capitol Hill Chief returned, now wearing a police jacket over his T-shirt and overalls. He stood a distance away.

Parisi pointed to the Chief. “You want Bozo the Cop over there to handle the investigation?” The chief nodded and waved at what he thought was an acknowledgement of his role.

Milton asked about jurisdiction over crimes in a Senate Office Building. Parisi replied that there was no question but that this was a federal crime, and the FBI was in charge of the investigation. He cited the relevant federal statute. Parisi then turned to the D.C. police in the area and announced that this was now an official FBI matter and that they could leave. No one moved. The locals knew that they wouldn’t win a fight with the FBI, but they wanted to see what came next. It was a free show and a good one so far.

Milton asked, “What do you propose to do?”

“My agents will do the usual for a murder. You know the routine as well as anyone. You may not have done this for a while, but you still remember. We collect fingerprints and physical evidence. We go through the office and the files. We also need to see who else is in the building, interview any witnesses, and we may need to examine other offices for evidence. This is all normal for a murder. Given the location and the publicity, we have to be as thorough as possible. It could take a few days to process the office.”

Milton scowled and shook his head slowly while Parisi talked. He then spoke again, louder and more insistently than before. “I can’t let your people go through that office. It’s filled with confidential investigative files. We’ve got evidence of wrongdoing by people all over government. Including the Bureau. Including people high up in the Administration. People from agencies all over town. Including Members of Congress, for all I know. We use confidential informants. I can’t risk exposure of ongoing investigations or our sources. People confided in Butcher and counted on him for secrecy. You of all people have to understand that.”

“I do, but we have a murder here, and we need to investigate it. The records in that office are prime source material for a murder investigation. Your committee’s process doesn’t trump a murder investigation.” Parisi spoke softly but deliberately.

Milton did not budge. “I disagree. We asked the Bureau for access to some of its investigatory files a few years ago. It was before your watch, but I think you know about it. Butcher had an open investigation into possible corruption in the Bureau, but your predecessor screamed like a stuck pig about protecting the FBI investigatory process and confidential informants. The agency never gave a file or an inch. There’s no question that Congress had the right to those files, but your guys fought us to a deadlock. I have the same problem here. You may have the responsibility to investigate, but I can’t turn over Frank’s files to you. It’s the same reason you resisted our request. It’s even more important. For all I know, someone at the Bureau could have had a motive to kill Frank.”

“And for all I know…hang on a minute.” The Director paused, motioned to one of his agents, whispered to him briefly. The agent went off at a quick march.

The discussion between Parisi and Milton escalated, becoming more insistent, more argumentative, more formal. The crowd kept quiet. A public confrontation of this sort was extraordinary. The reporters, writing furiously, had worked their way close to where the Senator and the Director stood.

Milton and Parisi, both experienced trial lawyers, were used to formal arguments in a courtroom, in a hearing room, and elsewhere. Their well-developed legal instincts took over as the surprise of events overwhelmed their normal political awareness of time, place, crowds, and, especially, reporters. Both shifted into advocacy mode despite the unaccustomed, unscripted, and virtually unprecedented public forum for discussion of a disagreement between branches of government.

“Senator, I can’t let you interfere with a federal criminal investigation. You of all people should know that. The FBI must do its job and will do its job.”

Milton got more official. “Let me remind you, Mr. Director, that this is the United States Senate.” He emphasized Senate. “We’re a separate branch of government. We have our own…” He started to say, “police force,” but a glance at the Chief stopped him cold.

“…rights under the United States Constitution. We have our own rules recognized by the Constitution. The Constitution’s Speech and Debate Clause protects our records, and papers, and investigatory files. The work of the Judiciary Committee is absolutely privileged under that Clause. We are not subject to review by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“I know all about the Constitution, Mr. Chairman. You’ll remember that I taught constitutional law at the University of….”

“I know where you taught, but that doesn’t change the Constitution.” Their voices grew edgier. “And it doesn’t change the prerogatives of the Senate either. I can’t allow your people to interfere with ongoing work of my committee. My staffer may be dead, but the investigations he started under my direction will continue under my direction. Everything he did happened with my personal knowledge and approval.”

No one noticed as Rod rolled his eyes at that last comment. The Senator kept going. “His files are the official files of the United States Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Investigations. I’m the Chairman. Those are my files. The files of a United States Senator, and not the records of a clerk. These files have the full protection of the Constitution, and they are not available for review at the whim of the FBI.”

Parisi didn’t yield an inch. “The Bureau is not here on a whim. We’re here because there was a murder in a federal building. A murder of a Senate staffer, your staffer, a federal employee in his official place of business, while conducting that business. I’m here personally because you asked me to come. I respect the Senate. I respect the rights of the Senate under the Constitution, but that isn’t the issue here. The issue is who killed Frank Butcher. We need to investigate this murder just like any other. We need to go over the crime scene. Fingerprints, evidence, records, suspects. You weren’t an Assistant U.S. Attorney for all those years without knowing the standard drill for murder investigations.”

Milton persisted. “But I never conducted one in the United States Senate. Or in a federal courthouse. That’s another branch of government with its own rights and privileges under the Constitution. Would you claim the right to rummage through the chambers at the Supreme Court too?”

Parisi smiled. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. That’s not the question here today. I’m not seeking to undermine the Senate, to trample Senatorial prerogatives, or to disrupt its activities. I’m here to investigate a murder of a federal employee in a federal building. The Senate authorized us to do this when it passed the law that made murder in a federal building a federal crime subject to investigation by the FBI and prosecution by the Department of Justice. We have all the jurisdiction that you gave us. The law doesn’t say that the murder of a federal official in a federal building is a federal crime unless it happens in a Senate Office Building. The Senate is not above the law.”

Milton pointed his finger at the Director as he spoke. “And the FBI is not above the Constitution. Nothing in that legislation could or did change the constitutional prerogatives of the United States Senate. The law didn’t exempt the Senate because the Constitution did. The constitutional privilege stands in spite of any legislation. We can’t amend the Constitution by passing a law. We didn’t waive Senatorial rights and privileges by passing a murder statute.”

The agent dispatched earlier by the Director returned and stood by the Director. Parisi excused himself for a minute. The agent whispered to him for a minute, pointed to the Senator and to Rod, and then moved to the side.

The Director spoke again, with a twinkle in his eye. “At least I know now that you aren’t a suspect, Senator.” Some in the crowd gasped while others giggled at the thought. The reporters kept writing. “We’ve confirmed that you were either in Philadelphia or on the Metroliner at the time we think the murder was committed. And we know your staffer …”

The Director indicated that he meant Rod, who was a few feet away during the debate.

“…was with you so he isn’t a suspect either.”

Milton snorted. “Well, that’s something. I guess we can call it progress of a sort.”

Milton suddenly took notice of the ever-increasing crowd. So did the Director. They realized that their debate was in the wrong place. Very much in the wrong place.

“Ummm…Maybe we should go down to my office to continue this discussion. Is that okay with you, Mr. Director?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Senator.”

Milton turned to his staffer. “Call the Majority Leader’s Office, and report what happened. Better call the Minority Leader too, I suppose. Get someone from Senate Legal Counsel to come to my office in case we need him.”

The staffer turned to leave, but moved slowly so he didn’t miss anything. Milton then turned to the police assembled in the area. He extended his arm with his index finger extended and swept it so that he pointed to every officer in turn. “No one is to go into that office. Is that clear to everyone?” He used his most imperious senatorial voice. Parisi stood next to him and voiced no other view.

Milton then called over the most senior of the Capitol Hill policemen. In a loud voice, the Senator asked the officer if he recognized him.

“Yes, Senator Milton. You’re Chairman of the Committee on Rules, which oversees the Capitol Hill Police, and Chairman of….”

Milton interrupted and spoke with a stage voice so that everyone could hear. “Good. I want you to stand guard here, right in front of this door. Your instructions are simple. No one enters that room until I get back.”

Parisi cleared his throat loudly.

“Make that until the Director and I get back. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”

“I repeat, no one goes in that room. Do you understand your orders?”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”

The Chief started to speak, and the Senator cut him off.

“You can go back to your office, Chief. Wait there, and I’ll call you if I need you.”

The Chief faded into the shadows.

Not to be outdone, the Director turned to his agents, puffed up his chest, and barked orders.

“I want two of you to stay here until we return. See that nothing disturbs the evidence. And don’t let anyone leave the building until they’ve been interviewed. Work with the Senate police to compile a list of everyone who is or was in this building today. See if anyone has any useful information. There’s plenty to do now without going into the office. Hughes, take charge until you hear otherwise.”

The Senator and the Director looked at each other and nodded. They were ready. They then walked silently, side-by-side, down the hall in the direction of an elevator. Several FBI agents followed at a discreet distance. The crowd was disappointed that the show had come to an end. The reporters hoped for a second act later in the day as they ran to phone in the story. Their account of the hallway debate became a fine, if dense, sidebar to the Post’s Monday morning eight-column headline story about the murder.

Chapter 4: The Arrangement

The Senator and the Director entered the Senator’s personal office through the private unmarked door, which the Senator unlocked. They hadn’t said a word since they left the fourth floor. The FBI agents following the Director set up shop in the hallway outside the closed door. It was now after 4 o’clock. The rain stopped but the sky was still overcast.

The Senator’s personal office was large and elegant, with a mahogany desk, leather chairs, a sofa facing the desk, long skinny tables around the walls, and plaques, awards, pictures, and Pennsylvania paraphernalia on the walls. There were pictures of the Senator with various Presidents, governors of Pennsylvania, and other officials. Other pictures showed the Senator at schools, ground breakings, state fairs, and landmarks. A Philadelphia Phillies baseball pennant hung down on the front side of the Senator’s desk, and a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball pennant could be seen hanging from a table along the wall. The staff carefully chose things so that something would be recognized by or appeal to nearly every citizen of Pennsylvania who came to the office. The decorations provided easy conversation starters for visitors.

Parisi took a seat on the sofa and stretched out comfortably. Milton went over to a small refrigerator near his desk. Both were visibly more relaxed than they were in the hall. They lapsed into a familiar routine.

“Drink?”

“I’ll have the usual.”

“I doubt that I have any ice today. It’s a holiday.”

Milton then saw a plastic bag full of ice sitting in a brown bucket next to the refrigerator.

“There’s ice. Janie must be here. I’m constantly amazed at her ability to anticipate my needs. Let me check.”

Milton turned, reached for the intercom, pushed a button, and said “Janie?”

The response was immediate. “Yes, Senator. What can I do for you?”

“I can’t believe that you’re here today. I didn’t expect anyone to be here on the holiday.”

“Well, when I saw that the game was rained out, I figured that you might show up here this afternoon.”

Milton asked if she heard about Frank Butcher.

“Yes. I’m in total shock. I called Doug and told him, and Eric. They’re both coming in. Rod just walked in. I also called Ed. Mary is at home calling the other Washington staff to let them know. I called someone from each district office, and I told them to pass the word. The story’s already on the radio. I tried to call Frank’s son, but there’s no answer. He lives in LA. I don’t know of any other family to call.”

“That’s all perfect, Janie. Thank you. Tell Eric to find a place where we can hold a press conference later.”

Milton looked at Parisi for a reaction to the press conference idea, and Parisi shrugged and then nodded approval.

Milton continued, “It won’t take long. And tell him I’ll need a written statement as well. He may need to coordinate the press conference with the FBI Press Office because the FBI Director is here with me.”

Parisi nodded approval again.

Janie said, “Rod’s calling the offices of both Leaders. They’re both out of town, but the word is being passed to them. The phone’s ringing off the hook, but I’m not answering any of the public numbers.”

“All good. Thanks.”

“Okay, Senator. Let me know what else you need.”

Milton went over to the refrigerator, took out a Tab and a Coke, and filled two glasses with ice. He handed the Tab and a glass to Parisi. Milton took off his jacket and sat down in an opposite chair. “I can’t believe that you still drink that stuff. Janie drinks it too. She’s the one who stocks a can here for you. You’re my only customer for Tab.”

Parisi laughed. “I’m grateful for that, but let’s not rehash the merits and demerits of diet soda today. We’ve had enough of a debate already over the Constitution.”

The Director took a drink and smiled. “We dug ourselves into a hole out there, Ben. Maybe we got too enthusiastic, especially with the press around. How’re we ever going to get out of this?”

Milton sat in a chair in front of the desk and draped a knee over the arm. “I don’t know, Charlie. We did get carried away. I was suddenly back in a courtroom arguing with opposing counsel. Or should I say with the judge? The two of us, hey, we can still play lawyer, can’t we? But I wasn’t joking around with my point about Senate prerogatives. If I let the FBI into that office, the Majority Leader would have my head. And the Majority Leader’s counsel would do worse. He’s rabid on this point. You remember a few years ago when Senator Andrews was under investigation for bribery? Counsel wouldn’t let the U.S. Attorney issue a subpoena, and he wouldn’t let Andrews volunteer any information. It was an amazing fight. You remember it?

Parisi nodded. “Sure. And my people still talk about it. They still hate it.”

Milton continued. “It all went on behind the scenes and out of the press, but counsel was insistent. He said that the Senate would take the case all the way to the Supreme Court before anything would be turned over. He promised to drag any demand for Senate documents up and down in the courts for years. Nobody here or there could stand up to him. Eventually, the prosecutor changed his focus to Andrews’ campaign office, where the prerogative problem didn’t exist. The case stalled for lack of good evidence, and they finally closed it when Andrews announced that he wouldn’t run for reelection. He was politically dead at that point anyway. In any event, we have the same issue here, and I don’t see it any differently. I can’t let an outsider into that office. Or at least into the files in that office. If you and I don’t find a way to handle this right now, it could take months to reach an agreement that everyone will accept.”

Parisi took a sip and put his feet up on the coffee table. “I agree with that. Who do you want to investigate the murder, Ben? It’s not like you have a competent police force up here. I wouldn’t hire your chief of police to paint my office, not that he doesn’t have the wardrobe for the job.”

Milton snorted. “He’s a story all by himself, but you’ll get no disagreement from me about his skills. What about the D.C police?” He stood and started to pace around the room.

Parisi was doubtful. “I don’t think much of them either, but they have more than their share of murder cases, and they do manage to clear cases now and then. I’d guess that Butcher didn’t have any open files on the D.C. police. But even if that’s true, I don’t see where that solves the prerogative problem. It’s all the same, them or us. We’re all outsiders to the Senate, and we’re all law enforcement agencies. And from my perspective, it would be a rotten precedent to defer a federal matter to local police. My folks would scream bloody…well, you know.”

“I understand that, Charlie.”

“And I can’t let targets of an investigation dictate the terms either. God, I’m happy that I was able to clear you so quickly, or I don’t think I could even have this conversation with you. We’d be in no-man’s land then. Tell me that you weren’t involved in any way with this murder.”

Milton did. “I was on that train, and I had no reason to kill him. No Senator needs to kill his own staffer, Charlie. I could fire him. I could freeze him out. I could make him report to someone else here. I could take away his signature authority. I could make his life so miserable that he’d quit. I could see to it that he’d never work in the Senate again. I’ve done all of those things in the past – or had someone else do it for me. I have plenty of ways to torture a staffer. Anyway, I worked well with Frank, even though I wouldn’t do everything he asked me to do.”

The Senator continued. “The truth is that while Butcher worked for me, it didn’t always seem that way. He had an intimidating style that was hard for me to deal with sometimes. I don’t think that I’d admit this…. even to another Senator, but he rarely asked me to do something. He sort of told me what he expected me to do, almost as if he was giving an order. I had to keep him in check from time to time. At least Frank understood when I killed – bad word today – stopped an investigation at the personal request of another Senator. I have to live here with the other Senators, and I can’t ignore that. He didn’t much like it if I interfered, but he took it. He often found another way to salvage something anyway.

“He had signature authority for his investigations. I managed to exercise control best when Butcher needed me to do something personally. If I flatly refused, he had no choice but to give in. Otherwise, he did what he thought he needed to do. That’s true for most staff, but Frank took it to the limit. Still, he wasn’t out of control. We got along fine. We had a good time playing games with agencies. He was my staffer, but it had much more of a flavor of a partnership, with him more as the managing partner, I hate to admit. Maybe it was because he was more my own age than the others. Most staffers are kids. They’re good, but they’re still kids.”

Parisi responded, “That’s an interesting way to describe it. I know that staff runs a lot of things up here without much supervision.”

Milton refilled his glass. “When my wife was alive, she was better at controlling my staff than I was. When I was new as chair of the subcommittee, I got maneuvered by a staffer into agreeing to hold an investigative hearing that made me uncomfortable. Somehow, I couldn’t or wouldn’t say no. Susan took charge. She basically ordered me to stay home that day. In the morning before the hearing, she called the staffer and said that I didn’t feel like being a Senator that day and wouldn’t be at the office or at the hearing. He couldn’t get anyone else to chair the hearing on short notice, and the investigation collapsed at that point. I was both relieved and embarrassed.”

Parisi was amused. “That’s a hell of a story. What happened?”

Milton answered. “The staffer was royally pissed and took another job a few weeks later. I was happy because I found it hard to face him. But the story reverberates around the office as a legend. It doesn’t take much to rock the staff back on their heels. Even now, years later, the staff is always slightly on edge on a hearing day until they see me in person. They don’t think that I know that, but I do. Anyway, I never did another no-show at my own hearing. I assert more control at an earlier stage when I’m not happy about where something is headed. If I show enough reluctance, the staff gives in before I have to give preemptory orders. You do learn how to be a Senator after a while. From time to time, you have to show the staff that they’re not always in control.”

Parisi asked, “Is there anyone on your staff who hated Butcher enough to kill him?”

Milton shook his head no. “I would hope not. He worked a lot recently with Rod, and they seemed to get along well. Either way, Rod was with me on the train. Frank had a big fight with my AA a few years ago over the research time fraud investigation. I got seduced by what Frank wanted to do, and my AA hated it. That was a major fight, but it all worked out well in the end. Butcher had occasional minor conflicts with other people on my staff, but none of it rose to the point of murder. Staff conflicts and jockeying for attention are standard everywhere on the Hill. Butcher treated Janie with the utmost respect, but so did everyone else after I fired Joan Lester.”

“What caused that?”

“Lester had been one of my long-time legislative assistants, and she got a promotion. It went to her head, and she thought that she could get access to me any time she wanted. Everyone on my staff wants nothing so much as time with me, and I have to control that. I let Janie be the bad cop. With a couple of exceptions, if staff wants to see me, they have to go through her. Anyway, Joan demanded an immediate appointment, and it turned into a shouting match. I heard it, came out of my office, and I fired Joan on the spot. I won’t let anyone abuse Janie. Except me, of course.

Milton laughed at himself. “Well, after that happened, no one else on the staff ever said a cross word to Janie. Ever. It also calmed down the ongoing petty animosity here. It’s another thing that I did that became a legend. Some unexpected behavior goes a long way.”

Parisi nodded in agreement. “I know that. Much to my regret, I can’t fire anyone like you can. The FBI has personnel rules. But I have other tools to keep my people in check. I can transfer the hell out of someone, and I do that when I need to. What happened to Joan? Could she have been mad at Butcher?”

Milton was doubtful. “She might have been jealous at Frank’s access to me, but others had the same access. It’s hardly grounds for murder. I cooled off the next day. I didn’t apologize exactly, but I helped her get a job over in the House with a member of the Pennsylvania delegation. She’s still there, and we get along okay now. We even joke about the firing. I don’t think she ever had much to do with Frank. His work didn’t overlap much with my legislative staff. Most of my personal office staffers work on constituent matters or legislation. Frank was rarely involved with any of that. He did his own thing. He didn’t usually have anything to do with the staffers on my other subcommittees either. Hell, I don’t have much to do with many of them. I have people working for me I barely recognize.”

Milton stared off in the distance, bringing up an old memory. “You know, Janie and Frank had a dust-up early on. Frank called her…. Wait. Let me get Janie to tell you.” He pushed the intercom button. “Janie, would you come in here?”

The door opened and Jane Thompson entered. She was forty-something, no more than 5 feet tall, about 25 pounds overweight, reasonably well dressed for someone from upstate Pennsylvania, but generally unattractive. If you talked to her on the phone, she sounded lovely, witty, and charming. In person, however, she was only witty and charming. She stood by the side of the sofa.

“Janie, tell Charlie about your first encounter with Frank.”

“Hello, Mr. Parisi. Nice to see you again, although I can’t say much for the circumstances. I first dealt with Frank shortly after he was hired. Frank was an unbelievable impressionist. He could sound like almost anyone, and he was really convincing on the telephone. He calls me one day using an outside line and says that he’s Simon Demopoulos.”

Milton interjected, “Simon was the incumbent who I beat a few elections ago to win my seat.”

Janie went on. “Senator Demopoulos has a distinctive voice, with a slight hint of a Greek accent. Frank says ‘This is Simon Demopoulos. I want to talk to Senator Milton to tell him that I plan to run against him in the next election.’ I almost had a heart attack. How was I going to tell that to Senator Milton? I’ve taken calls over the years from the President, the Speaker, Prime Ministers, high-ranking officials all over the world, and I’ve done it all without missing a beat. But that call just threw me. I had no idea what to say or what to do. After babbling for a minute, I hear laughing on the line and the voice says ‘This is Frank Butcher. I need to see the Senator.’ I was so flustered that I said nothing and gave him an appointment for the next day. I planned to let him have it with both barrels when he got here. He must have found out how mad I was because he walked in here with two dozen roses. That disarmed me. The card said ‘Never again. Frank.’ He kept his word, and we got along fine after that. I eventually saw the humor in it, but it took a while.”

Parisi smiled at the story. “I never met Butcher myself, but I knew something about his work and his reputation. People at the Bureau were afraid of him. They occasionally wanted to me refuse him a document, but I didn’t get involved. It was never quite important enough for me to go over his head to you. I can’t try to protect everyone in the Bureau all of the time.”

Jane glanced at the Senator for direction. “Anything else, Senator? Anybody need another soda?”

“No. Thank you, Janie.” She left.

Parisi asked, “So where are we now? What do we do?

The room was silent while the men thought.

Milton spoke first. “Let me tell you one reason this is so hard. But this is off the record – not that the rest of our discussion isn’t –

“Of course. We’re always off the record with each other.”

Milton lowered his voice. “Butcher is...was… investigating allegations about one of your Assistant Directors. I know about this one because I made Frank agree to tell me when he starts nosing around about major leaguers, people at the Assistant Secretary level or higher. Or anyone at the White House. He had authority to run after little leaguers on his own. The allegation has something to do with steering contracts to friends. I don’t know too many details, but I can say that Frank thought there was a suspicious pattern of contracting. This investigation started with a tip from…. well, I better not disclose too much here, but it definitely came from someone inside the Bureau. If your people got access to this file, you can see how it would create all kinds of conflicts and temptations. If the identity of the informant became known to anyone in the Bureau, you know it wouldn’t remain a secret. Our source, right or wrong, would be blackballed internally, and his career would be over. And if the target got wind of the details of the investigation, the trail would disappear.”

Parisi agreed. “You’re right. That’s exactly what would happen. Still, as long as we are off the record, I admit that I have one AD that I’d be happy to get rid of. A nice localized and personal scandal involving Sam Metcalf might suit me fine. He’s fat, pompous, arrogant, fastidious, petty, narrow-minded, and entrenched. I can’t touch him. If I knew it was him, I might be willing to help.”

Milton shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t remember who it is, and there may or may not be anything there. I can tell you that this isn’t the only ongoing investigation involving the Bureau. Most of Frank’s investigations never panned out. For every one that hit the papers, a dozen others fizzle midgame, and more don’t get out of the first inning. He wasn’t shy about starting an investigation with almost nothing to go on. You know that’s how investigations are at the beginning. You can’t tell if you’re going to find a billion-dollar, front-page scandal or evidence that a bureaucrat comes to work ten minutes late every day.”

Parisi probed for more information. “Are there any other high-level Bureau investigations? Should I be doing something more at headquarters?”

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t know who will replace Frank or how his work will continue. But it will continue, and you can’t do anything with the information I gave you. The investigation may never go further.”

Parisi acknowledged that he’d already agreed to that.

Milton continued, “I can tell you, to the best of my knowledge, there isn’t anything major involving the Bureau other than that one case I just described. I’m not aware of anything in your own office. I promise that if this particular case ever develops further, I will personally give you a heads up before it anything becomes public. We’ll see what we can work out at that point.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You know I would’ve told you anyway, Charlie. We’ve always worked together quite nicely, and I want to continue that.”

“I appreciate that a great deal, Ben, and you know that I feel that same way. That’s what we’re doing here, but we’re still no closer to a solution to the immediate problem. Someone’s got to find the murderer. So far, you don’t have another candidate to handle the investigation other than us.”

Milton had an idea. “What if we let my staffer Rod do the investigation? He’s a lawyer, he worked with Frank, and he can go through all the files without creating any constitutional conflicts.”

Parisi was unimpressed. “It’s half an idea. But he’s not a trained criminal investigator or prosecutor. We need to build a case that will stand up in court. Suspects need to get Miranda warnings at the right time. Evidence needs to be properly logged and controlled. Do you think that he can manage to do all of that starting first thing tomorrow morning? You know the process as well as anyone. It isn’t that hard, but there’s a lot of detail and procedure. One slip, the case is toast, and the killer walks. How would I explain that to my people or to the newspapers? Even worse, how would you explain it? How’s this for a headline: ‘Milton Staffer Bungles Butcher Investigation. Murderer Freed.’”

The Senator retreated. “Okay. You’re right. Rod’s good, but he’s young, and I don’t know that he has any experience with criminal investigations. Butcher couldn’t have handled this type of investigation. He was something of a bull in a China shop at times. Normally, that’s okay because we don’t have to convict anyone of anything up here. A public accusation is enough to do the trick most of the time. We don’t exactly operate with rules of evidence or formal procedures. That’s all second nature in the U.S. Attorney’s office and with trained police. We have hearings, not prosecutions.”

Milton suddenly brightened with a new idea. “You know, the only one around here who knows how to do this kind of criminal investigation is….me! I’ve investigated and prosecuted murder cases before, working with the FBI in Philadelphia. I can still do it.” Milton stood up. “I can still do it,” he repeated.

“That may be true, Ben, but it isn’t like you have the time or resources to conduct an investigation. It could take weeks. Longer. It’s a full-time job.”

Milton was undeterred. “It might, but you have the resources. What if you lend me the resources, and I run the investigation, sort of wearing my former U.S. Attorney’s hat?”

Parisi remained skeptical. “I agree that you used to have the right skills, but do you really want to take this on? What if another Senator did it? Or one of your staffers? Or a contributor? There’re an awful lot of bad possibilities here. Could you follow the leads wherever they go? I’ve got a lot of faith in your capabilities, and I trust you personally, but how would it look? How would we sell this in the papers? We might both end up looking foolish.”

Milton was deflated and sat down. “I can’t say that those aren’t problems. It’s worse than that because there could be a bunch of reporters who might be witnesses or sources. Frank cultivated reporters. Some might even be suspects. I’d get a lot of applause from many of my colleagues if I managed to convict a reporter. Regardless, we could have a messy set of First Amendment issues here, even if reporters are only witnesses. Of course, that’ll be the same no matter who runs the investigation. On the other hand, you have to admit that I have better First Amendment credentials than the FBI.”

Parisi agreed with that last point. “That’s true. The Bureau hasn’t made any friends with the press. They hate us for stiffing them on Freedom of Information Act requests. My guys won’t disclose anything. They find every excuse to withhold a document, even when it makes no sense.”

Milton responded, “That’s what I hear, and someday we’ll come after you on that score. For now, suppose that I take the formal role in leading the investigation, but we find a proper criminal investigator to do most of the day-to-day work.”

Parisi shook his head, still unconvinced. “That still doesn’t solve the problem of conflicts between you and the results of the investigation. There’s a real possibility that you’ll find more pressure than you can stand. What if the Majority Leader did it, for crying out loud? What if…”

Milton interrupted. “Okay, okay.” But he wasn’t yet prepared to give up his idea completely. “I don’t deny the possibility, but I think we can deal with it. Let’s break this down further. Neither I nor anyone else here can do the basic forensics. Suppose that we let your folks do that…No, wait. Let’s run this through the Capitol Hill Police. That’s the cover story. Your guys do the forensics today under the nominal auspices of Captain Paintbrush. That all needs to be done anyhow right now.”

“Ben, I have zero faith in him.”

“Me too, but it doesn’t matter. He knows that I’m effectively his boss as Chairman of Rules. I can fire him at will. He’ll do what he’s told, and we’ll jointly tell him to stay out of the way. Your guys can go through the office today, but they can’t look into any files. That’s the part of the investigation that I’ll supervise. No one can read files without my knowledge and approval. I’ll allow it if those files provide leads, but the guy reading the files must technically be a Senate employee. You detail someone you trust to the Senate Police. He’ll have a free hand, but since it’s someone who nominally works for the Senate, there’s no issue of prerogative or privilege.”

Parisi’s eyes brightened, and he stood up and started to pace. “That has more potential, I admit. But I’m still nervous about the consequences for you and the possibility that something will come up that you’ll be pressured to suppress. My guy working for you through the Senate police may not have enough independence.”

Milton nodded. “Let’s give him independence, then. Here’s the deal. Your guy comes here. We put him on the Senate payroll. But you and I understand that he reports to both of us equally. You and me at the same time. We jointly give him directions, and we both get the same reports from him at the same time. If a conflict comes up, we decide how to deal with it. If it gets too messy, we find another path. If it blows up, we’ll work that out too. But we do everything together, with equal knowledge, equal access, equal supervision. And we don’t tell anyone about our understanding.”

Parisi thought for a minute. “That’s better, but can it work?”

Milton jumped up with enthusiasm. “It’s the best idea yet, and it works if we trust each other, and I think we do. You provide the investigator. It’s one of your people who goes back to work for you at the end of the investigation. I accept the risk that your guy goes off the reservation when he returns. And you accept the risk of my involvement here. We each have the same opportunity to corrupt the investigator, and we both face the same level of risk overall.”

Parisi stopped pacing and turned to face the Senator. “What if one person isn’t enough? I can’t see how we could tell this to a bunch of people and keep it secret. If the investigation needs more than one person -- and it will – then we won’t be able to keep the deal quiet. I have a few folks that I trust, but the more that I trust them, the less that you may be willing to accept them. You know that three can keep a secret….”

Milton finished the quote. “…if two of them are dead. Yeah, Ben Franklin was right. This isn’t exactly a friendly town for secrets. But if we trust each other and use a single lead investigator, it still can work.”

Parisi went back to pacing. “Okay. Here’s another thought. I provide one lead investigator to the Senate police. He’s the only person who can access your investigative files. If he needs more resources, he can call on my agents. My agents can do leg work, check out alibis, conduct interviews as needed, but they don’t see the files or get any of the sensitive investigatory information. The lead guy insulates everyone else from your files.”

Milton liked that. “That works for me. It solves a lot of problems. Is there anything else that we need to think through? What do we tell the press, the Majority Leader, and my chairman?”

Parisi eyes twinkled. “I’ll leave the leader and your chairman to you, but we definitely need to figure out a PR strategy.”

Milton sat at his desk, pulled out a legal pad, and started making notes. “We tell them that the investigation will be handled by the Senate Police. No, better if we say that the investigation will be managed by the Senate Police, with FBI assistance as required. Everyone knows that the Senate cops are a joke, but I don’t think that anyone will say it in print.”

Parisi wanted more. “That’s okay, Ben, but I think that we have to go further. No one has any respect for your police. I think that we have to announce that an experienced FBI agent will be detailed to run the investigation.”

Milton dropped his pen abruptly. “I’m suddenly having second thoughts. That may not solve my constitutional problem. It’s still an FBI agent reviewing Senate records. When the case is over, the agent goes back to the FBI. Anything he saw in the investigatory files goes with him.”

The two men stared blankly at one another and said nothing for a minute. Parisi sat down again and stared in the distance, unconsciously chewing on a finger.

Parisi spoke first. “Why is that any different than what happens if one of your investigatory staff quits and goes to work for an executive branch agency? It happens to the FBI all the time. My guys get a better job and leave. They take with them the knowledge of everything that they were working on. We have ethical standards about that sort of thing. Just like a lawyer can’t leave and go to work for the other side of a case that he’d been handling. But there are risks nevertheless.”

Milton was still doubtful. “Agreed that we can’t have indentured workers who don’t have the right to leave. But you ship a senior agent down from your headquarters, he learns all the secrets, solves the case, and goes right back to headquarters. He’s going to know all about the FBI investigations that Butcher was doing. How can we put someone in that kind of position?”

“I don’t deny that it’s a problem, Ben. What if I gave you someone about to retire? He comes here, solves the case, and then rides off into the sunset. Would that make you feel better?”

“Yeah. It helps, Charlie. But he will still see his old friends, go to retirement parties, work in another law enforcement job. What if he doesn’t retire? You can’t force him off the payroll, can you?”

Parisi offered a different approach. “What about someone already retired? I can find a discrete retiree who has the right skills.”

Milton was interested. “That helps more, but he’ll still have old friends in the Bureau. Got somebody from out of town? Say, Australia?” Milton smiled at the idea.

Parisi said, “We have people in Australia and more remote places than that. You should see my guys fight to get those assignments. But I don’t think we need to go that far. I can probably find an out-of-towner. But thinking about it, most of the retired agents I know work in the private sector. At least, the good ones do. They’d be harder to get. The ones most available will be too old or not that good. We have our share of deadwood, and we gently push them to retire.”

There was again silence for a minute. Both men turned the problem over in their heads, searching for the right balance.

Parisi made a new offer. “You’ve given me another idea, Ben. You’re going to have to trust me for now on this one. How about if I bring in a current agent from outside Washington? I’ve got someone in mind who served for a while in D.C. and hates this place. This agent will have to be dragged here and will definitely go right back home when it is over. A good agent and nonpolitical.”

Milton liked the idea. “That sounds better to me. I’m willing to trust you, but I’m not signing a blank check. Why don’t you bring the guy here tomorrow and we’ll give him instructions together?”

Parisi summarized. “We have a tentative agreement. My agent goes on the Senate payroll and runs the investigation as a Senate cop. That’s what we tell the world, including my staff. But the two of us secretly supervise the investigation. The Bureau provides as much outside support as is needed, but no one else sees the investigative files. Only the designated investigator does.”

“That’s the deal,” said Milton. “I think it may be the best we can do. My staff will be stunned that we found a solution without their help.” They both stood and shook hands.

“Okay. I’ll be back tomorrow with my agent. Does 4 p.m. work for you?”

The Senator buzzed for Janie. She entered.

Milton asked, “What am I doing tomorrow afternoon at 4?”

“Nothing that can’t be moved.”

“Good. Put down a meeting with Charlie for an hour. Who’s here?”

“Doug, Eric, and Rod.”

“Send them in, and tell Chief Alton I want to see him here immediately.”

Janie left, and returned in a minute with Doug Olsen, the Senator’s Administrative Assistant, and Eric Howe, the press secretary. She turned to leave, but Milton asked her to stay.

Olsen was 45 or so, tall, full head of hair and with a fading but still apparent all-American-boy athletic look. Howe was 30-something, balding, short, and dark-complexion, especially in comparison to Olsen. They looked like Mutt and Jeff together. Both were dressed informally, having been summoned from various Labor Day activities. Olsen in tennis whites, and Howe in brown. Each nodded in acknowledgement to the FBI Director. Rod came in last. The three stood behind the sofa.

The Senator turned to his staff. “We think that we’ve resolved the investigation problem. Tell me what you think. The Senate Police will manage the murder investigation and….”

Doug Olsen interrupted, “You’ve got to be kidding. No one’s going to take that seriously.”

Milton asked for patience. “Hear me out. Hear me out. Alton will let the FBI handle the forensics today. He’ll import an experienced outside investigator from the Bureau working on the Senate payroll. The investigator will be a Senate employee at all times. The investigator can use any outside resources that he needs, including the FBI and…let’s say the local police too. They’ll be happy to be acknowledged, even if we don’t use them.”

Rod asked, “How’s that going to solve the investigatory file problem?”

Parisi responded, “Only the Senate investigator will see any of the subcommittee files. No one in the FBI will see anything sensitive. We’ll do forensics and provide backup. But the Senate investigator runs the show. The FBI isn’t involved in the day-to-day activities.”

The Senator asked his press secretary if he could sell this to the press.

Eric Howe’s body language suggested strong displeasure. “I hate it. It puts you at too much risk. Everyone knows that you run the Senate police as Chairman of Rules. And I’ll be buried with calls from reporters who want a story. I’ll have nothing for them, and you’ll get blamed for any failure. This could go on for weeks. Months. What if you don’t solve the case? No sir, I don’t like it at all. It’ll be all your doing and all your fault.”

Parisi glanced at Milton for a reaction, but the Senator seems undeterred by his press secretary’s objections.

“Doug?”

Doug was more favorable, trying to balance his own views against what the Senator wanted to hear. “I don’t know. Eric may be right in part, but it shouldn’t be all that hard to say ‘nothing new’ until the reporters give up asking. But I do agree that if this drags on for a long time, it won’t be good. I think it’s doable. I have to admit that I don’t see another approach to the problem. Rod and I already talked about the prerogative issue. It’s tough. Neither of us found a solution. Certainly nothing better than what you propose. And it would be far worse if the preliminaries dragged on for weeks before any investigation could even start. We need something that will work tomorrow.”

Milton turned to Eric again. “Okay. Now Eric, I hear you, but I want you to answer the question I asked originally. Can we sell this to the press?”

Eric was still scowling. “Well, I still hate it. But let me try to be an honest broker. Can we sell it the press? Yeah, I think so. Especially if we announce it right now. It’s a holiday, and the reporters here are mostly stringers. You won’t have much trouble with them. You can use the shock of the death and your personal sorrow as cover. Start with that. Leave the announcement about the investigation at the end. I can’t speak to what happens next week. What role will the Director play at the press conference?”

All eyes turned to Parisi.

Parisi thought for a second. “You know, I don’t think that I need to say anything. How about if I stand there on the side, along with the Senate Police Chief. And maybe one of the senior D.C. cops too. If we’re all standing there nodding approval, that should dampen questions.”

Milton turned back to his AA. “Doug, how do you think that the Majority Leader will react?”

“It’s going to be hard for him or his staff to complain if you’re satisfied. After all, you have better law enforcement credentials than anyone else in the Senate. You were supportive when the senatorial prerogative issue arose in the Andrews case so there’s no reason to doubt your senatorial prerogative bona fides. Plus, the files in question are your Subcommittee files. If you’re happy, who can object? With the FBI on board and an outside investigator, I don’t see how anyone will second-guess you. Not in public, at least. I think I’d be worried about the full committee chairman. He can be touchy if he thinks that we’re stepping on full committee authority. His staff could easily go nuts over this.”

Milton asked Janie if she had any thoughts, but she quietly said no.

Milton wasn’t worried about the chairman. “Why don’t you leave him to me? Janie, see if you can get him on the phone when we’re done here. He’s probably still sober at this hour, although you never know if he starts in early on a holiday. If I get to him before the full committee staff pumps him up, he won’t be a problem. Let’s see to it that no one tells anything to the full committee staff until we make the announcement. Put the release on my letterhead, not the Committee’s.”

Doug continued. “I think this approach has a reasonable shot at working. But I see a risk for you here. If you were up in November, I would definitely hate the idea. And a lot. Jumping up and down a lot. But you should be okay for now. Can I ask who’s the investigator and what are his credentials?”

Milton said, “Well, Doug, I take your point, but I can claim more interest than anyone else finding out who killed my investigator. Eric, play up that point in the release. But I hear you, Doug. I’m willing to take the risk. As for the identity of the investigator, we can legitimately say that we don’t know that right now. The first part of the investigation, the forensics, is already underway, and the investigator will be on the job…. tomorrow, we hope.” Milton looked at Parisi. “Eric, do you have a release about Frank yet?”

“Almost ready.”

Milton said, “Run it by Charlie first, and let Alton see it as well when I’m through with him. I don’t care what Alton thinks, but we need him to keep the story straight. Doug, can you read the Chief the riot act once I’m done with him? Janie, keep trying to find Frank’s son. I want to talk to him. Charlie, can you get one of your people to invite the D.C. police chief to join us at the press conference? Everyone understand what to do?”

Nods all around. The Senator said, “Have the release say expressly that I was on the train at the time of the murder. I don’t want anyone to speculate that I’m a suspect. Charlie, stay and we’ll talk to Alton together. Janie, send him in when he arrives. Eric, when do we want to do the press conference?”

“Let’s not give much notice. We don’t want to attract too many reporters. How about if we announce it for 5:30 outside the C Street door? We don’t have to start on time, and the print reporters will be squeezed by their deadline. If it starts raining again, so much the better. If there’s a crowd of people and it’s hard to hear, that’s good too. The reporters will have trouble finding anyone to comment this late on Labor Day. They won’t have much to work with other than our release.”

Milton asked Rod if someone was there from Legal Counsel. Rod nodded that there was. “Okay, thank him and tell him to go home. Don’t tell him what we’re doing. You can brief him on the details tomorrow. I don’t want any interference now. Once we announce it, it will be too late.” Rod turned to carry out the order.

“All right. Janie, show in the police chief.”

Milton and Parisi whispered conspiratorially as the other left and the Chief entered. Ten minutes later, Senate Police Chief Alton walked out of the Senator’s office, saying, “That’s fine Senator. I’ll do everything the way you want. You can count on me.”      

Chapter 5: The Investigator

Promptly at 4 pm on Tuesday, the FBI Director arrived at Senator Milton’s office, with the investigator in tow, along with three other FBI agents who waited in the outer office. Janie did a double take when the investigator walked in the office. She escorted them into the Senator’s office.

Senator Milton stood, showed surprise for a second, and then smiled and shook hands with Parisi. The investigator was not at all what he expected.

Parisi did the introductions. “This is Amy Forest, an agent from the Denver office. I personally selected her to investigate the Butcher murder. Amy, this is Senator Milton.”

Amy Forest shook hands with the Senator, and everyone sat down around the table, which already had cans of soda, glasses, and an ice bucket on it.

Forest was not easy to describe. She was neither old nor young, probably somewhere around 35 or so. She was neither tall nor short, a few inches over five feet. She was neither skinny nor fat. She was well dressed, but not especially fashionable. She wore a blue pantsuit and white blouse, a generally anonymous outfit, except for a silver silk shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was light brown and didn’t reach her collar. No specific element of her person or clothes was individually noteworthy. She would turn no heads when walking down the street. But most men would say she was reasonably attractive overall. Women would note that she was overweight. If you had to guess from her appearance, you might think that she was a teacher or a secretary. If you said that to her, however, she would take it as an insult. She did not look like an FBI agent, and it wasn’t apparent that she carried a gun, although she had a large purse. She wore no rings or jewelry other than a watch and earrings.

The Senator welcomed Amy to Washington and asked her to describe her background.

Amy was nervous, but it was not apparent. “I grew up in D.C., and I know my way around the city and around Capitol Hill. My parents lived on the House side near Marion Park when I….

Milton interrupted. “Is that the park over by the police substation?”

“Yes, that’s the red brick building on the corner of 5th and E. Our house was directly across the park. We moved there when I was in grade school. I was an accounting major at Georgetown. I worked in a local accounting firm for a few years, then in a hospital. I was bored, and I applied to be an FBI agent when I learned that they were hiring women. It was something of a lark, but I was accepted. After training, I served here in the local FBI office for a year or so. Then I got myself transferred and ended up in Denver.”

Milton wanted to know why. “Most agents I know want to be in D.C. It gives them a big boost. Why did you transfer?”

Amy decided she had nothing to lose by being honest. “With all due respect, I hate Washington. Everything is political here. Everyone has an angle. I think that everyone has several angles. It is too easy to get stuck between overlapping obligations. I just want to do my job. I like being a straightforward agent. I can do that in Denver. Mostly, anyway. I don’t like being a politician. I’m happy to leave that to others.”

At this point, Milton looked over at Parisi with a slight smile, and Parisi nodded acknowledgement imperceptibly.

Amy noticed the exchange of glances and decided not to be too passive. She asked why a Senator would know what FBI agents thought of assignments.

“I was an AUSA for many years before I became a Senator. I knew and worked directly with several generations of agents in Philly.”

Parisi wanted Amy to say more. “Tell the Senator about your first health care fraud case.”

Amy retold a familiar story. “The office got a referral from Medicare about a clinic with billings that appeared to be somewhat out of the ordinary. A couple of agents reviewed the case, but they didn’t find anything overtly wrong. All the paperwork matched up well enough with the clinic’s files. The doctors at the clinic could explain each test and each procedure. All the patients were local people being treated at other Denver medical facilities. The total billings were suspicious, but there wasn’t anything that appeared overtly criminal like in most Medicare fraud cases. The clinic doctors were licensed and worked at other health facilities. It all looked normal. I had just arrived in Denver, and my boss gave me the case to take one last look before closing.”

Amy continued, “It turned out that the clinic was a shell. The suspicions were correct. There were two people in the office who did the billing. One was a real doctor. They got real patient records from confederates in other medical facilities. They paid $5 for patient information needed to bill Medicare and $25 for information about physicians. They had enough information so that the bills they submitted were consistent with bills submitted by the other facilities to Medicare. The doctor at the clinic was the brains of the operation. He was the one who met with my colleagues. He was a real doctor, but he had lost his license for drug addiction. He got all the medical stuff right when the agents came to talk to him. If an agent asked to meet with Dr. Smith, he was Dr. Smith. If an agent asked to meet with Dr. Jones, he was Dr. Jones. He had white coats with different names. He got away with it because we visited the clinic three times, but with three different agents.”

Milton asked how she made the case.

“I first talked to each of the three agents who had gone to the clinic. I didn’t want to duplicate their work needlessly. Each one said offhandedly that the doctor he interviewed had a beard. That turned out to be the key. I had done accounting work for a big hospital. I saw a lot of doctors, and I went out with some of them. There just aren’t that many who have beards, other than the psychiatrists, that is. It struck me as highly improbable that all three doctors working part time in the same clinic would have beards. It was when the third agent mentioned the beard that the light bulb went off. I made an appointment with one of the doctors, but I arrived with all three of my colleagues. When the doc saw all four of us together, he confessed on the spot. His Medicare billings were over two million dollars. There weren’t many women law enforcement agents in Denver then. Or now for that matter. Needless to say, I’d been viewed by other agents with much suspicion. When I insisted that all four of us should share credit for making the case, it helped me to get accepted.”

Milton liked the story. “Spotting a coincidence and realizing why it’s significant is brilliant. We made a case in Philly once because someone noticed that two seemingly unconnected people under suspicion had consecutive Social Security Numbers. Once someone asked the next question, the case was solved. Have you handled murder investigations before?”

“I worked on one when I was here in D.C. and one in Denver. There aren’t all that many federal murder investigations. I also did my share of bank robberies, car thefts, and the like. After we shut down Dr. Beard’s clinic, I tended to get a lot of health care fraud cases. I’m good at them.”

Milton asked what Amy knew about the investigation.

“Nothing. Charlie called me late yesterday and told me to get on a plane to Washington for an indefinite assignment. I didn’t want to come because I hate Washington, but he talked me into it. He promised me that I would only be here for one case and that I could go home when it was over. I’d heard about the Capitol Hill staffer who was murdered on the news, and I guessed that he wanted me here for that. I arrived at National Airport a while ago. I met Charlie at headquarters, and we came right here.”

Milton grew suspicious. “That an interesting negotiation that you had with, umm, Charlie. I’m used to agents who say, ‘yes sir’ when offered a plum assignment, let alone one directly from the Director.”

Parisi changed the subject. “Can we talk about the terms of the Butcher investigation? Do you want to start, Ben?”

“Well, Agent Forest, this is a routine murder investigation. Except for the fact that the victim is an investigator working for my Senate Judiciary Investigations Subcommittee. His files contain open investigations on dozens of people in government and outside of government. There are also many closed files. Those records are almost certainly at the heart of the investigation, and that’s the problem. They’re all Senate records. We here in the Senate don’t like turning our records over to the executive branch of government. An investigation of the Senate is a problem. A subpoena is a crisis. We have our constitutional prerogatives, and letting the FBI go through our investigative files would not only violate the Constitution, it would be a terrible precedent.”

Amy understood and asked about the Senate Police.

Milton explained, “Our police force is for show only. Most of the police are patronage, and that includes the Chief. He came from a small town in the state of my predecessor as Chairman of the Rules Committee. When I took over the gavel, the retiring Chairman asked me, as a personal favor, to keep him on until he got enough years for federal retirement. I agreed to that. I’m kind of sorry about that now, but I like to keep my word if possible. In any event, even if I could turn the Senate Police into a real police force, it couldn’t be done overnight.”

Parisi picked it up from there. “You’ll be detailed to the Senate Police for the duration of this investigation and will be on the Senate payroll. You’ll be in charge of the entire investigation, and you’ll work without any interference or supervision from Chief Alton. He’s already agreed to this. If you need assistance of any type, you call Walter Hicks in my office, and you can have as many agents to help you as you want. The one inviolate rule is that you’re the only outsider who can see the investigatory files in Butcher’s office. Other agents can check out alibis, help with forensics, do anything except learn the content of the files. You can’t share the contents with me. I’ll say that again. You can’t share any information about Butcher’s investigations with me or anyone at the FBI. Is that understood?”

Amy understood. “Yes. Is that all?”

Milton told her the rest. “No. What Charlie told you is the truth and the public truth. It isn’t the whole truth. The non-public part is that you’ll report to both of us jointly. We’ll supervise the investigation together. What you tell one of us, you’ll tell the other, preferably at the same time either in person or by telephone. You’re in charge of the investigation, but you can come to us for advice or assistance. If you run into complex problems with political implications, you bring them to the two of us for discussion. I know some things about Butcher’s work so I can provide you with information that Charlie doesn’t have. But other than that, he and I are equal.”

Amy saw the problem immediately. “What if there’s a disagreement between the two of you? Then what? Am I going to get stuck between two bosses?”

Parisi replied, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. There’s a good chance that it won’t happen. We get along well. We both have the same interest in seeing this case closed as quickly as possible. We’ll let you make all the basic investigatory decisions. We expect you to show sensitivity to the people here on the Hill. I think that you know enough not to barge into a Senator’s office and publicly demand an interview. We need a lot of tact here. We both can help if your work leads you in the direction of political landmines. You can go where you need to go but check with both of us if the going gets tricky.”

Milton agreed. “That’s right. I don’t think that you’ll have much to do with Capitol Hill politics. My theory of the case is that Frank was killed by one of his investigatory subjects. He had more than a few enemies. Further, we have a list – not necessarily a good or complete list, mind you, but a list – of people who were in the building that day. Chief Alton has it, and you’ll meet him later. If you marry the list of people who were here with the list of Frank’s investigatory targets – and you create the list of targets by going through Frank’s files – then the murderer is likely someone who is on both lists.”

Parisi was more cautious. “I agree with that, mostly. But keep an open mind. It’s possible that Butcher was killed by another staffer or a bureaucrat or by someone else unrelated to the Hill. We don’t think it was a robbery. Butcher’s wallet wasn’t taken. We don’t know if anything else was taken because we didn’t review the files, but there were mildly valuable items still in the office that weren’t touched. I don’t know how anyone other than Butcher could tell if an investigatory file was removed. If you could identify a missing file, that would obviously be a big clue. But I doubt there was an inventory of files so that’ll be a tough angle. The autopsy report suggests that Frank’s killer was by someone he knew and that the murder was unplanned. The murder weapon was a letter opener that came from Frank’s desk. We think that the murder took place between 12:30 and 1 p.m. on Labor Day. We didn’t learn much else from the crime scene. There were a million fingerprints in the part of the office that we examined, but the murder weapon was clean.”

Parisi paused for a second. “You know, as well as I do, that if a perp doesn’t do something stupid like leaving the murder weapon behind with fingerprints on it, it often takes more luck than anything to solve a case. We make a lot more cases through stupidity, stoolies, and plain dumb luck than we do by going through the boring investigative steps. But we do investigations because there’s nothing else to do, and it keeps pressure on the perp to know that we’re still working the case. Even the inevitable press story about the lack of progress is useful in a way because it sends a signal to the perp. It’s not all that common for a dragged-out investigation to solve a case. That’s going to be your challenge. None of my people thinks that we’ll get anywhere running down fingerprints.”

Milton said, “That’s another thing. I know that some fingerprints in that office will belong to reporters. Frank attracted a lot of reporters waiting for a scoop. Many hung out in his office. I’m nervous about investigating reporters.”

Parisi started to speak, but Milton cut him off. “I know it is possible that a reporter killed him. I’d prefer that you consider other possibilities first. Having said that, I repeat that you’re in charge of the investigation, and you decide where it goes. But we have enough complications with the Senate’s constitutional rights. I don’t want to start a second constitutional battle over the First Amendment. Reporters are just as sensitive about their activities and their records as we are here in the Senate. And about investigations of reporters, I might add. If you go after one reporter, no matter how casually, the Society of Professional Journalists will hear about it immediately, and the Society will provide every reporter you want to talk to with a lawyer. The whole story will end up on the front page of the Post and other papers. You don’t want to go there unless you have a good reason.”

It was Parisi’s turn. “Speaking of the press, don’t. Don’t talk to reporters. Don’t answer questions. All you say is no comment. If there are to be any press statements, Ben and I will clear them, and the statements will come from the Senate Police. You can send press to Chief Alton, who will also say no comment or the investigation is proceeding. Pretty soon, the press will get bored and give up asking you directly. Remember that you’re working for the Senate Police, and the Bureau isn’t running this investigation. Our press office will have no comment.”

Amy sat, listening intently, and looking back and forth at the two men. She had no trouble following the discussion.

Milton had another concern. “I’m also nervous about investigating congressional staff. You can investigate any of my staff without limit. No need to ask me further about that. But other Senators will be unhappy if you poke around their staffs. You never know what you’ll find, an old girlfriend, a campaign worker, a no-show. I don’t know if you can avoid staff as suspects, especially since most of the people in the building on Labor Day were staffers. I ask that you consider the sensitivity here. Don’t go after congressional staff without a reason that sounds good. There could be a lot of heat from my colleagues if you cast too wide a net. I’ll intervene personally with other Senators if necessary, and if the three of us agree that it’s appropriate. As long as there’s a good reason, any Senator will back off, especially if I ask. No Senator wants to appear to be protecting a murderer on his staff. But interviewing staff as witnesses should not be as sensitive, and that’s probably the approach to take at the start. Tell them they are witnesses and not suspects.”

There was a minute of silence as Milton and Parisi glanced at each other, trying to think of other problems or obstacles. Finally, Milton asked gently, “Have we thrown too much at you? Do you think the terms are reasonable, practical, doable? I need an honest answer here. If something we proposed doesn’t work for you or needs adjustment, we’re open to suggestion. We’re making this up as we go along.”

Amy replied, “A small point is that I’m used to having someone along with me when I’m interviewing a suspect. I don’t have any support here, unless you want me to take someone from the Senate Police along on interviews. It’s not an absolute rule, but it’s the norm.”

Both Parisi and Milton were stumped at that one. Finally, Parisi spoke. “I don’t have a good answer here. I think that you’ll have to be more of a loner. This is a murder, and you’re not going to make a case based on somebody’s inconsistent statements. Inconsistencies may be clues for you, and you can pressure suspects based on their statements. I agree that another agent would be useful, but it’s too risky for a lot of different reasons. What do you think, Ben?”

“I agree. It’s not an ideal situation all around, but a Senate cop is probably worse than nobody. Can you do this yourself? If you hate it or don’t think it’s doable, you can go home, and we’ll try again.”

Amy thought for a minute, staring off in the distance. The debate went on for a while in her head, but eventually her face brightened. “Going home has its attractions, I’ll admit. But otherwise, I understand the rules here and the reasons for them. I’m still somewhat worried about being stuck in the middle, but the arrangement makes sense. It seems to solve the Senate’s polit…constitutional problem and the need for a real investigation. It’s okay if it works. It’s okay if I find the murderer. If the arrangement leaks out and starts a firestorm among your colleagues in the Senate, you’ll have to find another way. If it drags on a long time, that will be a real problem too. I trust Charlie, and it’s apparent that you two trust each other. That’s good. That’s essential. But this is still Washington, and things can change on a dime. There are a lot of risks here. I think that you two bear most of them. My risk is limited. If there’s too much heat, you’ll send me back to Denver.”

Amy wasn’t finished. “Still, I worry about resources. There could be dozens of suspects here, maybe more than that. I can’t do all the work single-handed in short order. It could take a long time to parse each investigatory file, understand what happened, who the target was, and whether there’s a suspect in that file. I know how to do an investigation, but I have to start with an investigation of many investigations. I know that making a case for the FBI that stands up in court is different from making a case in the newspapers. I read the Post when I lived here long enough to understand that. I can do the work, but it may take a long time all by myself. Are you both okay if the investigation takes six months?”

Parisi spoke first. “Okay. We didn’t think that this would be easy, and I picked you because I thought you could handle it. I haven’t heard anything that changes my mind. In fact, if you said this was normal or easy, I would be more worried than I am. Your doubts are good. I want to emphasize that you can have all the Bureau’s resources you need as long as you don’t cross the line about sharing investigatory files with agents. I guess that we want to avoid having agents interview staff members too. That will end up right in the Post.”

The Senator went next. “Maybe I can provide you with local help. I have a staff guy who worked a lot with Frank. He can help you wade through the investigative files and put a lot of them in context. He doesn’t know everything because Frank did investigations here and in the House for years, and Rod is relatively new. But he’s good, and he knows the Hill. He’s a lawyer, but I doubt that he has any real criminal procedure skills. Don’t be cowed by his law degree.”

Suppressing a smile, Amy said, “I’ve learned somewhere that you can’t always trust a lawyer. Anyway, I don’t think that I can accept his help. If he worked with Frank, he’s a suspect. For that matter, Senator, you’re a suspect too. And you too, Charlie. You live nearby. You have regular dealings with this Committee. I can’t rule any of you out.”

The Director started to speak, but Milton cut him off. The Senator suddenly looked grim and unhappy. “We need to pause here for a minute. Amy, would you wait outside while Charlie and I have a word.”

Amy was rattled at the Senator’s abruptness, worried that she said the wrong thing. She always worried about being judged adversely based on her sex, but she hadn’t detected anything like that from the Senator. She was pleased that he didn’t say a word about her being a female agent, a typical topic of conversation when she met someone new. She thought that the Senator seemed to accept her on equal terms up to this point. But she stood up and left the room without comment.

Parisi asked, “Is there a problem here? I like what I heard. She seems realistic. If she said this would be easy, I would be more concerned. I like it that she thinks we’re suspects and isn’t taking that for granted. We both know that this investigation…”

Milton interrupted and began to speak with an edge to his voice. “I’ll tell you what the problem is. You’re not telling me everything. You personally brought in this agent from Denver. You had to cut a deal with her to get her to come. A deal! She doesn’t merely follow orders. She calls you ‘Charlie.’ No field agent calls the FBI Director by his first name, let alone a younger woman. She knows where you live, and she says to your face that you’re a suspect. What agent would have the nerve to do that? There’s something going on here that you haven’t disclosed. Just what’s your relationship with her?”

Parisi was initially perturbed at Milton’s tone and unhappiness. As Milton continued, however, Parisi smiled, which surprised the Senator. He waited until Milton was done. “I understand. It’s not what you think. I’ve known Amy for years. That why I picked her. She’s bright and capable and independent. That’s what we need for this investigation. She knows where I live because she lived next door to me back when I was a judge, and she was growing up. I had the house next door to her parents until I moved over to the Senate side. I was her ‘Uncle Charlie’ for years. We still send each other Christmas cards, for crying out loud. Personal ones, not the official cards. She knows my wife. We helped her plan the funeral when her father died. She was already an agent when I became Director, and she made me promise to stay out of her career. I agreed, but I told her that she had the right to make one phone call to me if she ever needed something. I had to browbeat her into coming here today because she thought I was breaking my promise. I had to convince her that I needed her, not that I was helping her. And by the way, she’s never made that call, and I doubt that she ever will.”

Milton remained skeptical. “Oh. That’s not what I was guessing. I thought…. well, you know what I thought. She’s not unattractive, I admit. But I’m still not sure. She’s too close to you. She isn’t going to be able to keep you at arm’s length. Or else she will go to you first because she knows you so well. Why didn’t you tell me this up front?”

Parisi spoke deliberately, pointing his index finger straight at the Senator. “You still don’t get it, Ben. I picked her because she’s about the only agent who can and will say ‘no’ to me. Everyone else in the Bureau would suck up, try to guess what I want, and give it to me. Amy can shut me down cold and get away with it, and she knows that. That’s why I’m ‘Charlie’ to her. That’s why she can say to my face that I’m a suspect. I’m not playing games with you here. I’ve always been straight with you before, and today is no exception. I didn’t tell you everything up front because you would’ve rejected her out of hand. I wanted you to see her for yourself. She’s not going to take any crap from me. She’ll follow the rules we set out. You’ll see that she won’t take any crap from you either.”

Milton sat back in his chair. His face brightened. “Okay. You’re right. I didn’t get it, but I get it now. Let’s bring her back in and keep going.”

Milton stepped to the door and asked Amy back. She was using the telephone, but she hung up quickly and returned to the Senator’s office.

Milton said, “Everything’s okay, and we’re ready to move forward. Now, where were we?”

Amy wondered what provoked her dismissal, but she moved on with business. “I have a couple of immediate suspects to worry about before we can proceed much farther. Both of you, and now your staffer. I met a Rod somebody out in the reception area. He seems to know who I am. He told me that he worked with Frank and that he was here yesterday with you, Senator. I can’t deal with any of you about the investigation until you’re cleared. I did make progress on that front, however. I called Catherine to let her know I was in town, and I was able to clear you, Charlie. She told me that you were working in the backyard garden on Labor Day until you got the call about the murder. She still wants you to finish trimming the rose bushes, by the way.”

Both Parisi and Milton burst out laughing.

Parisi said, “Thanks. I’m glad to know I didn’t do it. There’s no better alibi than my wife. She watched me like a hawk. The whole time she sat on the porch, giving me orders. ‘Don’t step on the flowers. Not that branch, dear, the other one. It’s all uneven now. You have to start again. Don’t step on the flowers. Sweep up the trimmings. Put them in the trash bag. Don’t step on the flowers. Don’t step on the flowers.’ The phone call about the murder got me out of the garden. If it weren’t for the fact that this case is so messy, I might have been grateful for the call.”

Amy continued, “Catherine also invited me to dinner, but I thought that wasn’t a good idea right now. Anyway, she’d probably put both of us to work in the garden. I took a rain check.”

Parisi told her that both the Senator and his staffer had been cleared absolutely. “You don’t have to revisit that. Okay, what else do we need right now?”

Amy was relieved. “Thanks. That helps a lot. I’ve been bothered all along by the thought that you both were suspects. Moving ahead, the usual procedure would be for me to get the U.S. Attorney’s Office to state willingness to prosecute. But…”

Parisi dismissed that concern. “Don’t worry about that. Find the murderer, and there won’t be any question about the prosecution. Anyway, that’s an FBI procedure. Remember that you’re working for the Senate Police. I rather doubt they have a procedure for that or for any other investigative matter. You’re going to have to make your own procedures and follow your own instincts, especially when you’re operating beyond the ground rules we’ve given you here today. You’re going to have to make your own judgments. Is there anything else? Do you have a place to stay? The Bureau can get you a hotel room anywhere you like.”

Amy had other plans. “No thanks. My college roommate has a big house on East Capitol Street, and I have a standing invitation to stay with her any time. She has an extra room for me, and I called her last night to let her know that I would be in town and that I might stay over. Plus, it’s within walking distance of the Capitol. So…. what do I do now?”

Milton spoke first. “Go see Police Chief Gary Alton. Janie will show you where to find him. He’s waiting for you. You need to sign paperwork putting you on his staff. He’ll also have the list of people who were in House or Senate Buildings on Labor Day. Once you get started, you don’t need to report to him or have any other contact with him. That is, unless he can provide assistance to you. If he interferes in any way, let me…let us know. Then I guess you can take the rest of the day off” – he looked at his watch and saw that it was well after six – and settle in at your friend’s house.”

Amy needed more direction. “Where do I go in the morning? I don’t want an office at FBI headquarters, and I can’t interview suspects at my friend’s house. Do I hang out at the Senate Police office?”

Parisi and Milton stared at each other for a second. The Senator had a proposal. “I’d like to keep you away from the Senate Police as much as possible. I don’t want you tainted by the local incompetence. Charlie, would it be okay if Amy moved into Frank’s office? Are your guys finished at the crime scene?”

“As far as I know, and if not, we can be done by tomorrow. Especially if we don’t touch the files. You know, I think that’s a good idea. After all, she’s going to spend a lot of time reading files in that office. Maybe Frank’s ghost will come by and tell her who did it.”

Something else was on Amy’s mind. “Okay. That solves one problem. I have one personal request for both of you. I want your assurance that when this is over, I get to go back to Denver. If I screw up or things don’t go well, you can send me back whenever. But I get to leave as soon as we find the murderer. I don’t want to stay in Washington a minute longer than necessary. Is that okay with both of you?”

Parisi agreed. “This is a temporary assignment. You get to resume your career as you left it when this case is over. That will not be a problem.”

“Senator, now I’ve got a request for you. You’re important to my investigation. I’d like to interview you. Except it sort of violates the equal access principle that we agreed to.”

Parisi jumped in. “No, it doesn’t. You aren’t talking to him about the conduct of the investigation. He’s a material witness and a useful source. That’s fine. There’s no reason for me to be there. Anything else?”

Amy thought for a minute. “No, not right now. I’m willing to give this a try. I reserve the right to come to both of you in a day or two…or anytime and ask for more. Or less. Or different. I just don’t know. But I think I know how to proceed and what to do tomorrow and where to go. That’s enough for the moment.”

Milton rose and buzzed for Janie. She entered. “Janie, this is Amy Forest, who will be working for the Senate Police on the investigation into Frank’s murder. Amy, Janie Thompson runs my life here.”

Amy and Janie shook hands.

Milton told Janie, “She’ll be using Frank’s office starting tomorrow morning. Give her a key. Give her everything she asks for. More importantly, give her everything she needs. She has unlimited access to me. If she says that she wants to see me, put her on the schedule as soon as possible. If she says it is urgent, then it is. Treat her as you would me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that, Senator, but I can come close. I can absolutely do the rest. Pleased to meet you, Amy.”

Milton asked, “Can you schedule time for her to interview me?

Janie could. “I can find time tomorrow if you like. Thursday afternoon is more open, starting around 3 pm. How long do you need, Amy?”

Amy was uncertain. “Two hours? That may be too much. Ummm, maybe we should hold off on the schedule. I need to do more homework before I do the interview.”

Milton said, “I’m here when you want me. Janie, take her down to see Chief Alton. If you need me to deal with anything, call and I’ll do it. Or ask Doug or Rod.”

Janie asked, “Senator, did you talk to Frank’s son?”

“Yes, I finally got John Butcher on the phone, before Charlie and Amy got here. Of course, he already knew about it. He told me that he didn’t get along with his father, and he hadn’t talked to him for a long time. I gathered that was normal for the two of them. Frank never mentioned his family to me.”

Janie said, “Did he say anything about a funeral? Does he want us to do something to help?”

Milton described the conversation with Frank’s son. “Nope. He doesn’t want a funeral. I tried to gently suggest that a funeral would help him and others deal with the death. But he said his father wouldn’t have wanted one, and he doesn’t want one. John already called a funeral home and arranged for a cremation. He doesn’t want to have a service or do anything at all. He’s basically estranged, and I don’t think that he much cared that Frank was dead. I told him that we would definitely have a memorial service here, and that we would love for him to be here. He wouldn’t commit to coming, but he said that he would come east soon, to deal with Frank’s house and legal affairs. He’s a lawyer in California so he knows what he’s doing on that front. I don’t know what else to do about him. I think we have to let him have his way. If anybody has another thought, I’m open to suggestion. Has someone called the Chaplin about a service here for Frank?”

Janie replied, “I’m working on that with Eric and Rod. We’ll get started in earnest tomorrow. I’ll check with the son and try to coordinate the date with his schedule. I guess that we can’t make him come to the service, but if he does, he can learn more about his father and how others saw him.”

Amy spoke, “I’ll want to meet with John Butcher if I can, and I need to get access to Frank’s house. Of course, if someone here has a key, that’ll make it easier.”

No one knew of a key.

Amy shrugged. “It’s not important right now. I have enough to do otherwise. I’ll get someone to confirm the son’s alibi, but that sounds pro forma.”

Amy and Janie left to find Chief Alton. Parisi stayed behind to chat with Milton for a minute. They both agreed that things had gone well, at least for now.

Chapter 6: Start of a Friendship

As they walked down the hall, Amy turned to Janie. “Janie…. Is that okay?” Janie nodded. “That’s fine.”

Amy had a question. “I’m grateful for your help, but I’m obliged to ask you, where were you around noon on Labor Day?”

Janie stopped abruptly. “Oh my God, I was here. I thought that the Senator would likely come to his office from the train station, so I came in around noon, got a bucket of ice, and came straight to the office.”

“How did you get here?”

“I drove and parked in the garage. I didn’t know the cop on duty in the garage so I had to sign in, and you can find out exactly when I got here. That means that I had to be in the building when Frank was killed. Oh my God. That’s chilling. Does that mean that I’m a suspect?” Janie looked flustered.

Amy responded, “I can’t rule you out yet. Everyone in the building when the murder occurred is a suspect. You obviously knew Frank. Did anyone see you once you got here?”

“Not that I know of. I knew how to get ice without bothering the Architect’s folks. The ice machine isn’t far from my parking space.”

Amy asked, “Architect of the Capitol?”

Janie said, “Yes, his people provide a lot of building services, and there’s always someone here, even on a holiday, but they’re usually sleeping somewhere. I don’t bother them unless I need help.”

“Anyone see you in the halls?”

Janie said, “I don’t think so. The place was mostly deserted. I went straight from the basement to the office. No one else was there, until the Senator showed up. I wasn’t on the fourth floor. I almost never need to go there. I didn’t go there on Monday.”

Amy nodded at Janie. “Well, you’re definitely a suspect. At least, until I rule you out or we catch the murderer. Did you and Frank get along?”

Janie ignored the question as her face slowly lit up. “I’m a suspect. I am a suspect! I’m half-nervous and half …. pleased. I’m so rarely something in my own right. I’m always the Senator’s appointment’s secretary. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade it for any other position I can imagine. I’m treated with great respect. It’s the best job, and the Senator is wonderful to me. And I have more authority than anyone knows. But I’m a suspect now. Me. By myself. That is something. Uh…the nervous side of me wants to know if I should get a lawyer.”

Amy was laughing. “I can’t recall anyone being so pleased about being a suspect before. That reaction by itself is almost enough to clear you. Being a suspect isn’t that big a deal. There may be 200 suspects at this point. Maybe more. But you can be proud of it if you like.”

The two women looked at each other and smiled. They resumed walking.

Amy continued. “I’m not the one to advise you about getting a lawyer. You can always ask the Senator for advice or maybe one of the staff lawyers. But if you didn’t do it, then maybe you don’t have anything to worry about. If I ever give you a Miranda warning, then you’ll know you need a lawyer. Meanwhile, I still want to know if you got along with Frank.”

“Yes. We didn’t have much to do with one another. Frank needed to go through me to see the Senator, but that’s normal. We had a small problem once at the beginning, but we’ve gotten along nicely for years.” She told Amy the story about Frank’s telephone impersonation.

“Turn left here, Amy. I’m on edge ever since I found out that Frank was dead. An unexpected death of someone you work with is seriously unnerving. It’s not like a relative dying after a long illness. At least you can see that coming. Frank’s death was plain spooky. I feel like I could be next. When I got home Monday, I looked in every room of my house to make sure no one was there. My cat must have thought I was crazy. Anyway, I did see Frank regularly.”

Amy’s suspicions were aroused. “But you said that you didn’t have much to do with him.”

Janie stumbled over her words. “I did. I mean…I didn’t. I didn’t see him every day, and sometimes weeks would go by, and we wouldn’t see each other. Then he comes to see the Senator every day for a week. The day before a big hearing, he was in and out all the time.”

“Did Frank ever ask you out? Did you ever have dinner with him?”

Janie was firm. “No. I have a rule that I don’t go out with anyone who works for the Senator.”

Amy pointed to Janie’s hand. “I don’t see a ring, so I gather that you aren’t married. Do you have a boyfriend? Someone who could be jealous of Frank?”

Janie shook her head. “No, I’m not married. I don’t have a boyfriend either. I said that I don’t go out with anyone who works for the Senator.” She glanced around to see if anyone could overhear, but the hallway was empty. “The truth is that most of his staff are too young these days. Staffers are mostly a bunch of kids, except for the senior staff and they’re all married. Anyway, how do I say this…I don’t get much romantic attention these days. There are too many thin, cute, smart young women staffers here, professional and otherwise. I can’t compete with that. Frank wasn’t interested in me, and I wasn’t interested in him. We were colleagues. I get attention from lobbyists and others who want to suck up to the Senator, but that’s always pretty transparent. It’s pleasant, but it is what it is. Everyone who needs to go through me to see the Senator is nice to me. Washington is a town of limited relationships. You work with someone – maybe for years – and see them all the time. Then the need disappears. Maybe the bill passes, or the lobbyist loses the client, and it’s over. You may never see each other again. You didn’t have much in common but the work. Once in a while, something personal develops, but not often. Not with me. My cat likes me, and I can live with that.”

Amy was still curious. “Did you ever…This isn’t an investigation question. It’s a Washington question, a personal thing. Did you ever find someone who you thought showed interest in you but who was using you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Janie said. “A while ago, there was a guy, a lobbyist. He was here a lot. He had a bunch of Pennsylvania clients. The two of us seemed to get along well. He took me to lunch and dinner and the theatre. It all seemed pleasantly personal and promising for a while. But I got together one day with my colleagues who work in similar jobs for other Senators, and we happened to compare notes about the lobbyists. We discovered that several of us had heard the same lines, ate the same meals, saw the same plays, had the same impression of real interest from this guy. Someone nosed around.”

Janie stopped walking and turned to face Amy, shoulders back and standing as tall as she could manage. “You should know that we appointment secretaries are not without our resources here. All those powerful people who want to see various Senators are happy to do favors for us. Once we were curious about this guy, it wasn’t hard to discover that he was married. No ring, however. Had a mousy wife who lived in the suburbs and never came into town. Anyway, once we knew, he found life much harder in a few Senate offices. I got more guarded with lobbyists thereafter. They send me candy and flowers and liquor at Christmas, but that just business.”

Amy asked what happened to the guy as they started walking again.

“Nothing bad. When his firm found that he was no longer so effective, they gave him different assignments. He did fine, I suppose, working a different part of Washington. He’s still in town somewhere, but I haven’t seen him for a long time. I don’t care about him.”

Amy sighed. “I’m not surprised at your story. It seems so…so…Washington. There aren’t straightforward relationships in this town. That’s why I moved to Denver. It’s a bit more normal there, but the men are still….” Amy fished for a word.

Janie finished the sentence “...men.” They both smiled again. The women liked each other.

Janie announced that they had arrived and asked, “Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Thanks. I’ll be coming back to you for more help. Don’t worry too much about being a suspect. Enjoy it if you like.”

“Thanks, Amy. Let me know what else I can do to help.”

Amy did have a request. “How do I get the lock changed on Frank Butcher’s office so that no one can get in besides me? I don’t know who has keys, and I don’t want anyone in there. Not even cleaning people. Can you arrange that?”

Janie hesitated. “I doubt I can do it tonight. Is tomorrow morning okay? The Architect’s people won’t like that, but I don’t see how they can say no to the Senator. I’ll arrange it first thing.”

Amy said tomorrow would do. She wanted to be there when the locksmith came. With that, Amy thanked her and started to enter the Senate Police Headquarters. Janie pulled Amy to the side of the corridor and spoke in a whisper. “Let me tell you a few things. First, everyone thinks that Alton is a buffoon. Second, Eric Howe, the Senator’s press secretary, is unhappy about your role here. He’s a negative guy. He will try to undermine you. Take care. I thought you should know.”

Amy absorbed what she was told. “Can I trust Rod?”

“Oh, yeah. Rod’s a puppy dog. He’ll fall all over himself to do what you want, and he’ll do it well. He’s honest, smart, and honorable. Unless you ask him to do something that isn’t in the Senator’s interest. That he will resist like a bulldog. You can trust him, at least as much as you can trust anyone in Washington.”

Amy thanked Janie again. Amy was pleased at the inside information. She already had been warned about Alton, but the information about Eric Howe was new. She didn’t quite know what to do with it, but she was glad to know Janie’s opinion.

She entered the police office, where Alton was waiting. They shook hands, and he escorted her into his office. Alton seemed overly solicitous, almost as if he was afraid of Amy. He gave her a seat in front of his desk.

“I’m plenty nervous about all this,” Alton admitted. “We don’t have murders on Capitol Hill, at least not in the buildings. We have street crimes, but the D.C. cops mostly handle those. I’m glad to have someone from the Bureau here to handle this investigation. We don’t have the resources. Most of my guys are college students. They’re great at directing traffic. We don’t have much investigative experience here, other than trying to find people who steal purses from Senate offices. We also don’t have any women on the police force either. We didn’t have any back in West Virginia either so you’re a first for me.”

Amy responded, “I hear that a lot.”

Alton said, “I have a specific order from Senator Milton. I’m to do anything that you ask me to do on the Butcher investigation and nothing else. I was told expressly that this is your investigation. I’m at your disposal.”

Amy was pleased to hear that they were told the same thing. “That’s consistent with what I was told. I know that I’m working for you, at least technically, and I hope that you’ll be able to assist. I understand that you have a list of people who were in the building on Monday.”

“I’ve got it right here. It’s a list of everyone who came into any Senate building on Labor Day. I also got a list from the House side. I gave a copy of everything to the FBI late on Monday and to Senator Milton. Otherwise, no one else has seen them. The lists are locked in my desk.”

The Chief fumbled with his keys to open the drawer, dropping them once on the floor. Finally, the third key did the trick. He pulled out the list and handed it to Amy. Alton was sweating.

“Does the list include the names of your officers who were here?”

Alton looked blankly. “No. I didn’t think of that. My guys aren’t suspects here.”

“That remains to be seen,” Amy said matter-of-factly. My view is that everyone who was known to be here is a suspect, including you.”

“I was home painting my house. My son and my wife were with me.”

Amy said she would check into that. “Can you compile a list of officers who were here?”

“If you need it.”

Amy did. “I may also want to interview them about the comings and goings on Monday. If you’re willing, here’s what would help. List all the officers, where they were, and when. I understand that people coming in Capitol Hill buildings are supposed to sign in on Sundays and holidays.”

“That’s the policy, except that Members come and go without signing in. Our officers are trained to recognize all of them, and they wave them in.”

Amy has a different thought. “It might be better if you talk to each officer. I’m afraid that if I do a formal interview, they’ll get too defensive. I want to know everyone who came in any of the Senate Buildings who isn’t on the list. I want to know which Members were waved in and who else didn’t sign in. I bet that the officers didn’t make other officers sign in. Or the Architect’s staff. Or people they know. Or women they’re flirting with. If a car had two people, they may not have made passengers sign in. Even when there’s a strict rule about signing people in, compliance is often uneven. I want you to talk to your people and get more details from them. Tell them that you just want information. I don’t care about violations of the sign-in procedures, and maybe you shouldn’t care either. That’s up to you, but we can assume for now that Frank Butcher’s death isn’t the result of a sloppy sign-in policy. If you even hint at discipline for non-compliance with the policy, you’ll learn nothing. Can you do what I asked?”

Alton looked unsure. “Yeah. It might take a couple of days, though.”

Amy frowned. She always watched her colleagues treat local police with general disdain, and she never saw that it was effective. She said without any tone of contempt in her voice. “I have resources available to me from FBI headquarters to start interviewing your officers. I can arrange…”

That did the trick. “No, no. I’ll do it faster. I’ll get it done. I’ll get you what you asked for by tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?”

That was what she wanted. “Thanks. Do you need anything else from me?”

“My secretary has paperwork for you so you can be put on the payroll. I have a badge for you as well.” Amy took the badge, thinking it would make a great souvenir.

When the paperwork was done, Amy headed for the door followed by the Chief, who was still nervous. He walked with her into the reception area and spoke in a whisper.

“I intend to follow my instructions to the letter. Senator Milton is my boss. He never interferes in the operations of my office, but this is an extraordinary event. I hope that you can find the killer. I don’t want this investigation to linger. I need nine more months up here before I can retire with a pension, so you can believe me that I’ll do exactly what I was told. The faster that this crime is solved, the better off I’ll be.”

Amy got it. “Understood. I want to go back to Denver. We’ll all be better off if we can find the murderer quickly.”

Alton finally started to relax. “I’ll interview my boys and get you the information tomorrow. I plan to do nothing else on the Butcher matter unless and until you ask.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know. I need to use a telephone first”

“Sure. Use my office. Anything you need, let me know. Anything at all.”

Chapter 7: The College Roommate

Amy came to D.C., as instructed, prepared for a long stay. She was met at the airport by another FBI agent, who took her luggage and delivered her to FBI Headquarters. He kept her luggage pending further direction.

From the Chief’s office, Amy first called her college roommate, Sally Sutton, and arranged to meet her at her house in an hour. She then asked Walter Hicks in Parisi’s office to have her luggage delivered there. She also provided Hicks with a brief update and alerted him that she would be calling for additional assistance with the investigation. Hicks told her that his orders were to provide any help that Amy requested. He sounded sincere, but Amy had her doubts. FBI Headquarters were a well-known snake pit. That’s another reason she was happy to be in Denver and not D.C.

Amy walked over to Sally’s house on East Capitol Street, a few blocks from the Russell Building. It was a hot day, but a thunderstorm had passed through, and that cooled things off. Amy was happy to be walking outside after a plane ride and so much indoor activity. She knew how lucky she was to have a place to stay so close to the Capitol. By the time she made it to Sally’s house, Sally was home. The luggage arrived immediately thereafter. Sally greeted her at the front door. They hugged. Sally was the same age as Amy, and she looked every bit the well-paid professional lobbyist that she was. Perfectly done blonde hair, a model’s figure, spike heels, tasteful jewelry, elegant suit. She was strikingly attractive, and most men would take a second or third look.

Amy entered the house and looked around, noticing the hardwood floors, original art, gold fixtures, and designer furniture. “Wow. This place is incredible. I’m grateful that you have a room for me. The FBI would put me up in a hotel, but it’ll be much more fun staying with you. I don’t much like hotels, and your location is perfect for me. This house is lovely. I walked by these mansions on East Capitol Street when I was here as a kid, but this is the first time I’ve ever been invited inside. My apartment in Denver looks like a doghouse in comparison.”

Sally beamed. “It’s my pleasure. I’ve told all the girls from our dorm suite that they can stay here anytime, and a few have when they came here as tourists. You’re my first business visitor. And my first cop! I’ve never gotten over that you’re a genuine FBI agent with a gun and everything.”

Amy sighed. “Almost everyone is fascinated somehow that I carry a gun. You wouldn’t believe how many times people ask if I carry a gun or make a comment like yours. Honestly, it isn’t that big a deal, at least not when you have had weeks and weeks of training with it. And I hope that you aren’t going to ask me if I ever shot anyone.”

“I won’t, and I won’t ask you to show it to me. I’d normally be nervous about a gun in the house, but I figure you can handle it. Tell me more about what you’re doing here? I could guess, but I’ll let you tell me.”

Amy was willing, up to a point. “I can tell you a little, but I want to swear you to secrecy. Can we use the old dorm secret rule? We can talk about it here, between us, but not outside. Is that okay?” Sally agreed.

Amy said, “I’m here to investigate the murder of Frank Butcher. He’s the Capitol Hill staffer who was murdered on Labor Day. I’m formally working for the Senate police for the duration of the investigation. That’s as much as I can tell you now. And I want you to keep it to yourself. Can I trust you?”

Sally nodded in agreement, and directed Amy into the living room, where they both sat down. “I guessed that’s why you were here. The murder got tons of attention in the papers, and all of the sudden, you show up in town with no real notice. That’s really neat. My old roomie is investigating a big, front-page murder. It was much discussed today in my office and everywhere I went today. Murdering a staffer just isn’t done, although we all know a few that we’d like to do away with.”

“Know anyone who had Frank Butcher on their list?”

Sally was no help. “No. For the most part, I’m only interested in legislative staff, and he was an investigator. Same for my colleagues. I knew about Butcher, but I didn’t know him personally. He generated a lot of big stories. But let’s discuss more important matters. Are you hungry? Are you tired? Want a drink? I propose that we walk over to one of the bars on Pennsylvania Avenue for dinner. I rarely cook here.”

Amy agreed, but she asked for a few minutes to change her shoes. Sally showed her to a room on the second-floor front. “My room is on the third floor in the back. This is a huge house, and you can come and go without ever disturbing me. I’ll give you a key to the front door later. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready.” Amy ducked into the large bathroom by her bedroom. She was happy to see a bathtub there.

Amy changed into jeans, but she still wore the shawl she wore during the day. Sally remained dressed for work. Sally showed Amy a key sitting in a bowl in the kitchen. “It’s a key to my 1965 Ford Mustang parked in front of the garage. You can borrow it if you need a car. I prefer my Jaguar, but the Mustang was my first car, and I just can’t part with it. No need to ask permission. I trust you with it. Sally smiled and added, “Try to avoid car chases.”

They walked down to First Street and then over between the Library of Congress buildings. The Capitol and Supreme Court were a block over. As they left the house, Amy commented on how clean and polished it was. “You were always such a slob in college, Sally.”

“Oh, I’m still a slob, but I have a maid twice a week. I need one since I have business visitors here from time to time.”

Amy asked Sally about her job. “I’m one of an army of lobbyists for pharmaceutical manufacturers. I maintain relations with the Members and the committees – and mostly the staff – that can affect our business. I represent the Hill to my company, and my company to the Hill. I’m sometimes the bearer of unwelcome tidings on both sides. It requires a deft touch so that everybody doesn’t blame me for what the other side is doing. The shoot-the-messenger mentality is alive and strong in this town.”

“I’ll bet it doesn’t hurt that you’re still gorgeous.”

Sally did not blush. “To be honest, it doesn’t hurt at all. Nearly all of the Members are men, and so are most of the staffers. I can get and hold their attention a lot easier and a lot longer than a fat, sixty-year-old guy in a three-piece suit. That’s also true inside my company and in the rest of the industry too. My looks help, to be honest, but I’m fully conversant with the substance as well. I can bore you to death about the ins-and-outs of clinical trials, patent law, and the nitty-gritty of the legislative process. The debates at industry meeting go on endlessly, and you can’t get by in this town for long with just a pretty face.”

Amy said with genuine respect, “If I recall correctly, you didn’t have any trouble attracting attention from guys in college.”

Sally agreed. “Well, after I make the connection, it’s often up to the other people in the company to make the sale. The pharmaceutical industry has many, many lobbyists, and we give lots of money to campaigns. But that isn’t always enough to get your way. Some people are always on our side, and some are always against us. We can afford to buy those who want to be bought, to be perfectly honest. It’s the folks in the middle who want to be swayed by substance that we have to appeal to in the end. We have to rebut the arguments of the other side. We have to give our supporters reasons why doing our bidding will sound okay in the press. I help to connect our folks to the right staffers and Members and figure out what approach will appeal to them. Sometimes, I can charm them. Sometimes, they want to debate policy. But there’s no question that I’m able to give my company an edge, and that’s why I can afford that big house. What about you attracting guys? You still have a boyfriend back home? Who was it you were seeing last time we talked?”

Amy winced. “That was Henry, the schoolteacher. He turned out to be no one particularly special. My relationship with him sort of died. You might call it irreconcilable indifference on both sides. I don’t have anyone else of note at the moment. I went out for a while with Bob, but he worked for IBM and got moved after about a year. We seemed to be getting along nicely, but there wasn’t enough time for us to develop into anything, and it became geographically impossible. IBM moves people all the time, and I can get moved too.”

“There have to be more guys in Denver than that.”

Amy’s response revealed her frustration. “Yeah, and too many just want someone to be a housewife. Most of the rest are intimidated because I’m an FBI agent. They seem to view me like I’m a different species. When a guy’s third question is whether I’m carrying a gun, that’s pretty much it for me. Anyway, you don’t necessarily meet a lot of eligible guys when your professional interest in them is deciding if they ought to be indicted. I won’t go out with other agents, and the local cops are too déclassé. Every once in a while, I meet an interesting lawyer, but he’s usually defending the crooks, and I have to stay away for the duration. I’m always afraid that the lawyers are interested in using me for my inside knowledge and connections.”

“Well, someone ought to be using you for something else! And vice versa. I think you’re still cute. You know, you never told me the story of why you moved out of D.C. You disappeared overnight a few years ago. Did the FBI transfer you?”

“Yes, at my request. I couldn’t stand it here anymore.”

“So, who was the guy?”

“What guy?”

“Come on.” Sally nudged Amy with her elbow. “You didn’t hotfoot it out of town because of the weather. I figure that only a guy could drive you away like that.”

“Well, I never told anyone why I left. And I’m not going to tell you. I’m still unhappy about what happened, even after a few years. But your guess is close to the mark. Let’s just leave it there. How about you? Why haven’t you gotten married? There have to be a lot of guys here in Washington in your league.”

“Yeah, I get my share of attention. But I’m still having too much fun to think about getting married. I’ve had a few serious pursuers, but it isn’t hard to fend them off. My life’s much easier if I’m single.”

They crossed Pennsylvania Avenue – they were on the House side of the Hill – turned left away from the Capitol. The first commercial block on the House side was a segue into the Capitol Hill neighborhood. There were restaurants, bars, and stores that catered to Members, staffers, tourists, and locals. A few expensive restaurants existed there so lobbyists could take Members or staffers for a high-end meal. Other eateries were less fancy. As they reached the first bar, Amy said, “I remember this place from when I lived here, but it used to be, umm, I can’t remember the name.”

Sally said, “These places changes names and management regularly.” She looked in the window and announced, “This one’s as good as the next.”

There was nothing about the place that suggested Washington particularly. People sitting at a long bar on the left and tables in the back. It wasn’t crowded because Congress is slow to return to work after a holiday. Sally directed Amy to one of the rear tables and then started to work the room. It seemed to Amy that Sally knew half the people there, and it took Sally almost fifteen minutes to join Amy at the table. She shook hands, gossiped, backslapped, introduced people, bought drinks, listened, and made an appointment. Amy sat transfixed at the show.

When Sally finally sat down, Amy said, “That was an impressive entrance. Who are all those people?”

Sally, sitting with her back to the bar, spoke quietly without turning around. “There are two House Members at the far end of the bar. I know both of them, but they aren’t especially important. Sophomores, and both from California. Still, if they stick around, they’ll eventually chair subcommittees, and then they’ll be worth more attention. That tall, cute guy with the sandy hair on this end of the bar is the staff director for the Health Subcommittee of the House Commerce Committee. He’s probably the most important guy in the room as far as I’m concerned.”

Amy leaned around to see better and said, “He looks like he’s twelve years old.”

“Don’t let that fool you. He’s got more power than most House members.” Sally continued describing the people at the bar. “There are two lobbyists buying him drinks and otherwise currying favor. They guy standing on his left is a lobbyist for another drug company. We’re technically rivals, but we tend to work together much more than we face off against one another. What’s good for one drug company is usually good for the industry. The second lobbyist works for the automobile industry, and he’s a former congressional staffer. The rest of the people at the bar that I know are mostly other House staffers. I would’ve introduced you, but I knew that you didn’t want any attention. If I told them I was here with the FBI agent investigating the Frank Butcher murder, it would’ve improved my standing considerably. Everyone would’ve run down here to meet you. The murder was a hot topic at the bar. I just said I was here with an old college friend, and old college friends don’t register as important in Washington without more information. I told the truth, but it isn’t the whole truth. I’m good about not telling the whole truth. After all, I’m a professional lobbyist and I’m not under oath. Actually, if people in Washington were under oath all the time, I’m not sure that anyone would ever talk to anyone else.”

Amy asked, “Do you know Senator Milton?”

“A little. He chairs of one of the Judiciary Subcommittees, but it isn’t one of particular interest to me. We’re mostly interested in the Health Committees and the Finance Committee. They’re important for Medicare and the health care system in general. Judiciary is important for patent matters, and we’re very interested in patents. There hasn’t been any patent legislation under serious consideration for a long time. Do you know much about Milton yourself?”

“No. I got a 30-second briefing from the FBI. I know that he chairs an investigative subcommittee.”

Sally made a note on a napkin. “I’ll give you a clipping when we get home. It tells a lot of his history and how he got his reputation.”

“Great. What can you tell me about his staff?”

“I know a couple of them casually. His AA – that’s Administrative Assistant, which is Hillspeak for Chief of Staff – is… is…somebody, and his former AA now runs his Judiciary Subcommittee. They aren’t important to me now or I would remember their names. If they walked in the room, the names might come to me. Remembering someone’s name is a tremendously valuable skill. When a House Member goes home, greets a third-rate, small town political figure by name, and asks about his wife Ethel, that makes the guy feel important. That’s a big part of retail politics, and most Members are great at it.”

Amy started fishing for more useful information. “Can you tell me anything about Frank Butcher?”

Sally shook her head and shrugged. “Not much. He’s not the kind of staffer that I normally cultivate. Of course, if he were investigating the drug industry or my company, it might be a different matter. But I never got wind of anything in that direction. I know about Butcher and the Research Time Fraud Scandal, of course. That was a major story for weeks, but it didn’t focus on the commercial side of medical research. It all related to government grants. We industry folks all know Norman Nelson from his stint at HEW and his role at AAMRU.” Amy looked puzzled.

Sally translated. “That’s the Department of Health, Education & Welfare.” Amy indicated she knew that. “The other is the American Association of Medical Research Universities. It’s the medical school trade association. No one in the drug industry had any reason to get involved in the scandal. It all happened in academia. We watched that train wreck from as far away as we could. We support research and researchers, but we were mostly worried somehow that the scandal would grow and spill over into our activities somehow. We were grateful when it didn’t. Nelson was no friend of Butcher. He has to be a leading candidate, don’t you think?

Amy blinked twice and smiled. “No comment,” she said, pleased with herself. “That’s what they told me to say to the press. It’s handy. See, I can do Washington when I want to.” She repeated in a more animated way, “I have no comment on that.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sally replied. “Frankly, I don’t care who killed Butcher, and I can wait to find out. Unless it has political repercussions – like a Senator killed him – it’s a curiosity here because it’s not likely to affect any ongoing activities. The Research Time Fraud Scandal is long over, and I assume that Butcher wasn’t running any lingering investigation that might look at commercial research. If you find out that Butcher was investigating my company or the drug industry in general, you’re welcome to let me know. Off the record, of course.”

Amy said sharply, “Sally.”

“Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying. I’m putting you up, after all. A little inside information wouldn’t kill you.”

Amy got serious. “I can move out tonight. The FBI can afford a hotel room.”

Sally waved it off. “No, no, I’m playing the game. Don’t take me seriously. I do this sort of thing automatically. I’m not bothered by rejection. As a lobbyist, I only have to make a sale once in a hundred times. I’m happy to have you, and I won’t push you again. Let’s change the subject. What do you hear from the girls in our dorm?”

The waiter appeared, and they both ordered salads, dressing on the side, and iced tea. They gossiped about old college friends for the rest of the meal. The crowd thinned out after 9 p.m., and they got ready to leave. Sally and Amy both wanted to pay the check. After a brief struggle, they split it.

It was now fully dark, although the streets and buildings were well lit. As they walked home, back between the Library of Congress buildings and towards the Senate side, Sally found another reason to be happy that Amy was staying with her. “You know that I’d normally be nervous walking home this late. It isn’t far, but it’s still a city and I never feel entirely safe at night, even here with cops all over the Hill. I usually take a cab when it’s dark. But I feel a lot better walking with my own personal police escort.”

“My pleasure, Sally. No extra charge. But I should tell you that I’ve never shot at anyone. I’ve never even pointed my gun at anyone with intent.”

Sally stopped, waved her hand over her head, and yelled, “TAXI!!!”

They both giggled the rest of the walk home.

Before she went to bed, Sally gave Amy a profile of the Senator from the Washington Post Magazine. Amy drew a bath and read the story as she soaked.

Chapter 8: The Clipping

The Senator, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Banana

By Dan Gold, Washington Post Staff Writer

The only thing in the Senate Appropriations Subcommittee hearing room that seemed out of the ordinary was the bowl of fruit sitting in front of the acting Chairman, Senator William Benjamin Milton. A couple of bananas, a big bunch of grapes, and an apple. The fruit bowl was a particular curiosity at a hearing, and, as it turned out, a virtual arsenal.

Ben Milton was nearing the end of his first term in the Senate. He followed the time-honored tradition for new Senators of keeping a low profile and getting along with everyone. He presided over what looked to be a routine hearing on the budget of the Smithsonian Institution.

The Smithsonian Institution managed over the years to place itself in the most enviable position in Washington. Technically, it was a private institution and not a federal agency, but nearly its entire budget came from the Treasury. It had private funds, for which it was not accountable to the government. The best of both worlds was acting as a federal agency when being a Fed would be advantageous and as a private organization otherwise. Government funding, almost no government accountability, an adoring public, and a halo. What more could a Washington establishment want?

Congress rarely examined the Smithsonian’s budget request closely, even as the size of its appropriation over the years sloped upward at an angle that was the envy of every true government department. Budget hearings were usually a short love fest, with only the most pro forma review of Smithsonian spending or activities. The Secretary of the Smithsonian always appeared at an appropriation hearing with lovely pictures from a jungle somewhere, a story about something scientific of particular interest to the Chairman, a strange new fossil, or a breathtaking diamond. The purpose was to entertain, to divert attention by focusing attention on Smithsonian glitter rather than its budget.

It was not for nothing that Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote in a 1928 Supreme Court decision that “Congress long ago established the Smithsonian Institution, to question which would be to lay hands on the Ark of the Covenant.” The Smithsonian’s sacred standing had remained unquestioned in all subsequent decades.

Ben Milton, however, was willing to do what no one else dared to do. No one saw it coming, not the Secretary of the Smithsonian and especially not his General Counsel.

Election History. The voters of Pennsylvania elected Ben Milton in what would have been called a tremendous upset at any time during that particular election cycle from the date of his nomination in July until September 27th of that year. Milton was an Assistant United States Attorney for years, and he worked his way up to being the second in command in the office. He had a reasonably high profile in the Philadelphia legal world because of the many major criminals he prosecuted during his career. His visibility improved when his last boss – the presidentially appointed U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania – mailed it in and let Milton do nearly everything.

While Milton never engaged in any partisan activities during his years in the office, his political leanings were well-known. He had been pursued by numerous law firms in Philadelphia seeking to enhance their white-collar criminal practice, but he turned everyone down flat. He taught criminal law at a local law school as an adjunct professor, and the school wanted him on the faculty permanently. Milton seemed content to be a prosecutor.

When party leaders desperate for a candidate approached him as their tenth choice for sacrificial lamb in the upcoming Senate race, Milton surprised them by agreeing to run. Milton thought that the race would give him an exit strategy from his position and that he could decide on a new career after the election. He had no illusions about beating the three-term incumbent Senator Simon Demopoulos, better known in Pennsylvania as Simon of Athens for his Greek roots.

Senator Demopoulos lived a charmed life in Pennsylvania, especially for someone who was on the wrong side of the state’s political tracks in that era. He came to America from Greece as a child, made a bundle in the brokerage business, and managed to get himself elected Governor. At the conclusion of his second and last term as Governor, a Senate vacancy arose, and he walked into the Senate without breaking a sweat. He was overwhelmingly reelected twice more, and a fourth term was a foregone conclusion. Simon of Athens was a fixture in Pennsylvania, in the Senate, and in the Greek community, a hero to all.

Milton ran a low-key campaign. Since he had no illusion about winning, he was able to be honest, thoughtful, and respectful on the campaign trail and during debates with Senator Demopoulos. Milton never unfairly criticized or demeaned his opponent. The debates focused on differences in philosophy rather than the usual trivia found in electoral debates. In turn, the Senator treated Milton equitably and politely because he didn’t perceive Milton as a threat. It was one of the nicest and most substantive campaigns the state had ever seen, not that the voters paid much attention.

Milton’s reviews as a candidate were extremely good. He was popular with reporters. He was well-thought of by many voters, most of whom still planned to vote for the other guy. Milton concentrated on polishing his prospects for his afterlife. His goal was to emerge from the campaign as a respectable figure with a good reputation for having fought the good fight. The result exceeded his wildest dreams.

On September 27th, a story appeared in a Philly tabloid showing Simon of Athens in a compromising position with a young woman on his staff. The Senator’s reputation vanished overnight. Luckily for Milton, the picture was tame enough so it could be printed in every state newspaper, and it was reprinted repeatedly. Had the picture shown more skin or if the girl had been a few years younger, no paper would have dared to print it, and the effect of the scandal might have been much diminished.

Oddly, Milton was the only one who defended his opponent. He called on Pennsylvanians to make their choice based on the records, accomplishments, and philosophies of the nominees. He told voters to overlook what he referred to as “minor private peccadilloes” and to stick to the issues when casting their votes. “Vote for me because I will be a better Senator, not because you object to Senator Demopoulos’s personal habits.” Milton pointed out that the Senator’s wife had forgiven him and said that others should do the same. He raised the matter so charmingly, sincerely, and sparingly that no one could accuse him of bashing the incumbent.

At first, those who pushed Milton into the race thought that he was crazy not to use the scandal. They wanted Milton to run ads, wave flags, and scream from the mountain top. Milton disagreed. He wouldn’t let surrogates bash Demopoulos either. Milton told them all to shut up and to leave it alone.

Milton’s approach turned out to be right on every level. It enhanced his reputation as a nice, reasonable, personable guy. Milton wouldn’t talk about the scandal unless asked, and even then, he was reticent.

Simon never recovered. The conservative voters in upstate Pennsylvania and the state’s Catholics abandoned the incumbent altogether. Urban voters didn’t need much reason to vote Democratic. In November, Milton became the unexpected Senator from the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. It wasn’t a case of David beating Goliath. It was Goliath beating Goliath, with David winning just by showing up and smiling politely.

The Hearing. At the Smithsonian hearing, Milton used the chairman’s prerogative to turn aside the dog-and-pony show planned by the Secretary of the Smithsonian. Milton began to ask a series of seemingly uninformed questions about the Smithsonian’s past spending activities. The Secretary said that he wasn’t used to talking about appropriations at an appropriations hearing. “I can’t recall a hearing when Senators wanted to talk about funds rather than the latest scientific research or a recent acquisition. I have with me one of the largest …”

The Senator interrupted. “I’m sure that you have something fascinating to share, but let’s stick to the numbers for the moment.”

“Then let me defer to our General Counsel, Peter Peabody, who is better able to discuss the budgetary details.”

Peter Peabody, General Counsel to the Smithsonian, was a Boston Brahmin, Harvard Law graduate, who had a distinguished career at the State Department, Defense Department, and a stint as Deputy White House Counsel. He had rarely been challenged by anyone or anything. His crisp and polished conclusions were typically accepted without question by all within earshot. Peabody’s firm, authoritative, and confident demeanor shut down anyone with another point of view. He came to the hearing attired in a perfectly pressed Brooks Brothers suit, conservative tie, white starched shirt, and expensive but not ostentatious pearl cuff links.

Milton began by eliciting from Peabody an explanation of the nature of the funds appropriated to the Smithsonian. The Senator sat back casually while Peabody patiently explained that some of the appropriated funds provided to the Smithsonian came without any time restrictions. These are so-called no-year funds, available indefinitely until spent. No-year funds were often for long-term building projects. Another pot of appropriated funds are annual appropriations, or funds that must be spent or committed by the end of the fiscal year or returned to the Treasury. Peabody offered this Appropriations 101 lesson readily, as if to a newcomer, in short, well-formed sentences, almost as if Peabody read from a script.

At this point, the fruit bowl began to come into play. Milton ate a few grapes while Peabody lectured.

Milton then asked about various funds available to the Smithsonian, running through a prepared list of questions without an apparent purpose. Peabody responded, as was his wont, with direct and conclusive answers, offering repeatedly to “provide additional details and documentation for the hearing record.” A few bored observers left the room at this point, much to their later regret.

With the same casual tone, the Senator asked about funds that the Smithsonian transferred from an account for research to the Smithsonian Foundation for Scientific Research. Peabody acknowledged the transfer, saying that he had personally approved the awarding of grants to the Foundation. He acknowledged under questioning that the Foundation was a wholly owned subsidiary of the Smithsonian Institution. Everything was done, Peabody assured the Chairman, strictly according to the law. Peabody pointed out that the Chief Justice of the United States was a member of the Smithsonian’s Board of Directors and headed the Board’s legal committee. The Chief Justice’s role was an additional assurance that everything was proper. He again offered to provide additional details for the hearing record, with his manner suggesting a backhanded dismissal of the Senator’s question.

Milton leaned back in his chair and nodded to Frank Butcher, an investigator for the Senator, who then moved a previously unnoticed easel forward and uncovered the first page. The complicated diagram on the poster showed the awarding of grants over the past three fiscal years by the Smithsonian to its foundation. The audience began to stir slightly.

Peabody acknowledged the general accuracy of the diagram, saying that the picture showed what he just described. It was all a routine activity, an accounting question of no great novelty or importance. The awarding of grants happened regularly and was reported each year in the Smithsonian’s budget request. “Is there another budget area that you want to know more about, Senator?”

The Senator said, “Let’s stick with this for a while. There may be still something of interest to be uncovered here.” Milton ate a few more grapes. Underneath Peabody’s stolid appearance, a careful observer might have begun to detect some nervousness.

Milton then asked Peabody to explain how he determined the legality of the grants and the process for approval. Peabody reached behind him, where he had several large briefcases with files and records. He pulled out a loose-leaf notebook and read from the minutes of a legal committee meeting several years earlier. He said that the legality of the awards was on the agenda, and that the transfer was approved without dissent on June 30 of the previous year. He emphasized again that the Chief Justice concurred. “What was that date again?” asked Milton? “June 30”, said Peabody. “I have all the documentation right here, and I am happy to provide copies for the hearing record.”

Milton asked if the money awarded to the foundation came from annual funds or from no-year funds. Peabody acknowledged that the money came from annual appropriations.

The chairman ate more grapes. People in the audience began to sit up and look at one another. Reporters wrote furiously. No one could tell where this was going, but it had potential. The Smithsonian staff accompanying the witnesses looked fearful.

A nod to the staffer by Milton, and the next poster revealed that the Foundation had total available funds of $23.2 million dollars, the remainder of eight-million-dollar grants in each of the last three years. Peabody declined to verify the exact amounts, but he said that the numbers were approximately correct as far as he could recall. He said he would provide the exact numbers for the hearing record.

“Don’t you think that is a lot of money to be sitting around unspent and unallocated in a Foundation?” asked the Senator. Peabody did not agree. He said that the Foundation’s work is highly variable and that it needed to have funds available to respond when unexpected opportunities arose. The funds might be used to purchase specimens for the collection, to plan exhibits, or to support specific scientific research projects. “Got an example of how those funds were used?” asked the Senator. Peabody promised to provide details for the hearing record.

“But weren’t the funds from an annual appropriation? That’s what you explained earlier about the funds used for the award to the Foundation.” Peabody nodded in agreement. “Seems to me that if the funds weren’t spent by the end of the year, the money should have been handed back to the Treasury.” Peabody again disagreed, explaining that the Smithsonian spent the funds by awarding them to the Foundation. It was because the Smithsonian spent the funds during the fiscal year there were no funds left at the end of the year to be returned. Peabody said that there could be no doubt of the legality of the grant. Peabody had personally approved it, and repeated that the grant process had been expressly approved by the Chief Justice and the legal committee in that June 30 meeting.

“It looks to me as if you merely moved the money from one pocket to another.” said Milton. “I don’t understand why awarding your own subsidiary a grant is a real expenditure of funds. Maybe I’m missing something here, but let’s move on.” At that, Peabody relaxed. He thought he was out of the woods. The audience saw that Milton had hit a single. Amusing, but hardly game changing. Milton, however, was still at bat. “Let me share with you the findings of my investigative staff.” At that, he nodded again, and a new poster was unveiled.

The poster showed a series of bills for dinners, hotel rooms, travel, limousines, and similar expenses. “This chart shows usage of Foundation funds in the last few years. Eight hundred thousand dollars was used in the past three years for parties, dinners, staff retreats, theatre tickets, and the like. What do you have to say about that?” People in the audience whispered and pointed at the chart.

Peabody started to answer, but the Secretary intervened. “I don’t know personally about all those expenses, Senator, but you have to remember that we do extensive fundraising. We also entertain foreign dignitaries, distinguished scholars and scientists, and museum staff from all around the country and the world. Our scientific work relies on the cooperation of other governments, museums, and academic institutions. We work hard to maintain that cooperation, and sometimes that requires us to reciprocate their hospitality. We also work hard to convince potential donors about the value of our work and about how their support will make our collections and exhibits even better. If we can raise a million dollars at the cost of an admittedly expensive dinner or two, I think everyone would agree that’s a good use of funds. And like other organizations, we also have occasional staff retreats. I think that’s a normal activity for many organizations, and it helps us to do a better job of managing our programs and our staff. Of course, it’s entirely appropriate for your Subcommittee to want to look at the details, and we’ll provide all the information that you want. I assure you that there is a routine explanation for the spending.”

Senator Milton said, “You may have a point, but I’m not sure why you’re spending federal funds to raise private funds. Any money you raise becomes part of the Smithsonian’s private funds. If so, then I would think that the costs of fund raising should be paid with private funds.”

The Secretary and Peabody looked uncomfortable, but they didn’t respond. The Senator didn’t push for an answer.

“In any event, why are you using money awarded to the Foundation for these purposes? Mr. Peabody said that the funds were to be used to enhance the collection and to support research. That’s not what the funds were used for. And when you report on the expenses, please explain why senior Smithsonian officials, including Peter Peabody and others flew first class on airplane trips and billed the cost to the Foundation.”

The Secretary responded instantly, “I have never flown first class at the Smithsonian’s expense. I pay for my own travel from my own pocket. It’s part of my personal contribution to the Smithsonian. As for the other expenses, if we made accounting errors or billed something to the wrong account or failed to get a reimbursement that we should have gotten, these mistakes can be easily fixed. We’ll provide more information after we review the matter.”

“I must say,” said the Senator, “that this seems irregular to me, but let’s keep going.” Another single for the Senator, but still routine.

The next poster was titled Laundering Annual Funds into No-Year Funds and showed a picture of money being transferred from one pants pocket to another. Milton said, “Here’s what things look like to me. The Smithsonian laundered federal funds. It took restricted funds, awarded itself a grant, and then treated the grant as unrestricted no-year funds to be spent at any time and on anything. The more familiar term for a pot of money like that is a slush fund. Money held and spent without any accountability. If this isn’t illegal – and I think it well may be illegal – it violates the principle of doing indirectly what you’re prohibited from doing directly.”

Peabody responded. “With all due respect, Senator, it isn’t only my opinion that the grants were lawful, but it is the opinion of the Chief Justice of the United States. The grants were awarded in accordance with all applicable laws. The process was proper, and even your records show that the bulk of the money is still available for the original purpose. The money will be spent for that purpose when the time is right. We didn’t dissipate the money, but we are holding it until the proper project comes along.”

The Secretary of the Smithsonian intervened again. “I don’t know if what we did with the funds was a technical violation of the law or not. It’s an arcane legal matter, and we can take another look at it. I definitely don’t want to have a legal fight with the Appropriations Committee. We respect your view of appropriations law, and we wouldn’t want to do anything that the committee considers improper. If we did something wrong, we’ll fix it or see that it doesn’t happen again. Don’t you agree, Peter?”

“Of course, I agree.” But Peabody seemed tense and defensive. “But what we did was within the law. I’ll provide a detailed legal analysis for the record.”

Milton had another hit, maybe a double. It was definitely getting more interesting. The room, which had been half-empty, began to fill up with reporters, staffers, and even tourists. Somehow, the word has gotten out that something was happening at this hearing.

The Banana. “That’s fine,” said the Senator. Milton casually picked up a banana and began to point it at Peter Peabody. “Let’s talk about the role of the Chief Justice in this appropriations process.” The next poster showed a newspaper picture of the Chief Justice in a bathing suit on a beach in Hawaii.

“This is a fine picture of the Chief Justice, and it’s in a setting that is especially unusual for a member of the Supreme Court. If you can divert your attention from the Chief Justice’s fetching bathing suit, I suggest that you notice the date of the article,” said Milton.

“It’s the same date, Mr. Peabody, when you said that the legal committee was meeting in Washington. June 30. Would you care to comment?” At this point, the Senator peeled the banana, first one side, then another, and then the last part. He began to eat the fruit while Peabody shuffled papers, stumbled, and stammered. “I’m not … it is possible… the dates may not be… The newspaper may have printed a photo taken at another time.”

Milton spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasizing each point with the banana in his hand. “I can assure you, Mr. Peabody, that we checked with the Chief Justice’s office and verified beyond any possible doubt that he was in Hawaii on June 30th of that year. He was wearing a bathing suit that his wife bought for him in Hawaii that same morning. We have a copy of the dated receipt.”

Peabody backpedaled. “If the Chief Justice was in Hawaii on June 30, then the minutes of the legal committee may have the wrong date. There may have been a mix-up in the dates. We can look into that further and provide an explanation for the hearing record.” Peabody was sweating.

With a nod from the Senator, the last poster was revealed. It was a handwritten note on Smithsonian General Counsel stationery with directions to “John.” The note read, “Prepare minutes as if a legal committee meeting was held on June 30. Show that all the committee members were present, and include the usual agenda items, including committee approval of the award of funds to the Foundation.” It was signed “Peter.”

The Senator waited, munching on the banana, while everyone in the room read the note. There was much gasping, pointing, and elbowing among the audience members. The Secretary read it and then stared straight ahead, unwilling to look at his General Counsel.

No one said a word for sixty seconds, but the silence seemed to last for ten minutes. Even the audience was dead quiet. Having now cleared the bases with a mighty blow, Milton finally spoke, empty banana peel in hand.

“I’m not going to disclose how we got a copy of that document, but it is authentic. We had the handwriting verified by the FBI. It is your handwriting, Mr. Peabody. You may say otherwise right now if you can.”

Peabody slumped in his chair, staring at his hands. Milton waited a few seconds, and as there was no response, he continued.

“We haven’t had an independent look at the accounting, controls, or administration of the Smithsonian in decades. As far as I can tell, there’s never been any real oversight. No organization – no matter how well-intentioned or well-liked by the American public – that functions without review and without audit is exempt from temptation. That seems to be what we uncovered today. I don’t know how deep the problems are or who else may be involved. I sent a letter this morning to the General Accounting Office asking for a complete audit of the Smithsonian’s books, policies, and operations. We need to make the Smithsonian accountable, just like every other agency.”

The Secretary said “I can assure you, Senator, that we’ll cooperate fully with that audit, that we’ll make amends where necessary. We will fix whatever needs to be fixed. The Smithsonian Institution has a long history of public service, science, and research, and we’ll continue that work in the future. If mistakes have been made, then the responsible people will be sanctioned as appropriate. Any problems will be corrected. I promise you that the Smithsonian will get to the bottom of this matter to the full satisfaction of the Senate Committee on Appropriations. You have my personal assurance of that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I appreciate that. It’s what the American people expect and deserve. As for you Mr. Peabody, you’re welcome to explain the memo displayed here. But unless you can provide a reasonable and credible explanation for what we uncovered today” – and now the Senator held up the empty banana peel and visibly dumped it back in the fruit bowl – “I expect that you will go back to your office and submit your resignation.” Milton leaned forward as he said, “We’ll be particularly pleased to have that for the hearing record.” The Senator banged the gavel, stood up, and left the room by the back door behind the podium.

Peter Peabody sat alone, ignored by all, and stunned by his sudden fall from grace. His suit, which seemed so perfectly pressed at the beginning of the hearing, now seemed as disheveled and empty as the banana peel.

As soon as the Senator left the room, five people rushed to the podium trying to grab the peel as a souvenir.

All in all, it was a pretty good at bat for a rookie Senator.

Chapter 9: The First Morning

Sally and Amy met in the kitchen at 7 a.m. Amy was dressed similarly to the previous day, but this time her shawl was light purple. Sally was in full designer armor. “Good morning, Amy. I think that most of your secrets have been published in the Washington Post.” Sally handed her the paper.

There was a front-page, above-the-fold story in Wednesday’s Post, under the headline Butcher Murder Investigation Begins. Written by Dan Gold, the story reported that Denver FBI Agent Amy Lynne Forest would run the investigation after an agreement between the FBI Director and Senator Milton placed her on the payroll of the Senate Police. The story explained that the assignment of an FBI agent to the Senate Police was done to avoid a constitutional problem that would arise if the FBI were to directly review confidential Senate investigative files. The story also gave some background about Amy and her previous cases.

Amy slumped into a chair as she read. “This is awful. I’m mortified. I never thought about press coverage. I hoped to operate quietly. What will the Senator think? What will Charlie think? I may get shipped back to Denver tonight. This is awful. I can’t believe that a reporter got all this information. And so quickly.”

Sally was sympathetic but not surprised. “You can’t escape the press here. There’s always someone who will give a story to a reporter. A Member, a staffer, a clerk, a bureaucrat, a lobbyist. Getting stories in the paper is a local sporting event. A good story can advance your cause, and a bad story can kill you. You’ll find this hard to accept at the moment, but today’s story was mostly okay. Someone was going to do a story on the investigation. After all, it’s a slow news week, and the murder is still hot stuff. The story isn’t that bad.”

Amy kept reading.

Sally watched her as she read. “Who’d of thunk that my old roomie Amy Forest would be front-page material in the Washington Post? I’m buying copies to send to all the girls – Lizzie will be so jealous – and old Professor Burnett. This will blow him away, if he’s still alive, that is. Remember him and his Poli Sci 101 course that we had to take? And the alumni office. The college will be thrilled. Maybe they can use it to raise money or attract students. Think of the campaign. You can be famous like Amy Forest.”

Amy laughed in her misery. “I’m definitely not thrilled. I’d be happier if you burned your copy.”

Sally put her hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Listen, the story’s out. You may as well make peace with it. You can assume that everyone you meet will have read the story. Everyone. It’s what I call the Washington Post principle. Everyone here reads the Post, and anything in the Post is general knowledge. There’ll be more stories, and you may want to work to shape them in the right direction.”

Amy slowly ingested Sally’s point that press was inevitable. “I don’t want to have anything to do with reporters. But I know what you mean. Even in Denver, sometimes the press can help with an investigation. And I guess you’re right that someone was going to write a story sooner or later. It’s still such a shock. My first day on the job.”

Sally continued with her theme. “Playing the press is a real Washington art form. Sometimes you need to plant something to preempt someone else. Sometimes you can kill a mediocre story today if the reporter thinks that you can provide a better story later. You can talk to your boss through the press. I can’t call my CEO unless it’s something huge, but I know that he reads the company press clips. If I get something in the Post, he’ll see it. Hill staff does that too. If you want your Member to show interest in something, you first get a story in the Post.”

“Will someone think that I leaked this information?”

Sally didn’t think so. “Dan Gold is a major reporter with a lot of sources. He’s written a ton of stories about Senator Milton. I don’t know what his connection is with that office, but it’s a strong one. The clipping that I gave you last night was his story too. You need to pay attention to bylines in this town. And when you talk to him, you can yell at him for getting your age wrong too. We’re not that old. Yet.”

“I don’t plan to talk to him.”

As Sally got ready to go, she put her hand on Amy’s shoulder. “When you talk to him, and you will talk to him, be kind. He’s only doing his job. If it makes you feel any better, the Star had a mundane story that doesn’t mention you at all.”

Amy felt better about that, but Sally had a warning. “You never know about the Washington Star. Sometimes, it ignores a story when the Post had a scoop. And sometimes, it tries harder to one-up the Post. The Star can be relentless when it wants to. Well, gotta to run to a breakfast fundraiser. Lock up when you leave. See you tonight.”

It was a pleasant morning, blue skies and a hint of fall. But Amy Forest walked to the Russell Building in a fog. She had the feeling that everyone was staring at her, even though she knew that it was highly unlikely that anyone recognized her. The one and only thing about the article for which she was truly grateful was the absence of a photograph.

She went to her – that is, Frank Butcher’s – office. She removed the FBI seal from the office door, unlocked it, and entered. The chair that Frank had used was missing, presumably at the FBI Lab so she moved another office chair in place and sat down. The desk was filled with the documents that were there when Frank was killed. Not only were the documents untouched, but they were also loosely covered with sheets of brown paper, which she removed.

She sat and reread the Post story. At least the story didn’t exactly say that she was being supervised jointly by Milton and Parisi. But the story hinted at it, although it seemed unlikely that anyone who didn’t already know about the arrangement would have figured it out from the story. Since Amy hadn’t told anyone, she thought that either Milton or Parisi must have talked to the reporter. They told her this big story about it being a secret, and then one of them leaked it.

She thought that Washington hadn’t changed at all since she left, not that she expected anything better. She didn’t expect it so quickly. Amy felt betrayed and abandoned, and it wasn’t even 9 a.m. on her first day. She suddenly wanted to go back to Denver, but she knew that was not an option. At least, not on her own motion at present.

The phone rang. It wasn’t the phone on the desk that was ringing. None of the lights on that phone blinked. She looked around and found another phone on the table behind Frank’s desk and chair. The table was filled with phone books, directories, and other reference materials. In the middle was a single line, black, rotary dial telephone. She assumed that it was Frank’s private line. She answered it, tentatively.

“Hello.”

“Hi Amy. This is Dan Gold. I assume that you saw my story this morning in the Post. I’d like to talk.”

Amy froze. Her heart pounded. She wanted to scream at the caller, hang up the phone, and ask questions all at the same time. Talking to a reporter, let alone this reporter was not what she planned for her first morning on the job.

She started speaking with an edge to her voice. “How did…” She stopped. She tried again in a calmer tone. “Only three…” She stopped herself again and exhaled. “You got my middle name wrong. It’s l-y-n-n. There’s no e.” She was happier with that. She managed to say it with a slight smirk. She liked the calmer tone to her voice, the comment that revealed nothing, and the meaningless criticism of the reporter. She didn’t know how to proceed or what Gold wanted so it was best to stick to banter. She learned early as an investigator to let the other person do more of the talking. She calmed herself down and tried to stay under control.

Dan said, “I know. And I got your age wrong. I expected you to object to that more than to your misspelled middle name. I added four years. I also said you lived in the Denver suburbs when you live in the city proper.”

“If you know all that, then why…”

He explained. “I did it so that no one would conclude that you were the source of the information. No one thinks that a woman over the age of 21 would tell anyone that she was four years older than she is. I gave the wrong neighborhood to throw off anyone who might, shall we say, have a reason not to appreciate your previous investigative work. And the middle name was another meaningless but intentional mistake. You’re probably the only one, other than your mother, who would’ve noticed that particular error.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for all that?” she asked.

“No. But I hope that you’ll come to appreciate a couple of things. First, I do look out for my sources, current and future. Second, I…”

“Now wait a minute. If you expect me to give you any information about the investigation, you’re out of your mind.”

Dan paused for a second. He spoke with the confidence of someone who knew precisely what he was doing. “Let’s start again, if we can. The first thing you did wrong was talking to a reporter without establishing ground rules. We don’t know each other so we don’t have any understandings. With most staffers, bureaucrats, or agents that I do business with regularly, the usual understanding is that everything is either off the record or not-for-attribution. Most Washington types know to establish the ground rules up front. But you don’t have to worry when you talk to me. I never quote a non-elected official who isn’t a political appointee without express permission, unless that person speaks in public. You get that without asking, by the way.”

Dan continued, “Your second mistake is that you told me that it was your investigation. That confirms my story. Yes, I know that it has already appeared in print, but I could write a second day story saying that Amy Forest confirmed exclusively to the Washington Post that she’s the investigator of the Frank Butcher murder. No one else had your name, or they didn’t until our paper hit the stands this morning.”

Amy’s mouth opened, but she didn’t know what to say. She felt slightly over her head. No, she felt a lot over her head. Washington press was nothing like Denver press.

Dan kept talking. “I have no intention of writing that story. I also know about your supervision arrangement with Milton and Parisi. I don’t plan on writing about that either if I don’t have to. I want to help you. Frank was a source and a friend. That’s why I knew to call you on his private number. I want to find out who killed him, and I want to report it. If you find out first, I want to report the story anyway, exclusively in the Washington Post if possible. I think I can be of use to you, and I hope that you may be willing to return the favor. I’m not expecting any response from you now. Listen for a few minutes. I have more to say. And you can relax because everything you say to me today and in the future is strictly and absolutely off the record unless the two of us expressly agree otherwise. I can be trusted, and I hope that you’ll learn that.”

“I’m not making any deals with a reporter, especially one I don’t know. I don’t even want to talk to you. If anyone knew….”

“I’m not asking you to do anything for now except listen. You’re not talking to me. You’re listening to me. I’ll bet you were told not to talk to a reporter, but no one told you not to listen to a reporter. Besides, you need to talk to me because I knew Frank, and you’re already thinking that I’m a suspect.”

Amy found Dan’s tone reassuring, but she still complained, “I don’t think that I should be on the phone with you at all. But it did occur to me that you are a suspect. You have the number to his private line. Where were you Monday afternoon?” She liked that. She always enjoyed asking the classic question. It made her feel more in charge.

Dan said, “I knew you would ask. I was in Atlantic City playing blackjack in a casino on Sunday and Monday. I was there until 7 p.m. Monday. I got home around 11:30 p.m. My wife was with me, but I don’t expect you to believe her. I made a copy of my hotel bill, and it is already on its way to you by messenger. The messenger will drop it off for you in the Senator’s personal office. It’ll be in an FBI envelope because everyone in that office would notice if you got a delivery from the Washington Post on your first day. You know that that everything that happens in a casino is filmed, and you can have someone in your Atlantic City office pull the films if you don’t believe me. Anyway, I had no motive to kill Frank. I protect my sources. I don’t kill them. Frank was also the biggest fish in the local poker game I play in.”

Amy was mildly impressed both at the offer and the thought that went into it. “You use FBI stationery?”

Dan did. “Sometimes. I have envelopes from many federal and state agencies, private businesses, and non-profit organizations. They come in handy when I send something to a source, but I need to make certain that no one knows that my source is dealing with a reporter. Stationery isn’t hard to get from people who are cooperating with you.”

Amy spoke now with more confidence. “Well, your story this morning didn’t do me any good. It did nothing to protect me, your supposed, hypothetical, future source.”

Dan didn’t budge. “I had to write the story because my source wanted it to appear, because someone else would’ve written it if I didn’t, because it was news, and because I’m a reporter. It’s my nature to write stories. I won’t apologize for that. And I did my best to protect you in the story, given those limitations. I didn’t reveal everything I knew.”

“Okay, but who gave you the story? There’re only so many possibilities, and I know who they are.”

Dan chuckled. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But I’m not going to tell you in any way, shape, or form who my source is or isn’t. You’re in Washington, and people in Washington tell things to reporters. And those who don’t tell things to reporters directly tell things to other people who tell things to reporters. Almost everything comes out in the end when it’s in someone’s interest to disclose it. Those interests may have nothing to do with the story itself.”

“I know more about the arrangement between Milton and Parisi than I wrote. I know that you report directly to both of them. I didn’t write that because exposure of that detail might have blown up the arrangement. It’s a secret that deserves to remain a secret. At least, I won’t be the one to report it. It’s a messy problem, but the patchwork solution has a chance to work under the circumstances. Otherwise, I could see a fight over access to Senate files continuing for months. That won’t be good for anyone, and it will delay finding Frank’s killer. I can be discreet when it is appropriate and especially when it’s in my own interest. I protect sources not only because it is the right thing for a reporter to do, but because I want people to know that I’m trustworthy. I need help to write stories, and I can write better stories if people trust me. Anyway, you had to know that your name would’ve become public sooner or later. Whether it was today or next week doesn’t matter that much. I’m sorry that I did it before you settled in, but I had no choice. I would have called you for a comment, but the FBI wouldn’t tell me how to reach you last night, and you wouldn’t have taken my call anyway.”

Amy said, “You got that right. I’m not happy talking to you this morning either.” Amy looked at her watch. “Okay,” she said wearily and warily. “What do you want? Why did you call me this morning? I have a few things to do, you know.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I wanted to introduce myself. I wanted you to understand about the story. I wanted you to know that I’m working the same investigation. I wanted you to know that I’ll help you even if you don’t reciprocate. I know a lot about Frank Butcher, his methods, and the targets of his investigations. I’ve reported quite a few stories about his work. I don’t know who killed him, but I have candidates in mind. At present, you don’t have to agree to anything. The envelope being delivered has my office and home numbers. You can me call anytime. Everything is 100 percent off the record. I protect my sources.”

“I hear you, Dan, but I agree to nothing.”

“Okay. That’s fine. It’s enough for now. We’ll talk again. Goodbye.”

Amy sat back and contemplated the phone call just concluded. She recognized that she was operating in a new environment and that she would have to run twice as fast just to stay in place. She didn’t know quite what to make of Dan Gold. She’d run across sleazy reporters in the past, and she knew from experience that many reporters, sleazy or otherwise, could not be trusted. Still, while she wasn’t happy about the call, she gave Gold some credit for calling. She wasn’t quite prepared to admit that Gold sounded okay, and she both hoped and didn’t hope that Gold might turn out to be useful along the way.

She then turned to the job at hand and began to do an inventory of the office. The office made a landfill look organized. After twenty minutes, there was a knock on the door. Amy flinched. She went up to the door and asked who it was before opening it.

“I’m Eric Howe, the Senator’s press secretary. I want to talk to you about today’s Washington Post story.” There was an unwelcome sharpness to his voice. Amy remembered Janie’s warning.

Amy opened the door. “You can come in, but don’t touch anything in this office.”

Howe was wearing a dark suit, pink shirt, and ugly brown tie. He entered, and Amy closed the door and directed him to a chair. She stood over him, at least as much as she was able, leaning against the desk.

Eric started to berate her about the story. “The Senator was unhappy about the story this morning.”

Amy, remembering Janie’s warning, could see what was coming and decided to take the offensive. “Excuse me, but I don’t know who you are. Do you have a credential that shows that you’re the Senator’s press secretary? And a driver’s license, please.”

Howe hesitated.

Amy said, “Look, for all I know, you murdered Frank Butcher and came here to cover up the crime. I need to see ID, first. Right now.” Amy put her purse near the desk within reach.

Howe unhappily pulled out his wallet, showed her his license, and gave her a business card with his job title on it. Amy kept the card, saying that she would verify it all later.

Howe started in again. “We’re unhappy with the press coverage.”

Amy cut him off. “First, I had nothing to do with the story. Second, I don’t work for you or the Senator. I’m running my own investigation, and I’m not accountable to you. If the Senator is unhappy, tell him to call me personally. Otherwise, I want you to stay out of this investigation and out of this office. And I want you to tell me where you were on Labor Day. I won’t have anything to do with you until I can clear you.”

Howe tried not to look either indignant or impressed, but he was both. He thought a female investigator would be a pushover. He took another business card and wrote down the name and phone number of his wife and his neighbor. “I was with these people at a brunch in Bethesda. My wife and neighbor can vouch for me. I didn’t kill Frank Butcher.”

Amy took the card. “I’ll check this out. Tell me how you got along with Frank.”

Howe talked for a few minutes about how he ran the press office and how he dealt with the rest of the Senator’s staff. Amy decided right away that Howe was an unlikely candidate. It was apparent that Howe didn’t much like Frank, but Amy figured that Howe didn’t much like anybody.

Amy had enough, and she moved toward the door to signal that it was time for Howe to leave. Howe stood, but as he turned to leave, he said, “It’s my understanding that you’re not supposed to talk to the press. I handle all press contacts for the Senator. If I find you going around my back, I will take action. It’s my job to protect the Senator.”

Amy decided to ignore the threat. “And it’s my job to find the murderer. You do your job and I’ll do mine. Speaking of the Senator, I plan to interview him soon. Is he in this morning?”

“No. We don’t expect him until later in the day.”

So much, Amy thought, for the “Senator and I” being unhappy. Howe headed for the door, with a scowl on his face. The visit did not go as he planned. As he left, Amy said, “Let me tell you something about criminal investigations. You wander around getting nowhere for days or weeks, and then the end sometimes comes quickly and unexpectedly. Or it doesn’t. We all have to live with that. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

Howe headed toward the door, and then he turned. “I want you to know one thing, if you don’t solve this case by adjournment, there will be hell to pay.” He slammed the door on his way out.

Chapter 10: Still Morning

Amy went back to the inventory, and there was another knock on the door about ten minutes later. It was the locksmith, and Amy told him what she wanted. He agreed to do it, but he said that there was no way to put on a lock that would keep him out.

A few minutes after the locksmith was done, Rod knocked at the door. She recognized him. At this rate, Amy thought, I won’t get anything done today. But knowing that Rod had been cleared, she invited him in. He had a bright-eyed, bushy tailed look.

“The Senator sent me over and told me to help you in any way that I can. I’m at your disposal.” Rod was wearing a light gray pinstripe suit, blue button-down shirt, and a non-descript blue tie with red stripes. Average boring lawyer attire.

Amy sat down at the desk. “Have a seat. How well did you know Frank?” she asked.

“Pretty well. I’m technically on the staff of the subcommittee, and Frank was sort of my boss. I was hired to help him, although I spend as much time in the Senator’s personal office as I do in the subcommittee office. In the Senate, where you sit may have nothing to do with your actual role. I know things about Frank’s investigations, and I worked on some. I also work on legislation. Frank was mostly a loner, and initially he only wanted my help from time to time to untangle a legal question, or to figure out the bureaucracy at DOT, or for another specific purpose. Over time, he decided that I was useful, and he let me get more involved. He also liked to relive past investigations by telling me about them.”

Amy asked for more details. “Can you describe what Frank did and how he did it?”

Rod sat back. “Frank is my candidate for the most unforgettable character I ever met. I was a junior lawyer in the Department of Transportation, a few years out of law school. Frank came to the agency during an investigation. I didn’t have anything to do with the program he was investigating, but I was there playing lawyer. He insisted on a meeting with a cast of thousands, or at least dozens. He started making wild charges about how a public transit grant program was being mismanaged for political purposes. He made random threats. He demanded a zillion documents. He used language never heard in a formal meeting. He sounded like he was a crazy man. He looked like he didn’t know what he was doing. I eventually learned that it was all part of his act. The meeting ended inconclusively, and everyone left feeling dazed but with the vague sense that they’d dodged a bullet. Everyone knew Frank’s reputation as an investigator, but he looked more foolish than anything.”

“What happened next?”

“I helped DOT to collect the documents he wanted. There were 24 boxes of papers. Our congressional relations director said to give him everything he asked for and more. The instructions were to bury him in documents. I went through the boxes as they filled, and I found several memos from an Assistant Secretary to the White House. Basically, one of the President’s chief political people ordered more public transit funding in states where Members of Congress from the President’s party had tough races. Frank’s information or hunch was right, but he apparently didn’t have proof. When I showed the documents to the congressional affairs office, they freaked out and pulled the documents out of the boxes. They collected every copy of the memos that they could find and destroyed them. I protested that records destruction violated the law. The Federal Records Act requires the retention of just this sort of record of official agency action. No one listened to me. Everyone understood that disclosure of the documents would’ve resulted in a scandal reaching into the White House.”

Amy said, “I vaguely remember that there was a scandal about the transit grants a few years ago. It was a local story for me because there were funds for Denver. How did Frank break the story if the incriminating documents were destroyed?”

“Somebody kept a copy of the memos and leaked them to Frank. Frank then gave them to Dan Gold of the Post, and it was all over quickly. The White House guy had already left by that time, so it was the DOT folks that took the brunt of it. The Assistant Secretary resigned, others were transferred, and there was a criminal investigation that dragged on for a long time. There never was an indictment, but the Assistant Secretary’s Washington career was over.”

Amy couldn’t resist. “Can I ask who leaked the documents?”

Rod looked like that was a familiar question. “You can ask, but Frank protected his sources. He was extremely careful about that and never told anyone. You could go through every document about his investigations, and you wouldn’t find anything that would identify a source. Frank never wrote down any information about his sources, how they contacted him, or where the key documents came from. At least, that’s what he always said. I don’t know if he had files at his house or somewhere else. He was so careful about sources that he copied documents people gave him and destroyed the original lest anyone be able to find fingerprints on them.”

“When did you start working here?”

“About three months after that DOT investigation hit the papers. You can ask the next question if you want, but I won’t answer it. I protect Frank’s sources too.” Rod smiled.

Amy wasn’t about to give up. “Okay, I’ll ask a different question. Why did he hire you?”

Rod crossed his arms and sat back. “Frank thought that a bureaucratic insider would be useful since he didn’t know that world well. Transit funding was a big issue in Pennsylvania, especially in Philadelphia, and that was another plus. The Senator also needed a lawyer to help his Chief Counsel, so I ended up doing work both here and in the personal office. It didn’t hurt that I grew up in Philadelphia, and my family was mildly involved in Democratic politics. My father is a lawyer, had done business with the U.S. Attorney’s office when the Senator was there so he knew Milton from the old days, before the Senate.”

“So, you filled a lot of needs at the same time.”

“Yeah. My hiring was somewhat of a fluke. It almost always is up here. People get hired on Capitol Hill because they know the right person, because they have a particular skill or knowledge needed at that moment, or because they were in the right place at the right time. I was a little of all three, plus a significant dose of dumb luck. I got to know Frank because I was the one who conveyed the public transit document boxes from the agency to his office. You can imagine what this place looked like with a couple of dozen extra boxes in it.”

Amy definitely liked Rod more than Eric. “Did you have something to do with opening other DOT investigations?”

“Yes. I came here with my knowledge of agency activities, and I pointed Frank to things that were not being done right. I shared his view that oversight is essential to make the government work as it should.”

Amy tried again. “He didn’t hire you because you leaked documents?” She wanted to know if she could trust him.

Rod didn’t fall for it. “I already told you that I wouldn’t answer that question. But it was another question that got me the job. Frank had been looking for help for a while, but he could never find what he wanted. He would’ve hired an investigative reporter in a minute, but the smart ones wouldn’t work for him. They loved his stuff, but he was too much of a flake for them. Frank didn’t have a sharp sense of what was newsworthy. He thought that every investigation he did belonged on the front page, and the reporters knew otherwise. Frank was dying to hire Dan Gold, but Dan wasn’t interested.”

Amy was intrigued. “So, what was the question that got you the job?”

“Frank interviewed people from the General Accounting Office, from audit offices, from investigatory units, from the FBI, from elsewhere. There’s no shortage of people who want jobs on Capitol Hill. He asked them all the same question, and no one got it right. He asked what documents they could bring with them from their current job that could be used in an investigation. Most people laughed off the question or mumbled. I must have been the only one who gave the right answer.”

“Which is?”

Rod played coy. “How would you answer it?”

“I’m not applying for a job,” Amy replied.

Rod waited.

Amy finally said, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t feel right walking out of the FBI with documents in hand. It would probably be illegal. If I got caught, I might get prosecuted. Either way, I couldn’t do it. You can’t bite the hand that feeds you or that fed you yesterday. That can’t be the winning answer.”

Nodding, Rod said, “Right. You wouldn’t get hired with that answer. Frank said that was one of two common responses. The other response was to start identifying documents that would be useful to an investigator. Frank didn’t like that answer either.”

Amy looked confused. “But I gather that a lot of his investigations started with leaked documents. Did he love leaked documents but hate the leakers?”

Rod said, “Frank was a funny guy. He hated crooked bureaucrats and corrupt appointees. He did everything he could to expose them. He believed in honest, open government. Frank virtually invited whistleblowers to come in and spill their guts. But he didn’t necessarily like them. Cops also use snitches all the time. But the snitches are usually after something for themselves, and they’re not exactly admirable people. You must use snitches sometimes. Would you invite any of them to your house for dinner?

Amy shook her head no.

“I didn’t think so. You have to look at Frank and his informants in the same way. He scorned the whistleblowers who exposed their agencies because of a petty or personal grudge. One guy came in because he was a GS-14, and his agency wouldn’t give him all the furniture that GS-14s were entitled to. The guy didn’t care that his agency was wasting millions of dollars. He wanted a better desk. A lot of the whistleblowers and wanna-bes who came to Frank were kooks, cranks, and disaffected people who couldn’t get along with anyone. Frank took their documents, but he hated them. He lived off the disloyalty of these people, and he didn’t like them for being disloyal. It sounds contradictory, but I guess that you would have the same reaction to the guy who wanted a better desk.”

Amy groaned. “So, you’re telling me that Frank’s enemies included those he exposed and those who helped him do the exposing? Thanks a lot. You just doubled the size of my investigation.”

Rod didn’t think so. “I guess you could look at it that way, but I doubt it. Frank didn’t do anything to hurt his sources. He took their information. He didn’t help them with their petty crusades. If they were capable of murder, some of them would’ve murdered someone in their own agency over two hours of comp time, a private office, or a promotion. Frank did find a few genuine whistleblowers who were trying to right a wrong because it was a wrong and not because a $100 award didn’t come their way. These people didn’t ask for anything for themselves. They wanted Frank to help them make their agency do the right thing. Frank liked these people. He saw them as patriots. He helped them if they were harassed.”

Amy still wanted to know the right answer to Frank’s question. “Let’s get back to Frank’s interview question. How did you answer it”?

“I said that I had an obligation to my current employer and that bringing documents would be a breach of that obligation. I’m a lawyer, and the agency is my client. I owe a duty of confidentiality to my clients. However, I told Frank that I would bring with me the knowledge of what documents exist, and I would help him request the right documents for an investigation. Using my knowledge of process, procedure, and organization didn’t breach any confidentiality obligation. My insider’s knowledge was useful both in deciding what to investigate and how to go about it. That was what Frank wanted. He wanted someone who understood about the need for documents in starting and conducting investigations and someone who had integrity. He always said that investigative targets don’t fall out of the sky. Figuring what to look at, what’s worth investigating, is more challenging than doing the actual investigations.”

Amy said, “That doesn’t seem so hard.”

Rod looked pleased. “Maybe, but I was apparently the only one who got a passing grade on Frank Butcher’s entrance exam. You’re a professional investigator and have probably waded through more documents than Frank, but you didn’t get it either. And you get to begin here with a defined starting point. That’s half the battle.”

Amy replied, “Trust me, we have the same problem at the Bureau deciding what and whether to investigate. Murders are easy in that way. But you said that Frank hated disloyal people. Why did he hire you if you gave him the documents in the public transit investigation?”

“That’s the second time you tried that. I never said that I gave him those documents.”

Amy pointed her finger at Rod. “Was that the dumb luck? You mailed the documents anonymously instead of handing them over in person. Frank didn’t know it was you who was disloyal to DOT.”

Rod squirmed in his seat, but his face never changed. ““I won’t confirm or deny that. But I’ll admit that you’re pretty sharp, and you pick up on interesting details.”

Rod changed the subject, “Now what can I do to help you today? The Senator told me I belong to you if you’ll have me.”

Amy definitely liked Rod and decided she could use him. “Can you help me with an inventory of everything in this office? I started, but it looks like it’ll take me the rest of the day.”

They worked mostly in silence for the next few hours. At noon, Rod brought back sandwiches from the Senate Cafeteria. After eating, Amy asked Rod about the Senator’s press secretary. Rod offered an even-handed assessment. “Eric is something of a pain in the ass. He’s very aggressive on behalf of the Senator, and he’s always berating reporters for not quoting him enough. Or high enough up in the story. I don’t think that the Senator cares all that much, but Eric does. It’s how he keeps score.”

“Did he get along with Frank?”

“No, but he doesn’t get along with anyone. We all accept him because we have to, but he screams at all of us from time to time. I don’t know of any specific reason why he would dislike Frank more than the rest.”

“What can you tell me about adjournment?”

Rod shrugged. “It’s always hard to say when it will come. It’s a major topic of gossip. Current rumors are in about two weeks, but it could come at the end of September too. Or later.”

Amy started to ask another question, but she stopped and went back to work. The inventory showed the following:

• 98 apparently open investigative files in five locked file cabinets. Some of the files were large and included many documents and scribbled notes.

      23 about DOD or DOD contractors

      8 about the FBI

      5 about the CIA

      15 about HUD

      7 about the Postal Service

      1 about the General Accounting Office

      13 about the Justice Department other than the FBI

      5 about DOT

      19 about companies, mostly banks and insurance companies

      2 about non-profit organizations.

The investigative files ranged in size from a manila folder with a single slip of paper to an entire drawer filled with documents. Files spilled over into boxes and unboxed files on the floor containing documents about ongoing and closed investigations. It wasn’t always apparent which records belonged to which investigation.

• Disorganized records about closed investigations, some in locked file cabinets and some in boxes on the floor. Often, investigations appeared at first glance to have been closed or abandoned without much apparent result. Other closed investigatory records were more identifiable as successful because these files included a series of press clippings. There appeared to be about 140 files of closed investigations, but it was hard to tell what was open and what was closed. It was sometimes hard to tell if a file had an investigation or if a file contained more than one. Rod could occasionally identify files as closed. Otherwise, files that had no apparent signs of activity in the last two years were put in the closed category.

• 68 published GAO reports, most of which had been requested by Butcher's current or former boss.

• Letters asking for 17 GAO audits, many related to ongoing investigations.

• 122 published hearings from the House and the Senate, plus unpublished transcripts from another 12 hearings.

• 15 bottles of liquor, 8 boxes of candy, and 25 books that appeared to be gifts from lobbyists, all piled unopened in a corner under a layer of dust.

• 12 items borrowed from the Library of Congress:

      Script from the movie "The Producers"

      3 books on how to handicap horse races

      2 Anthony Trollope novels (He Knew He Was Right, The Way We Live Now)

      A biography of Roald Amundsen (My Life as an Explorer)

      A technical manual on aircraft design

      A primer on the direct marketing industry

      2 basic textbooks on the insurance industry

• Annual reports from 5 banks, 6 insurance companies, 3 defense contractors, and 4 auto industry suppliers.

• A large, bright orange, plastic slinky that sat on his desk, under a handwritten sign that said, “Emotional Therapy, 5 Cents. The Slinky Is In."

• An IBM Selectric typewriter.

• 118 single serving packages of mustard and ketchup from the Senate Cafeteria.

• A small box with knives and forks from the Senate Cafeteria.

• A reproduction of the Bill of Rights rolled up in a tube.

• 12 different hats with Army, Navy, or FBI task force insignias.

• An unopened five-pound bag of flour.

• A silver-colored metal whistle and two cheap plastic whistles.

• An unsorted box of press clippings dating over the last five years, none of which seemed be about any of Frank’s investigations.

• 16 different plastic wind-up toys, including a set of chattering teeth, a jumping frog, a guy rowing a boat, and a walking zebra.

• 4 different letter openers, not counting the one that killed him. Two had the names and facsimile signatures of House Members. Assorted pens, pencils, and office supplies.

• A picture of Frank with scientists and other staffers in Antarctica.

• Two worn decks of playing cards.

• A pair of woman's shoes (size 6), found in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet, behind files.

• 6 umbrellas.

• 325 business cards of people that Frank presumably met.

• 179 pennies (three Canadian), two nickels, one dime.

Midway through the inventory, Rod offered an idea. “How about if we put all the unboxed files in new boxes, and then we can tell more easily when we’re done with them?”

Amy liked it.

Rod said that he could order all the boxes they needed and have them delivered in a few minutes. He said that he would order 100 boxes. Amy asked him to wait. She pointed to a box on the floor and asked if that was the size box that would come. Rod said it was. She surveyed the room and said that they would need 44 boxes. Rod was stunned. “How can you tell that?” Amy smiled and said that she just knew. “Bet you a nickel that I’m right.” Rod agreed. Rod made a call, ordered 50 boxes, and the boxes came in short order.

When they were done with the inventory, they started to box the files. While they were at it, Amy said, “The weirdest thing here is the shoes, although the bag of flour is a close second. What was Frank doing with a pair of women’s shoes? Was he married? Did he have a girlfriend?”

Rod didn’t know. “I know that he has a son who he lives in California. I don’t think that they were close. The kid took his mother’s side in the divorce a long time ago. Neither forgave the other, even after the ex died. Frank didn’t seem to have much interest in women. Well, that sounds wrong. He didn’t have any interest in men either.”

Rod looked embarrassed at how that came out, and Amy smiled.

Rod recovered. “I don’t think that he was particularly sexual. He’d been married, and it didn’t work out. That may have been enough for him. I don’t know. It wasn’t something we’d ever discussed so I just can’t say. I can’t explain the shoes. This office used to be occupied by secretaries, and maybe one of them left the shoes behind. I didn’t know they were there.”

“The flour?”

Rod was mystified. “I haven’t got a clue. It’s been there as long as I’ve known Frank. I never asked. I know that Frank was something of a cook, but I don’t know why he left a bag of flour in his office for so long.”

“What about the slinky?”

Rod picked it up and started playing with it. “It sat on his desk. Almost everyone who came into the office played with it. I did, all the time. It was cute, and it made people feel more at ease. I made the sign, which Frank liked.”

“The liquor and the candy?”

“Lobbyists gave him Christmas presents. It’s common for a law firm or lobbying firm to send stuff to important staffers. Frank didn’t like it, and he made a point of never making use of any of the gifts, although I’ve noticed that there isn’t any wine here. Frank may have taken that home. The rest piled up over the years. Some of it disappeared from time to time. Probably the cleaning people figured that no one would miss the last bottle of booze. Frank didn’t care about it at all.”

Amy picked up a hat. “What about these?”

Rod knew about the hats.

“Tell me if this rings a bell. Frank heard that every time law enforcement agencies or military units started a new identifiable project, they had hats made. Frank collected the hats. He thought that there might be an abuse of federal funds. But the cost was small, and there wasn’t enough there to go after. Too many different agencies and not a single focus. The hats were a cute prop, but the story didn’t quite have enough appeal.”

Amy knew about the hats. “Yeah. I own a few hats from task forces in Denver. I never got the point of the hats, and I never wore them. But they were big deals to many of the guys. Frank was right. As soon as a new project started, someone ran to order hats. To keep a lid on it – so to speak – the head of the Denver office always made us pay for the hats ourselves. I always bought a hat, just to be one of the ‘guys.’ There would have been nothing to investigate in my office, at least. I suddenly think more highly of my boss now for making us pay. What about the horse racing books? Was Frank a handicapper? Did he go to the track? Could he have owed someone money for gambling debts?”

Rod didn’t think so. “I started working with Frank just as he was giving up his attempts at handicapping. He played in a weekly poker game, but it was a low stakes game. I play in the game once in a while when there's a seat that they can’t fill. I’m not a regular. Nickel ante, quarter bets. No one plays for the money. You couldn’t make or lose more than thirty or forty bucks in a night, and it was rare for anyone to be up or down more than twenty.”

Amy asked about sports betting.

“Frank wasn’t much interested in sports. He’d watch the Super Bowl or the World Series, but he didn’t have a team that he rooted for. He used to kid the Senator about the Phillies, but that was about it for sports. I never heard him talk about point spreads or anything like that.”

Amy still didn’t have any real understanding of Frank. “What was he interested in?”

“Politics. He knew a ton about the other committees and their staffers, both here and in the House. His work. He read a lot. He made it a practice of leaving early on Friday afternoons. He was very regular about that. You would almost never find him here after 2 o’clock. Sometimes in the middle of something on a Friday afternoon, he would look at his watch, jump up, and run out the door. Otherwise, he could be here late. He certainly had other interests that we never discussed.”

Amy was intrigued and thought that it might help a lot in figuring out Frank if she knew where he went. “Where did he go on Fridays? The track? Atlantic City? Whorehouse? Poker game?”

Rod shrugged “Probably none of the above. I know that when he bet horses, he only went on Sunday. The poker game is on Wednesday night. I never heard that he played in another game. He didn’t go far on Fridays because he was often in his office early Saturday morning. Lots of people here leave early on Friday, especially when the Senate isn’t in session, so it’s not a big deal. No one here much cares when you come and go. As long as you get your work done and show up when you’re needed, it doesn’t matter. Of course, if you have to work 72 hours straight at the end of a session, you’re expected to do that without complaint or compensation.”

Amy continued to probe. “Okay. What about the Antarctica picture? Did he go on a vacation?”

“It was a Weather Service junket. I know that he was interested in Scott, Shackleton, Amundsen, Byrd, and other Arctic explorers. He read a lot of books about that. When the chance to go came along, he jumped at it. The trip was after I got here. I would’ve gone in an instant if I had the chance.”

Amy was pleased with all the insights. “That’s all helpful. Everything helps at the beginning. Can you do some work on the investigations, both open and closed? Which ones are more likely to produce suspects? Who hated Frank personally? Make lists, and we can start there tomorrow. Are you playing poker tonight?”

“No. It’s a Black Wednesday. That means that there’s no game. Not out of respect for Frank, mind you. There isn’t a lot of sentimentality on the Hill. If someone leaves or dies, the first question is whether I can get his office or his job. The poker game is no more sentimental. It’s a Black Wednesday because they couldn’t get enough players. That happens from time to time, especially at the end of a session. Most of the regulars work on the Hill. Maybe one or two begged off because of Frank’s death, but they wouldn’t admit it. I didn’t know what was going to happen here, so I declined a seat in case I was needed.”

Amy wondered if the poker game could produce a lead or suspect. “Was anyone at the game friends with Frank otherwise?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Could anyone from the game have had a motive to kill him?”

Rod was doubtful. “It’s hard to believe that anyone would care enough about this low-stakes game to commit murder. Anyway, Frank lost more than he won. He wasn’t that good a player. I often played when Frank couldn’t make it, and everyone carped about his absence.”

“Do you think that I could learn anything from the players? I play some poker in Denver. Maybe you could get me into the game incognito. I can try to find out if anyone there knows something. Do you allow women in the game?”

“Yes, women play from time to time. But I’m unsure about bringing you along. Are you really a poker player?”

Amy looked confident. “You can trust me on that. My father taught me how to play poker, and I can hold my own. Especially at a nickel-dime game. See if you can get me a seat next week. It would save me a lot of legwork otherwise. I’ve done some undercover, but never at a poker game. Could be fun.”

Rod agreed. “I’ll see what I can do, but maybe you’ll solve the case before then. What else do we have to do tonight? It’s already kinda late.”

There was a knock on the door, Chief Alton envelope in hand. “Here’s the supplemental list I promised you. It’s …”

He hesitated and looked at Rod.

“It’s okay, Chief. Rod in on the Senator’s staff and he’s helping with the investigation. You can speak in front of him.”

“Okay. I browbeat my guys and got a few more names from them. It’s mostly women staffers who the guards let in after some flirting, plus a few other staffers and administrative types from the Architect’s office.”

“But no Senators or Members came in on Labor Day?”

“That’s right. That’s not unusual on a holiday weekend.”

“Okay. Thanks Chief. I’ll get back to you when I need something else.”

Alton left, and Amy showed Rod the list. “See anyone here who strikes you as a possible suspect?”

Rod read the list with care. “I recognize some staffers, and some other names are familiar. I see Norman Nelson was here. He’s got to be a suspect.” He handed the list back to Amy, and he got up to leave.

Amy wasn’t ready to go yet. “I recognize Norman Nelson too. I’ll do more digging. I need to make a few more calls, and then I’ll leave. I’m staying with a college roommate in her East Capitol Street house so I can walk home. I’ll see you tomorrow here at 7:30. Or whenever you get here. We have regular hours at the Bureau, but you can keep with local practice if you like.”

“Okay, I usually show up around 9:30, but I’ll try for earlier tomorrow. Your college roommate must be doing well if she has a house on East Capitol. Those houses are expensive.”

“She’s a lobbyist for a pharmaceutical manufacturer. She’s the only one of my college friends who seems to have hit the big time financially all on her own. A few married well, but most of us work for living.”

Rod asked, “You’re the only one who is in law enforcement, right?”

“That’s right. There are many teachers, but one or two are lawyers or accountants and do okay. Some are married with kids and don’t work.”

Rod had a suggestion. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. How about if I take control of the FBI investigation files? At least at first. Frank would’ve been unhappy if you were looking at them, and looking would put you in the middle. It’s your investigation, and your rules. But maybe you’d be happier leaving them to me. If I see anything relevant, I’ll let you know right away. What do you think?”

Amy bought it. “I think that’s a good idea. If someone at the Bureau killed Frank, it’ll be a royal mess for me and for the Bureau. That’s my least favorite result. Well, maybe it ties with a Senator as the murderer as my least favorite result. I’d be much happier if it turns out to be an unknown bureaucrat. Maybe I won’t need to know what is in those files. It could put me in a tough spot. I accept your offer for now, but I reserve the right to change my mind at any time and without explanation. It’s my investigation, but I’m glad to have your help.”

“Okay. I’ll look tomorrow to see if there’s anything in those files that demands your attention. With that….”

Amy stopped him. “Wait. Let me ask you about the Post reporter, Dan Gold. Know him?”

Rod did. “Yeah. He gives the Senator great coverage, and he knows most of our staff. Everyone on the Hill saw his story this morning. You’re famous. For a day, anyway.”

Amy wondered if Rod thought that Gold was a suspect. “Did he get along with Frank? Could he have killed him?”

“No. I mean anything’s possible, but they worked together all the time. They were in cahoots on a lot of stories and investigations. Frank gave him stories, and Dan gave the Senator great press. Dan was in this office a lot. Dan plays in the poker game too. You should also know that Dan is friends with the Senator.”

“Was there a Washington Star reporter who had a similar relationship?”

“Not that I know about. The Star can be flaky, and it tends to ignore Capitol Hill and print more local news than the Post. I couldn’t name a reporter on the Star.”

Rod got ready to do, but stopped and said “No, wait. We need to count the boxes we filled.”

“No, we don’t,” said Amy. “You ordered 50 boxes and there are 6 left. We used 44 of them. You owe me a nickel.” She had a big smile on her face.

Rod found a nickel in his pocket and gave it to Amy. He left shaking his head in disbelief but without a word.

Amy then called Walter Hicks, Director Parisi’s assistant and well-known FBI eminence grise. After introductory pleasantries, Hicks began.

“The Director said that your investigation has the highest priority, and I have a team of people from the Washington office available. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do anything that is possible to meet that need. Is that fair enough?”

Amy was wary because she knew all about FBI headquarters and how little trust field offices had in HQ people. She expected a remark about the Post story, but Hicks didn’t mention it.

She decided to take Hicks at his word for the time being. “That’s perfect. Here’s what I plan to do. I intend to go through all the files in Frank Butcher’s office myself, with help from a staffer who worked with him. What I need is help running down information, checking alibis, and the like. I know that you have the list of people in the building, and I assume that you’re doing the usual check of these people and their connections.”

Hicks said that it was underway.

Amy continued, “I plan to talk to leading suspects and sources myself, if at all possible. I’d like your guys who worked over the building list to use it along with your other files and sources to compile a suspect list. I plan to do the same using Butcher’s files and other information I can collect. I’ll combine all the lists and begin to eliminate suspects. The theory remains that the crime was committed by someone who was in the building, knew Butcher, and had a reason not to like him. It’s simple, but it makes sense.”

Hicks agreed to it all. “How are you going to share your conclusions with us so that we can focus on the more likely suspects?”

“All I can do is keep you informed of what you need to know. I need you to do the same for me. I don’t want your people doing any interviews with suspects unless I know about it in advance.”

Hicks was skeptical. “Are you going to be able to manage all that yourself? There are too many people on the list.”

Amy sighed. “I know, but this is technically a Senate Police investigation, and I’m the only one working on it. I need support, but we need to keep it quiet that the FBI is involved. If one of your people interviewed a Senate staffer, the degree of FBI involvement would end up in the Washington Post, and we’d all be in trouble.”

Hicks finally brought up the Post story. “Speaking of the Post, I notice that you didn’t have much trouble getting your name in the paper this morning.”

Amy winced. “I had nothing to do with that story. I don’t know where the story came from.”

Hicks taunted her. “Well, I’ll admit that I didn’t think you were as old as the story said. I checked your personnel record, and I was right about that. Nice cover.”

Amy ignored it. “I didn’t… forget the story. I’ve got a supplemental list of people who were in the building. I made Chief Alton press his people for the names of people who came in but didn’t sign in. I’ll leave you a copy of the supplemental list to pick up in the Senator’s office. You can do the usual with the new names. Is that okay? I have a couple of other alibis for you to check as well. I need you to run down the Senator’s press secretary’s alibi.”

Amy put together materials for Hicks and sealed the envelope. She took a second copy of Chief Alton’s supplemental list with her in a second envelope and headed for the Senator’s office with both envelopes. Janie was still there, and she took notice of the shawl that Amy wore. “Yesterday it was red, and today it’s purple. If this goes on, someone will start a pool on what color shawl you will wear the next day.”

Amy teased, “An office pool? I might have to arrest you all for gambling in a federal building.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Janie. “Give me a little inside information, and I’ll split the winnings with you.”

She asked Janie where to leave the envelope so the FBI messenger would find it. Amy said she also had an envelope for the Senator, but it was just informational and not urgent. Janie said that she would leave it for the Senator to find when he returned the next morning.

Amy headed home and found the house deserted when she arrived at nearly 9 pm. She found something in the kitchen she could eat and headed off to her room. She was in the tub asleep when Sally arrived at 10:30 pm. Sally knocked on the bathroom door, and Amy woke up. Amy briefly recounted the highlights of her day, but they were both tired and decided to turn in.

Intrusion

It’s time for me to reappear in person. I’m the author. We already met in the prologue. I’d rather stay in the background, but it won’t be fair to you if I do. I don’t like being a principal. I’m a staffer at heart. I would be happier if you thought of me not as the author of the story but as your staff, the reader’s staff. I’m here to serve you.

I try to follow the never-spoken, never-acknowledged Capitol Hill staffer’s creed. I work for you. I represent your interests. I carry out your instructions. I give you the information you need to make judgments. I’m necessarily selective in revealing information, but I am honest and honorable. I disclose information that may lead to results that I don’t personally favor. I give even-handed advice. If you ask me, I’ll tell you the reasons you should not do what I recommend. I function without much direction and exercise great discretion consistent with what I believe to be your desire. I hide, waiting for an opportunity for your consideration. I subsist on crumbs of attention. I compete for time, interest, and influence with your other staffers and with a multitude of outside forces. If you ignore me today, I’ll come back and try again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. I creep in your shadow from day to day. I know I can be disavowed or overruled at any instant. I’m subject to dismissal at a whim and without appeal. I wield your power every chance I get. I am your creature.

I don’t know if that description attracts or repels you. I can tell you that the staffer’s creed is honored as much in the breach as in the observance. Capitol Hill staffers are as fair, honorable, and balanced as others. That’s a low standard, to be sure. Still, many staffers measure up to their tasks better than the Senators and House Members they serve. I won’t say that I’m a paragon of staff virtue, but I like to think I’m better than most.

I’m a part of the story because of my relationships with more important actors. I was also in the right place at the right time. That’s how I worked and survived on Capitol Hill, and that’s how I came to know the whole story. And I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t kill Frank Butcher. This isn’t an Agatha Christie story. This is the real world, or at least what passes for it on Capitol Hill. Frank was a colleague and a guy I respected for all his faults. He was a patriot in his own way, and his way was effective, sincere, unorthodox, vindictive, and profane. He was ruthless in pursuit of his investigative goals.

Congressional staff members in Washington are not normally visible to the casual observer. When they are visible, it’s usually because something went wrong. A good staffer operates in the background. We sit behind the Senators at hearings and whisper in their ears. Which isn’t to say the staff is unimportant. If the Congress didn’t have staff, nothing would happen. In fact, the staff collectively thinks that it runs the show, that it is in charge in every meaningful way except one, and that it makes most of the decisions. There’s more truth in that view of congressional staff than most voters would be comfortable with. Years after this story, one Senator said famously that Senate staff sees the Senators as constitutional impediments to the staff’s ability to carry out the business of the Senate.

No matter how you care to view me, I’m a necessity here. If a story didn’t have someone to tell it, it wouldn’t be a story. Authors can be anonymous, pseudonymous, or hide in plain sight. I can’t get away with any of those alternatives. I have more than one role here. I’m a participant in the story because I was in those days a junior member of Senator Milton’s staff, and I was with him that Labor Day. I’m the staffer on the train. You probably figured that out already.

I’m Rod. Hello.

Why was I on that train? In many Capitol Hill offices, staffers view the boss as a person with political and public skills but without any of the ordinary capabilities that other people have. Most staffers doubt that a Member of Congress can make a train reservation, buy a newspaper, pick up laundry, or write a check. If the Member allows it, the staff will take over all these functions. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy because once you let those life skills fade, minimal though they may be, you need to work twice as hard to get them back. It is so easy to let your staff do it all for you. Today, I carry your suitcase. Tomorrow, I write your letters. The next day, I vote your proxy. The path is clear, and I am by no means the only traveler.

Over the years, Senator Milton gradually allowed his staff to run most of the ordinary functions of his daily activities, especially after his wife died. They thought he was incapable of doing anything for himself without their assistance. He knew exactly what was going on, and he was amused at his staff’s attitude. But he mostly took the path of least resistance. He let me, or other staffers, ride along with him on the train. He didn’t question my cover story that I was in Philly that weekend and needed to go back to Washington on Labor Day. Milton never showed surprise that somehow there usually was a staff member from Washington or from Philly who was going his way most of the time. We went to help him get where he was going, but we wanted face time. A couple of hours with the Senator alone was worth the effort.

One reason I know so much about this story is that I spent a lot of time with the Senator in those days. I was junior staff on the make, and I was around the Senator as much as possible. I saw much of what happened, heard much of what the Senator and others said. It was understood at the time that everything was off the record, on deep background, not to be repeated. But that was a long time ago. The staff imperative of protecting your boss and keeping his secrets fades over time. Many of the people in this story are dead now. They have no standing to object. The right to privacy gives way eventually to the demands of history. Secrets, like murder, will out.

Another reason I know a lot about the Butcher case is that I lasted a long time as a staffer. I was junior at the time of Frank’s murder, but I stayed on Capitol Hill for many years thereafter. I eventually became the staff director of the Senate Judiciary Committee. During those years, I interacted with many of the reporters, FBI agents, staff, and others who were involved. For example, although Charles Parisi retired as FBI Director a few years after the Butcher case was resolved, I had a chance to interview him several times. I used the opportunity to ask him about the Butcher investigation. Amy and I remained friends over the years, and I learned more details from her. Senator Milton also revealed more and more to me over the years. I kept notes because I thought that there might be a story worth telling someday.

I know things because almost no one can keep a secret in Washington. I wanted to write that I was the only one who could, but it will be hard to convince you of that while you are reading this insider’s account of a confidential investigation. I kept the story to myself for a long time. I waited until most of the main actors died, retired, no longer cared, or otherwise passed from the scene. While I waited, I was the beneficiary of first-party accounts of events and conversations that I didn’t see or hear myself.

In any event, a statute of limitations of a sort applies to secrets. Maybe half-life is a better metaphor. Few secrets last forever. In first grade, you learned that the half-life of a secret was one recess. The cross-your-heart secret that you entrusted to your best friend during morning recess was known by everyone in the class by afternoon recess. At later stages in life, no formal rules exist for personal secrets, but most expect their secrets to be kept as long as a relationship lasts. If you file for divorce, your spouse – and the filings required by the divorce court – may share your secrets with the world. Death often releases secrets, although others are buried. Many Capitol Hill staffers traffic in their bosses’ secrets, especially once the staffers leave the Hill. Senior White House staff keep secrets until they leave and publish their books.

Even most highly confidential government secrets eventually become public. Historians care about a presidential secret or an international one, and those secrets will be published even if it takes decades. Many classified documents are now declassified after 25 years. The government formally publishes its foreign relations papers after 30 years. Everyone who pays attention at all is on notice that secrets have their own formal term limits. An entire industry in Washington, including the daily press, lives to tell secrets, even stale ones.

Some secrets keep their status only because no one cares. Are you interested in knowing that forty years ago, the chief of staff to Senator Bisbee was sleeping with the Senator’s press secretary’s wife? That secret has no political, historical, or even prurient interest today. Bisbee left the Senate several decades ago, and no one remembers who his staffers were. It’s a secret without an audience. Secrecy by boredom may be the most effective and longest lasting type.

The murder of Frank Butcher was a big story in its day, but it faded quickly and is now largely forgotten. The Capitol Hill tour guides don’t talk about it, and they still won’t tell the tourists who ask where the murder took place, except to say that it happened in the Russell Building. Few even ask any more. It didn’t hurt that the events happened long before the Internet took its place in our lives. It’s all essentially pre-history, a description that used to mean the period before written history, but it also applies to things that happened before the Internet. There’s a short account of the murder on Wikipedia, but it has few details other than the basic facts. I wrote that Wikipedia account several years ago. No one else thought it was worth the effort.

Why did interest dissipate so quickly? The case involved no Members of Congress and had no political consequences. The caning of Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner on the Senate floor in 1856 by a Member of the House from South Carolina remains a widely known story more than a hundred and fifty years later. Staff, however, is beneath notice and interchangeable. Even a character as remarkable as Frank Butcher was just a staffer in the end. Had he been killed by a Member of Congress, it might have been something different. I’m not giving away much to tell you here that the murderer was not a Member of Congress.

So here I’m identifying myself and my role, but with reluctance. As a good staffer, I’m used to staying in the shadow of my boss. When that boss isn’t there, I step forward and play my part, but mostly in private rooms and off the record meetings, usually filled with other staffers and not Senators. I was happy not to be the Power, but to bear witness to the Power. That role gave me power of my own – a power far from trivial – but it was still reflected power. The moon shines impressively at night, but it still only reflects the light of the sun.

You’re probably asking yourself at this point whether you can believe me. I just told you that there are few other sources of information on the case. Am I telling the truth? Am I still trying to make my boss look good? Am I making myself out to be more important than I really was? Admittedly, I have a staffer’s instincts. I can still be expected to show my boss in a favorable light. I’ll do that for the most part because Senator Milton was an honorable guy, although he was also at times lazy, temperamental, and petty. Like other people.

Is this book my chance to step into the spotlight? You can wonder if you want. I can’t stop you, but I didn’t describe myself as the reader’s staff for nothing. I was born to be a staffer. My parents named me Rod. Rod Hyde. I may pop out again here to explain, to clarify, to justify, to defend, but I’ll always tell you what you need to know. I’ll tell you as much of the truth as you require.

Did I make anything up? That’s a harsh question. I won’t swear that every conversation I report happened precisely with the words I recount. I filled in gaps, but the important facts are reliably reported. I present many of the conversations as told to me. Even if I had an actual stenographic transcript of the original conversations, you still couldn’t be sure of the exact truth. The best transcriptionist only gets things right 95% of the time. That means that there’s a problem with one word in twenty. Many transcriptionists are not that good. Did the speaker say, “in to” or “until,” “hope or open,” “aural” or oral”?

I also relied on one rule that I’ve found to be dependable over the years. People remember their conversation with their superiors. A Senator may not remember what he told a staffer or his wife yesterday, but he is likely to remember accurately a substantive conversation with the Majority Leader. On several occasions during my career, I was at meetings with the President of the United States. I could repeat for you word for word what I said to the President and what he said in response, even though the meetings were decades ago. At least, I think that I can do so with great accuracy. The transcript is in my head. I like to think that my mental transcript is at least 95% accurate too.

It’s not only a matter of the accuracy of the words as spoken. A transcriptionist also adds the punctuation and the paragraphing. Those elements make all the difference, much more than you realize. Did the speaker say, “Call me Ishmael” or “Call me, Ishmael?” That comma makes a big difference.

In later years when hearings became available on the Internet to be watched or listened to, the transcriptionist lost the hidden power to reshape the spoken word, the ability to decide what the speaker meant to say, and the opportunity to influence in the most subtle way the historical record. Here’s an example.

Question: Is it your understanding that John Smith met with the contracting officer?

Version 1:       It is. Not much goes on here that I don’t know about.

Version 2:       It is not. Much goes on here that I don’t know about.

The two different versions have the same words in the same order, but the meanings are almost entirely opposite. Anyone who listens to a recording can readily form an independent opinion about what the speaker said. It is a much harder task with a cold, punctuated, printed transcript. Back in print days, staffers like me spent hours correcting transcripts to fix errors and to make the boss look better. The truth is that people rarely speak in whole sentences and paragraphs. An unedited but accurate transcript isn’t only subject to many different interpretations, it can also make the speaker appear to be virtually incoherent. That can be true, even if everyone in the room who listened to the conversation understood precisely what was being said at the time.

For better or worse, I control the words here. I control the punctuation. I reproduce the conversations. I’ve nothing to gain or lose at this point. I’m truly an honest broker. It’s my nature. You are free to take a different point of view if you like, about me, about the events I describe, or about the people in this story. Each reader can make their own judgment. If you disagree with me, I will respect that disagreement because I’m your staff. I’m here to serve you.

Chapter 11: The Suspect List

Amy’s Thursday morning began, as so many days did all around Washington, with the morning papers. Sally left her the Post and the Star with a short note. “Nothing in the Post. Star on page 3. Ordinary.” Sally’s assessment was right. The Star had a short story that repeated many of the facts that the Post printed the day before. No byline. A much better press day than Wednesday, Amy thought.

Amy went by the Senator’s office first thing Thursday to check on the Senator’s schedule for an interview. She noticed that the envelope for Walter Hicks with the supplemental list was still there. She guessed that an FBI messenger would pick it up soon. After gossiping with Janie for a few minutes, Amy went to Butcher’s office, and the phone rang a few minutes later. It was Dan Gold again.

“Good morning. Dan Gold here. I’ve got information to share with you. Same ground rules as yesterday. If you say anything, it’s off the record. And you don’t have to say anything unless you want to. You can listen.”

Amy was not happy with the call, but not as unhappy as the previous day. She thought about everything that Sally had told her about using the press, but she wasn’t prepared to start playing the game. Still, she wasn’t prepared to shut off the possibility either. She thought Gold sounded like a straight shooter, but she wasn’t completely convinced. She also wasn’t yet willing to admit that she liked Dan. She had been burned by the press before, although not when she was in such a vulnerable position. “Okay. I’ll listen for a while. Am I supposed to be grateful that you didn’t write another story about the investigation this morning?”

“I didn’t write a story because I didn’t have anything worth writing. I’ll write another story when I do. And let me add, something to write that didn’t come from you. I want you to feel it’s safe to talk to me. At least on the phone. I wouldn’t suggest an in-person meeting for fear of being seen together.”

Amy said, “I’m in listening mode here. Talking is a whole different thing. Say what you called to say.”

Dan continued, “I compiled a preliminary suspect list. I may not have anything new to you, but I want to share it with you as a sign of good faith. I compiled my list starting with the severity of the effect of Frank’s work on the suspect. Second factor was recency. Someone who Frank pissed off years ago seems less likely. Still, my first two candidates are not that recent because Frank did a real number on both of them. Third factor is geography. I used the list of who was in the building, but there had to be people who were there who aren’t on the list. Finally, I used inside information. Frank often talked about his investigations with me, off the record of course.”

Amy was taking notes, and the next sentence jumped out of Amy’s mouth before she could stop it. “You have a list of people who were in Russell on Monday? How did you get that?”

Dan laughed. “Come on. Show some respect, will you? You know I’m not going to say. I got it. Live with it. Welcome to Washington. Now, here’s my list of possible most likely suspects. Are you ready? Number one on my list is Dr. Norman Nelson. I know he was in town for the Death Bill, and he was badly burned by Butcher in the Research Time Fraud Scandal. I reported on that scandal, and Nelson can be a nasty guy. I interviewed him throughout, and I mostly disliked him. Like the medical researchers he represented, he thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity and doesn’t like to be questioned about anything he does.”

“Number two is John Murphy, the contract officer from DOT. Butcher ruined this guy’s life, not that he didn’t deserve it. It was a while ago, but he’s still in the area. I never reported the connection, but his wife does congressional affairs for the Archives.”

Amy was curious. “Why didn’t you report it?”

“He was the crook, and she seemed to be an innocent bystander. I didn’t see any reason to let the rest of the world know about their relationship. It’s the kind of news that reverberates around somebody for years, and she didn’t deserve it. Her friends and close associates knew, but I wasn’t going to make it worse for her. Anyway, I don’t know that Murphy was in Russell Monday, but it’s possible. His wife was in Rayburn at the Approps conference.”

That was a piece of information definitely worth knowing, Amy recognized.

“Number three is Kathy Weed. She’s on PSI. That’s the Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations of the Senate Governmental Affairs Committee. She’s a – how do I say this –difficult person. She thinks she’s the world’s greatest investigator. She’s always hawking her stuff with reporters, and her judgment is terrible. Worse than Frank’s. Frank thought all of his investigations should be front-page stories. Weed wanted a special edition for hers. She hated Frank for his success and for more.”

“Was there something personal between them?”

“No. The hatred started with what Frank did to one of her investigations. I think that you should hear the story from someone else, since I was involved. The best part of it was that Kathy never called me again after I ran the story. I was grateful for that.

“Number four is Jules Armstrong, who used to be an executive at the National Library of Medicine. NLM is a small agency that is part of HEW. It works hard to be accountable to no one. The agency ran a slush fund through a non-profit organization of its so-called friends. NLM controlled the organization, but it had an independent front, so it looked legal. Frank got the records, and I wrote the story.”

Amy asked if there was a hearing.

“No. For a variety of reasons, it was decided to release the story without much direct involvement by the Senator. This story followed shortly after the Research Time Fraud Scandal, and I think that there was concern that Milton would look like he was harping on the health research world. Anyway, the result was that the slush fund closed, and Armstrong lost his job. He took the fall for something that the entire leadership of NLM was responsible for. He was bitter about it. He knew that Butcher was the source of the story. Again, I don’t have any evidence that he was the building on Labor Day.

“Number five is Joan Lester, a former Milton staffer. She was fired by the Senator, and she left on bad terms. I don’t know that she had a personal beef with Frank, but it may be worth a second look. She works on the House side so she would have easy access to Russell on a holiday without a paper trail. Call this one a total hunch. I like Joan and don’t see her as a murderer, but I feel obliged to put her on the list.

“Number six is Wally Vocelli, a GAO auditor. Wally was on loan to Senate Governmental Affairs last year. That’s normal. GAO lends staff to committees regularly. Vocelli was assigned to the full committee staff. But he crossed swords with Frank when Vocelli started to investigate something that Frank was already working on. Frank yelled and screamed so much that the Committee decided to send Wally back to GAO. He wasn’t happy about that at all. He’s a marginal candidate because it is hard to believe that anyone at GAO has the nerve to kill somebody. The whole agency is scared of its own shadow. It’s famous among reporters for pulling punches in its reports. We never say that in print because we don’t want to undercut a regular source of stories. It’s a conspiracy of reporters. Anyway, Vocelli knew his way around the Senate buildings, and he’s a possibility.

“Number seven is a guy from MMB Insurance. I can’t remember his name, and I misplaced my notes. I know I talked to him. This is a current investigation of Frank’s. Frank told me a little about it. He had evidence of questionable activities in the company’s investments. I don’t know too much here, but this guy makes the list because it’s a recent and active investigation. I’d appreciate it if you could tell me his name when you find it is the files. No obligation, of course. I’m looking for it elsewhere, and I’ll share it when I find it.

“I wanted to have a top ten list, but I couldn’t make a case for more than these seven. And I had to push hard to justify including some of these. Murdering a staffer over an investigation is not done in Washington. It isn’t the wild west. Or even the wild east. It’s Washington, not New Jersey.”

“Okay. Thank you, I think. I’ve got a preliminary list already, and I’m still working at refining it.”

Amy asked if Dan thought that anyone on Milton’s current staff had a reason to kill Frank. Dan didn’t think so. “What about Eric Howe?” Amy asked.

Dan laughed. “A lot of reporters would be happy to see Eric take the fall. He’s an asshole. But I don’t have a specific reason to suspect him. But if you forced me to pick someone on the staff, he might be the one. No basis for it, just dislike.”

There was silence for a minute.

Amy said finally, “Is that it?”

Dan responded, “I guess that you don’t want to share. That’s okay. Maybe later, maybe not. I don’t plan to publish a suspect list soon, and probably not at all. The paper’s lawyers would go nuts with a story like that. I could publish someone else’s list, but not my own. I’ve told you that I won’t publish anything from you without express permission so you can share names of suspects if you want. I can’t publish either of the lists of people who were in Russell that day because there are too many names.”

Amy picked up on that. “You have a copy of both lists?”

“Yes, I got the list that Alton compiled yesterday. You can’t be surprised at this point.”

Amy’s eyes opened wide. “I guess not, but it’s interesting. Very interesting. Are we done?”

They were.

Amy then called Hicks to bug him to pick up the additional list from the Senator’s office. A few minutes later, Rod showed up. Amy still didn’t know how much to trust him. She decided to confront the question head on.

Amy told Rod to sit. “I want to ask you some questions first. I should’ve started with these yesterday. I want you to know that I appreciate your help with my investigation. I need to know more about Butcher’s sources, and methods, and files. I need to know more about his investigations. You seem to be the right person to help me with all of that. But what I need to know is – and this is hard, and I hope that you won’t take it the wrong way – whether I can trust you. Are you going to help me and not be a spy for the Senator or someone else? Do you have another agenda that I don’t know about? Are you going to leak to the press?”

Rod nodded, as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of the concern. “Those are fair questions. I’m not insulted that you asked. In fact, I think more of you for asking. I’m staff. I serve my boss and try to provide the information and advice that he needs. You want to know how I can be Milton’s staff and your staff at the same time.”

Now it was Amy’s turn to nod in agreement.

Rod continued, “I take instruction well, and I try to carry them out to the letter and the spirit. I know of the arrangement between the Senator and the Director. I interpret the Senator’s direction to me in that spirit. I’m not a spy for the Senator. I’ll do what you ask of me if I can. I still have an overriding obligation to the Senator, but I don’t foresee a conflict. If Milton asks for a report, I’ll be vaguely responsive. I’ll play dumb if necessary. If he asks me to disclose something that is confidential, I’ll try to avoid the question. If he gives me an order, I’ll throw the dilemma in his face. I expect that he’d back off at that point. I have that much faith in him. He’s usually a reasonable guy, and that’s more than I can say for most other Senators. Just so you’ll know, I’ve faced this kind of problem before. A year ago, a lobbyist working with me offered to tell me something if I agreed not to repeat it. I asked if that meant that I couldn’t even tell the Senator, and he said that was precisely his condition. I refused the information. I said that he couldn’t put me in a position where I could act on information that I couldn’t tell my boss. He seemed surprised, and then he offered me the information without restriction.”

Amy was happy enough with the answer. “All right. I accept you at your word, but you understand that you’re on probation. If you disclose anything without my permission or otherwise act without suitable discretion, I’ll drop you instantly.”

“Understood and accepted,” said Rod. “Staffers are on perpetual probation. We can be fired at any moment. Where do we start today?”

Amy relaxed in her chair. “I want to know more about the Senator. I need to know about his role as investigator and his relationship with Butcher. Don’t assume that I know anything here. I don’t pay much attention to politics or to Capitol Hill. But now I need to know more about how the Subcommittee, Butcher, and Milton worked.”

Rod asked, “Has anyone given you Dan Gold’s clipping about the Smithsonian hearing?”

“Yes. It was quite a story. I knew there was something about Senator Milton and a banana, but I never understood where it came from.”

Rod offered more background. “Remember that the article begins by saying that the only thing out of the ordinary was the bowl of fruit? Well, there was more out of the ordinary than that. Dan Gold was there. Why was the Post’s leading Capitol Hill writer covering a boring appropriations hearing? Why was there a network TV camera in the room? The answer is that Frank Butcher tipped them off that something interesting was going to happen, and they trusted him enough to show up. The other thing out of the ordinary was that Frank himself was in the room, sitting on the podium behind the Senator.”

“The people from the Smithsonian should have noticed these things, but they were so used to accolades that they didn’t think to ask why the Senator’s chief investigator was there. Frank was relatively new to the Senate then, but he was a known commodity in this town from his work on the House side. Maybe they didn’t recognize him. I doubt that any other agency made that mistake again. In fact, later on, Milton and Butcher used to have fun sometimes by showing up at hearings, with Frank sitting behind the Senator on the podium. They would pass notes back and forth. Both of them liked playing this game, watching the panicked look on the part of witnesses. Milton often had a bowl of fruit, and if he ate a banana, the audience grew breathless in anticipation, and the witnesses were terrified. When it was his turn, he sometimes asked a few questions leading nowhere and stopped. Sometimes, he said ‘No questions’ with a wink. Sometimes, he pushed the witnesses around for fun. Once I saw him wander into a hearing without any preparation. He listened to a witness. He then proceeded to politely tear apart the guy and his argument. It was beautiful. It was devastating. It was only for sport, in this case. Milton didn’t even care about the issue.”

Rod was on a roll. “The Smithsonian story got a ton of coverage on the national news because everyone knew the Smithsonian, and no one had ever heard of a Smithsonian scandal before. Many Pennsylvania newspapers reprinted Gold’s story as a profile of the Senator. People started showing up at Milton’s events waving bananas and asking him to autograph them. That reaction came out of nowhere. The campaign staff eventually made campaign buttons with a picture of a banana and the word “Milton” on it. People couldn’t get enough of them. It became his campaign symbol. When he ran for reelection the first time, his supporters threw bananas at his opponent. At least they did until Milton made a public statement asking them to stop. He won reelection in a walk and has been politically untouchable ever since.”

“And I guess that’s where Milton got his reputation as a killer investigator.”

“Sure. Once you get a reputation here town, it’s hard to live it down. Want to know the truth?”

“Yes, of course.” Amy looked eager for more.

Rod lowered his voice. “This is inside stuff that can’t get back to anyone.”

“Trust has to work both ways,” said Amy. “I’ll keep your secrets just as you keep mine.”

“Frank always thought that Milton had lost his taste for the courtroom and that’s why he agreed to run for the Senate in the first place. Milton did more than his share of investigations and confrontations as an AUSA. He was good in a courtroom, and he was good at a hearing. He didn’t like doing it anymore. Frank had to talk Milton into exposing the Smithsonian investigation at the hearing rather than in a letter or press release. Milton originally wanted to handle it quietly. But Frank convinced Milton that they both needed a public scalp to make a splash. Afterwards, Milton often made Frank do the work, dirty or otherwise. Every once in a while, Milton would get the bug because another Senator got attention for an investigation. Otherwise, he was reluctant to play the heavy at a hearing. He was happy enough coasting.”

Amy thought for a minute. “Milton wanted to have a titular role in my investigation, but he doesn’t want to be involved in the details.”

Rod agreed. “That’s likely right. But Milton’s concerns about Frank’s investigative files are sincere. He jumped right on that issue when he got here on Monday. He may not like to get his hands dirty so much anymore, but he understands from the ground floor the importance of collecting documents, keeping secrets, and using snitches. That’s how he made criminal cases as a prosecutor. He protected his FBI investigators, and they worked hard for him. That’s how it was between him and Frank. They weren’t close personal friends, but they respected one another and worked together well. Frank loved the public denunciations, but he had to find another way when Milton demurred.”

Amy was grateful. “All that background helps. It may make life easier for both of us. If we identify the murderer, he can make the announcement, and I can get out of this town.”

“And I can move onward here,” said Rod.

“Let me guess. You want to be the new Frank, right?”

Rod smiled. “Well, I won’t admit or deny that. How about if I congratulate you again on the astuteness of your instincts, and we leave it at that.”

“Works for me. I’ve got to talk to Hicks to see what he has for me.”

Rod got up to leave. “Okay, and I’ve got business elsewhere, but I’ll return. Meanwhile, here’s another story about a major Butcher investigation. It’s from the Washington Policy Quarterly.”

Chapter 12: The Magazine Piece

Washington Policy Quarterly

How Rona Schwartz’s Divorce Changed Washington:

The Research Time Fraud Scandal

By Richard Barnes

What do Catherine of Aragon, Wallis Warfield Simpson, and Rona Schwartz have in common? All three women were divorced, and their divorces had important and long-lasting effects that extended far beyond their personal situations.

Because readers are likely already familiar with Catherine’s divorce from Henry VIII and with Simpson’s second marriage to Edward VIII, we will focus here on Rona Schwartz, housewife from Hamden, Connecticut. If you never heard of Rona Schwartz, please bear with me for a while. Rona’s divorce led directly to what became known as the Research Time Fraud Scandal, a scandal that shook the quiet world of medical research to its core. Not exactly like breaking up the Catholic Church, but a big deal for Washington.

Rona Schwartz sought a divorce from her husband, Dr. Richard Schwartz, Professor of Medicine at the Yale School of Medicine. In many ways, the divorce was ordinary. She alleged that her husband was having an affair with his research assistant. He didn’t contest the facts or the divorce, but there was a typical fight over the financial settlement. That fight led to the far-reaching consequences.

The struggle over money dragged on for months, and the lawyers jockeyed for position and leverage. The fight grew nastier and ranged farther afield over time. Some of it was normal, a search for hidden assets, and the like. In the course of the proceedings, Rona told her lawyer – Melvyn Dawson, a New Haven divorce lawyer of local prominence – to ask about all the research grants that her husband received. Early in his career, Dawson worked for a couple of years for the U.S. Senate as an investigator, where he had developed an eye for a scandal. He found one in Dr. Schwartz’s numerous research grants from the federal government.

It turned out that Dr. Schwartz had quite a few grants from federal agencies to support his research on kidney ailments. At the time of the divorce, he was the principal investigator on twelve research grants, and he was a participant in 15 other research grants. Twenty-seven grants, in all. Dr. Schwartz was a nationally recognized expert on kidney stones, with dozens of research papers to his name. His ability to attract grants was one of his strongest professional credentials. Over the course of his career, he had been the direct or indirect recipient of more than 150 grants, most federal, but some private sources as well.

In addition to his research, Dr. Schwartz ran the Yale Kidney Institute, served on the board of several charitable foundations, consulted for two pharmaceutical manufacturers, taught at the Yale School of Medicine, served as Assistant Dean of the School, participated in numerous conferences throughout the world, lectured at the Royal London Hospital four times a year, served on an FDA advisory panel, held kidney clinics twice a week at Yale, was a principal in a private company developing medical products, and appeared weekly on a local TV station as a medical expert. His curriculum vita was 47 pages long, and that was the abbreviated version. Dr. Schwartz was obviously a busy and accomplished academic, but it was not that unusual for a prominent member of the medical research community. There are many others with similar histories, activities, schedules, and grants.

Once Dawson collected all the grant information, he did something no one had ever done before. In each grant, Dr. Schwartz listed the amount of time that he would devote to the research. The grant funding was then used to contribute to his salary. Dawson added up all the time that Schwartz committed to each grant. The total was 110 percent. That was in addition to the time that Schwartz spent teaching, seeing patients, consulting, running his Institute, and doing the other things.

Dr. Schwartz’s lawyer didn’t budge. He said it was all normal for medical school professors. They all participated in numerous research grants, and everybody knew that the time devoted to grants was not intended to be meaningful. He was wrong. It turned out that no one knew the details.

Dawson took his findings to the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Investigations chaired by Senator William Benjamin Milton of Pennsylvania. Milton and Dawson had been law school classmates. Milton took up the matter, investigated, wrote letters, ordered a General Accounting Office audit, and eventually introduced legislation. The result was the biggest earthquake that the medical research world had ever experienced.

The findings of the Subcommittee’s investigation included:

125 doctors at 83 medical schools and other research institutions received federal research funding for more than 100% of their time. Many other doctors received funding for more than 50% of their time. Not one of the recipients spent anywhere close to the promised time working on research projects.

For more than 100 research projects, many identified investigators who never spent even one minute of the time on the project. These investigators were mentioned only in the protocol and as co-authors in subsequent publications.

More than $50 million of federal funds went for the salaries of research investigators who overcommitted their time. The money flowed to their institutions and not into the pockets of the researchers. At least, not directly.

Lack of any procedures for reviewing or verifying promises made by grant applicants at the major grant institutions of the federal government, including the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation.

The story broke first in the Washington Post. The Subcommittee let out only part of the story, and essentially let the medical research establishment respond. The establishment did respond, with high dudgeon. The American Association of Medical Research Universities took on the role as defender of the faith. Dr. Norman Nelson, a prominent physician and former Assistant Secretary for Health at the Department of Health, Education and Welfare, was the Executive Director of the AAMRU. He became the chief spokesman for the research community. At first, he dismissed the findings as aberrant. “Nothing here,” he said. The Subcommittee dribbled out more facts. Nelson attacked the Subcommittee as anti-research.

With the next data dump by the Subcommittee, Nelson couldn’t dismiss the findings, attack the Subcommittee, or defend the time fraud directly so he tried other approaches. He spoke widely of the benefits of medical research, the savings in costs for the health care system, and the improvements in the health and well-being of everyone. Researchers, he claimed, are unsung heroes whose contributions are greatly underappreciated. They should not be questioned for their methods or “people will die” while researchers are distracted by meaningless controversies. That argument got him nowhere.

He then argued that no individual researcher benefited from the extra payments. Their salaries were mostly the same as they would have been in the absence of the grants. The extra funds covered the overhead at the academic institutions. Another line of argument was that medical research was generally underfunded, and that the federal money supported many other important research projects indirectly. The funds all benefited research in one way or another, and patients ultimately benefited. His arguments got weaker. He claimed that the money helped to keep down medical school tuition costs.

None of the defenses took root. The Subcommittee’s skillful presentation of the facts turned a mildly interesting Washington scandal into a local story throughout the country. Reporters scrambled for the local angle to the scandal, and the Senator obliged by slowly releasing information about different medical schools around the country. When the first congressman stood up to defend researchers, the Subcommittee released numbers from his congressional district identifying local researchers as recipients of federal largesse for 125% of their time. The congressman folded his tent instantly. A retired medical school dean was next, but he beat a hasty retreat when newly released records showed that during his tenure, his school was just as guilty as the rest. The strategy of dribbling out the details made it impossible for anyone to take the other side. There was always another juicy disclosure waiting in the wings. The press loved reporting the story, and they competed to see who could report the biggest excesses. The poster child for the scandal – or poster researcher as it were – was Dr. Albert Milbourne Lindmeyer from the University of Wisconsin, who had sold 255% of his time in one year.

The Research Time Fraud Scandal made such an impression and attracted so much press over a protracted period that it got its own acronym. Headlines in many papers referred to RTFS, and everyone understood.

When the dust settled, there were winners and losers. Senator Milton extended his reputation as the leading congressional investigator. He sponsored and ultimately passed legislation to address overbillings. Rona Schwartz got a nice financial settlement. Her lawyer became the lawyer for wives of corporate executives, government contractors, and others who had something to fear from an investigation of their professional activities.

On the losing side, the AAMRU had no choice in the end but plead guilty on behalf of the research community. It admitted to the overbilling and promised reform. It mumbled about restitution, hoping that no one would ask for a refund. It won that part of the battle. Dr. Norman Nelson, whose public defense made him closely associated with the scandal, was forced out at AAMRU. Dr. Schwartz paid through the teeth for his divorce. His research assistant got her degree and left him for a position on the West Coast. He was toxic in the medical research world, and she had her own career to pursue. Schwartz was forced to resign from the Kidney Institute that he had founded, and he pulled back from many of his other activities. He did not lose his Yale School of Medicine position, but no one wanted him to lecture internationally any more or to serve on boards or committees. Elsewhere, some medical school deans whose institutions had been publicly fingered were eased out by their universities, who feared that the scandal might extend into other research activities.

Curiously, perhaps, none of the federal officials whose lapses allowed the Research Time Fraud Scandal to occur suffered as a result. They regrouped, presided over reviews, evaded responsibility for the past, supported Senator Milton’s legislation, issued new rules and regulations, and continued as before. Somehow, all the blame fell on the research recipients rather than on the research grantors. One of the NIH bureaucrats who was heavily involved in awarding research grants had a sign in his office that read: “Mistakes have been made. Others will be blamed.” That’s how it played out at NIH.

Whether the Research Time Fraud Scandal ever produced any real change is debatable. The total funding of federal medical research grants did not diminish. The average size of a grant did not shrink. The number of grants awarded was about the same. But the amount of time that researchers promised to spend on the grants received considerable attention from the grantees and agencies alike, and the numbers now all added up properly. By law, anyone who devoted more than 50% of his or her time to federal research grants had to file an annual certificate stating under oath that he or she devoted the promised amount of time to working on the grants. That was the statutory standard in Senator Milton’s legislation. Each research institution was obliged to collect and make public the certificates, to oversee its own researchers, and to file its own annual report with the National Institutes of Health’s new Office of Research Oversight. Of course, few exceeded 50% so the filing of certificates and reports were rare.

All in all, the Research Time Fraud Scandal was a classic: a juicy scandal with heroes and villains, tons of press coverage, a hint of reportable sex, public outrage, reform legislation that passed unanimously, new bureaucratic procedures, and not much real substantive change in the end.

Now that’s what Washington calls a great success.

Chapter 13: The Hideaway

Amy worked quietly in the office until 2 pm, when she went off to see Ed Glass, the Subcommittee Staff Director. Ed sat in a Subcommittee office at the other end of the Russell Building from where Frank’s office was. Ed’s office was in the back room of a three-room office. The first room held two secretaries and a dozen filing cabinets. The second room had six desks squeezed in an office that should have held two at most. Rod was at one of the desks and waved to her.

Amy and Glass shook hands. Glass was well over six feet tall, appeared to be over fifty, with about half of his hair left. What remained was mostly gray. He was dressed in the same drab suit and tie that most other Senate professional staffers seem to favor.

Amy began, “You were Frank Butcher’s immediate boss. Is that right?”

Glass agreed, sort of. “Technically. I didn’t have much to do with Frank. He reported directly to the Senator, and we rarely interacted except over scheduling of hearings and administrative crap. Frank rarely told me what he was doing. He was secretive, conspiratorial, and generally self-righteous. But he was good at what he did.”

He spoke quickly and bluntly. Amy didn’t know if that was normal for him or a reaction to her or the investigation. Amy pushed him. “You didn’t get along?”

Glass made a face. “I didn’t say that. We had different perspectives. I used to be the Senator’s AA. Doug Olsen is the AA now. I run the Subcommittee, but I still have the same general charge. My job is to make the Senator effective here in the Senate, make him look good in the newspapers, and see that nothing interferes with his ability to get reelected. I have other substantive objectives, but they are secondary. My loyalty is still to the Senator. I happen to sit now in the Subcommittee office.”

“Do you supervise other Subcommittee staff?”

“Yes. Frank was the only exception. For everyone else, I’m their immediate boss. I have signature authority for all Subcommittee business so everyone on the staff comes to me to get their letters signed. That allows me to keep control over them. Frank was the only one who could sign his own letters.”

Amy pushed him. “Did that create problems for you?”

Glass had something on his mind. “Yes. No. Look, let me get this out of the way. I was in the building on Monday. You probably know that. I was at the staff conference on the insurance privacy bill. I didn’t kill Frank, but I don’t have any way to prove that. I wasn’t in the conference meeting the whole time. I came. I left. I went to the bathroom. I came back to my office once. I went back to the conference. I went home around 1 pm straight from the conference when it broke up. Others wandered in and out of the meeting too. There’s no way I’m not a suspect, like everyone else at the conference. I didn’t see anything noteworthy. I didn’t see anyone enter or leave Frank’s office. Or linger in the hallway. I can’t help you much in finding the killer.”

Amy already knew that Glass was there and figured that Glass knew it too. The admission didn’t change his status in her mind. “Who else was at the conference? Is there a list somewhere?”

Glass answered, “I don’t want to sound uncooperative, but I got a lot to do here. We have bills still in play, and I have meetings all afternoon. I’ll answer questions, but can you stick to stuff that you need me for, that no one else can answer? You can find out about the conference from Bill Strohmeyer at the full committee. Judiciary. He ran the meeting, and he ran it badly, not that you care. He let anyone come, and there were too many lobbyists there to allow for any kind of real discussion. We spent three hours chasing our tails, just like the five previous meetings.”

“Okay. I plan to talk to others who were there, and I won’t come back to you on that unless I can’t get something elsewhere or I need your help.”

“Thanks. Are we done?” He pointed to the pile on his desk.

“I’m afraid not. You were too connected with Butcher for me to dismiss you so easily, and you were here. You’re still a suspect, and that may not change any time soon. And you’re a witness. I still need more background about Frank and his activities.”

The phone buzzed. Glass took the call and said he would be right over. “That was the Senator. I have to go see him. Can we reschedule?”

Amy said, “If we must…”

Glass said, “I have a better idea. Come with me over to the Capitol. I’ll give you a tour and maybe you can see the Senator in his hideaway office. Do you know about hideaways?”

Amy did not.

Glass explained that there are small offices mostly in the basement of the Capitol that serve as personal offices for Senators. The hideaways are based strictly on seniority and that Milton’s office was mid-range. “Many hideaways are small, but some have bedrooms, kitchens, and more. There’s lots of rumors about what Senators do in those offices. I’ll leave all that to your imagination. The offices are unmarked, so the tourists won’t know what they are. From the outside, they look like broom closets. I don’t know if the Senator will let you in the office. He only lets a few of his staff in.”

They got up to leave, and Glass put on his suit jacket. “We can keep talking as we walk over.” Glass led the way out of the office and down the hall to an elevator. He took Amy to the basement and then over to the Capitol, walking alongside the open-topped subway train that ran the one block from Russell to the Capitol. He explained that the subway was short and had been extremely expensive to build, but it helped lazy and aging Senators make it to the Senate floor for a vote. It’s also something for the tourist to ride, not that it’s much of a thrill. “I make it a point of never riding,” he said.

Once in the Capitol, he took her up a flight of stairs, down a maze of indistinguishable corridors with hanging wires, peeling paint, and unmarked doors. The whole trip took about 15 minutes.

On the way, Glass kept talking. “I already told you that I didn’t particularly like Frank. He was pain in the butt at times. But there’s nothing unusual about that. The Senator has dozens of people who work for him, in his personal office, in his Subcommittee, in his district offices. They are mostly bright, ambitious people who always have an eye on getting ahead, attracting the Senator’s attention, pushing ideas of their own. Most learn to take supervision well, and most of the others get moved out. You can’t put personal interests ahead of the Senator’s too overtly or too often. I see to that. The Subcommittee staff mostly stays on the reservation. They’re all lawyers, except for Frank, and they have some reasonable sense of their limits. As long as they give the Senator’s best interests equal weight with their own personal goals, things work okay. We have a good staff. And none of them was here on Labor Day, as far as I know, except that Rod came in with the Senator.”

Amy turned the discussion back to Frank. “Why was Frank so difficult?”

Glass responded, “Frank was a pain, but he wasn’t intolerable. He insisted on having a private office so people could come and go without being seen by other staff. He worked hard, he was rational, he tried to do good things as he saw them. He produced. He was not indifferent to the Senator’s interests. And the Senator liked him, encouraged him, mostly at least, and rarely let anyone try to rein him in. It wasn’t possible for me to keep him under control. From my perspective, that was the real problem. The Senator isn’t always as focused as I am on his best interests. Frank takes him a nutty idea, and the Senator is likely to say okay. I think that it goes back to his days when he basically ran the U.S Attorney’s Office in Philly. The staff there always pushed the envelope, trying novel prosecutions, targeting known bad guys without great evidence, and the like. He tolerated that for people he trusted, and he trusted Frank.”

Amy followed up with Glass’s previous comment about staffer’s agendas. “What was Frank’s agenda?”

Glass shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I think he was motivated by scalps. He loved to pick out a guy who did something wrong and destroy his life. It’s usually enough in this town to get someone fired or criminally investigated. It changes their prospects forever. Once you’re identified as the target of an investigation, you never lose the taint. That wasn’t enough for Frank. He was vindictive as hell. He wanted to destroy people personally, make them pariahs, take away their pensions. He always picked out individuals who did something wrong. I never found him running a vendetta against a personal enemy of his. But he went way overboard sometimes. It wasn’t enough to fix the problem. He had to demolish someone. He had this streak of personal animosity toward corruption that was part of his motivation. I didn’t like that.”

Amy found that helpful. “I’ve read some of the records of his investigations, and I guess that I can see some of that from the cases. It might have given people a motive for revenge. Are there any of his targets who stick out?”

Glass offered an example. “The DOT computer procurement was one. I don’t think that there was any question that there was corruption in the process. I doubt that the case could have been proved in court, but it smelled. Frank had enough evidence to make a splashy case at a hearing. But I think he went too far in pursing the contracting officer…”

Amy asked, “Was that John Murphy?”

“Yeah. He was the guy. A petty crook who sold out Uncle Sam for a few bucks. Okay, so he deserved to be bounced. But Frank went overboard. We need to pay more attention to systemic failures here and less to individual wrongdoers. And the truth is that DOT needed the computers. I wouldn’t say this publicly, but there’s a limit to how much we can or should disrupt an important function to deal with a one-off lawbreaker. I don’t know that you take that perspective in the FBI…”

Amy disagreed. “You’d be surprised. We don’t investigate everything that comes to our attention, and we don’t recommend prosecuting everyone we catch. The prosecutors won’t take all the cases that we can find anyway. We can’t go after everyone and everything. We must be selective. There aren’t enough resources….

Glass interrupted. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s my point. The government buys a lot of goods and services. With that volume of activity, there’s going to be some corruption. I’m not exactly in favor of corruption, but you have to tolerate some of it. It’s like …. like with a welfare program. The program helps people who need it to survive. A relative few abuse the system. We know that up front. But politicians love to rant about welfare queens who collect ten checks a month. It fuels popular anger. But you can’t have a system that works perfectly. If you can keep the level of fraud down to five percent, you’re doing okay. That’s often better than the private sector. If you try to stamp out the last bit of fraud, abuse, and waste, you’d spend more than you save. But try to tell that to a Congressman who traffics in welfare cheating stories. They treat each single incident as an indictment of an entire program, and they rile up voters. It’s hard to reach a reasonable policy outcome when one guy demagogues one small problematic result. No one can stand up in public and say that even a small amount of fraud is acceptable.”

Amy turned the discussion back to Frank. “Was that Frank? Was he focused on the outlier case?”

Glass shrugged again. “Not really. Well, maybe. He didn’t care about the broader picture. He focused on the wrongdoing that he saw in front of him. He was an investigator. He wasn’t a policy analyst. He thought that he was a part of the system that kept things honest, and I don’t think that’s an unfair conclusion. But his work sometime fueled the demagogues.”

Amy asked, “So was he upset at the DOT computer outcome?”

“Yes, but he still got to torture Murphy. We let him do it in exchange for letting the procurement continue. They needed the computers badly. It would’ve set the agency back several years if they had to start over. And we got a lot of pressure to let the procurement continue. There were other political aspects that pointed in the same direction. I’m not going to get into that with you. It isn’t relevant here. The upshot is that Frank got his scalp, DOT got its computers, and the taxpayers paid more for them. We did get the price chopped down some. On the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was within the level of corruption that can be tolerated, so long as it doesn’t happen all the time. The government is too big to do everything right. Meanwhile, all the other contracting officers knew what happened to Murphy. That had its effect. All in all, it was a good outcome, at least on a Washington scale. Of course, Murphy must be on your suspect list.”

Amy asked if Glass had to strike a bargain with Frank to get that result?

“Not exactly a bargain. I didn’t supervise Frank, but I intervened when I thought he was causing problems for the Senator. In this case, we needed to find a way to avoid pissing off another Senator. Frank was so plugged in with the press that there was always the concern that he would leak his story in a way that would lead to a result that we didn’t want. He leaked a lot of stories. That was part of the way that he operated. He uncovered more problems than we could address in hearings. The Senator liked most of the investigations, and it did him a lot of good back home. But he didn’t always want to sit through a lot of hearings and cross-examine people. A leak was a different way to achieve a result, and it often worked just as well. There are all kinds of way here to produce change or to stop bad activities. We can have a hearing, leak a story, write a letter, ask for a GAO review, put a rider in an appropriation bill. We have many tools in our arsenal. The trick is using the right tool at the right time.”

Glass moved with confidence through the unmarked hallways deep in the Capitol Building. Finally, they reached a small, poorly lit corridor. There was no one in sight, and they hadn’t seen anyone for several minutes. Amy didn’t have any idea where she was. She wondered for an instant why they were there and whether a Senator really had an office this far in the bowels of the Capitol.

All of a sudden, she felt at risk. If Glass killed Butcher, did he bring her here to stop her investigation? She was stunned by the thought. She felt like she’d let her guard down.

Glass towered over her in the narrow corridor. He stopped walking, turned to look directly at Amy, and grew more animated as he spoke. Amy backed up slightly. Glass spoke with a cold edge to his voice. “All right. I see what you’re doing here. Yes, there was conflict. There’s always conflict here. It happens. We have high-powered people. We operate in a three-dimensional space. One dimension is policy. Another is politics. The third dimension is publicity. There’s often tension. We find abuse, and we want to have a better policy in the future. But sometimes a program or person has a protector, and that’s a factor. Still, a juicy scandal makes great press, and it helps to keep the Senator’s image sharp and positive. We balance these pressures all the time, and it creates conflict. We deal with it. We don’t kill each other, at least not literally. Someone thought that Frank deserved to die for what he did. Until you know what the reason was, it’s hard to assess it from the outside.”

Glass’s last comments began to sound like it had the potential to turn in to a confession or worse. Amy recognized that Glass was a big guy and might overwhelm her. She suddenly felt trapped. Her heart was pounding. She felt for her gun. She was tempted to pull it out, but she knew that she would look extremely foolish if that was the wrong move. If it was the right move, however, it couldn’t come too soon. She wasn’t confident she could take Glass in a physical struggle if it came to that. In training, she’d held her own with bigger agents, but she never needed to use those skills for real. The tight space in the corridor was a difficult place for a fight, and no one might hear a struggle. She considered whether surprise might help her control Glass. She very much regretted not having a partner along.

Glass turned away and raised his fist, and Amy jumped back and watched intently for his next move, not sure what to do. She couldn’t see his other hand in the gloom. Glass turned his head to look at her, surprised at her reaction. Then he knocked on a door that Amy hadn’t noticed in the dark. She heard Senator Milton’s voice say, “Just a minute.” Amy relaxed and tried hard not to show how perturbed she actually was. She quietly breathed in and out to calm herself. She was relieved that she hadn’t pulled her gun.

Glass asked Amy to wait in the hall a minute. He entered alone, closed the door, and then almost immediately the door opened again. The Senator himself was at the door and invited Amy in. He looked truly pleased to see her, and he offered her a chair. Amy didn’t sit right away. She stood, scanning the office, shocked at how…. ordinary the secret, inner sanctum was in fact.

The hideaway office itself was a small room, perhaps fifteen feet square. There was room for a desk, a sofa, a table, and a couple of chairs. If it weren’t for the location and the prerequisites for getting it, the office would have been unremarkable. The room was brightly lit and mostly nondescript, except for a dozen or so glass cases hanging on the walls with pennants, pin, and patches from the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team. It was an enormous collection, with dozens of items. The pennants were all small, two inches long, some a foot long, in red, blue, white, green, brown, and other colors. There were pins of every description as well. Amy looked from case to case, both transfixed and amused at seeing the personal side of a Senator.

Milton said, “I don’t let many people see my Phillies collection. I used to have this stuff in my personal office, but it caused trouble. Lobbyists saw my interest, and they started bringing me Phillies items as presents. That was so awkward that I moved everything down here. Another problem was the people from western Pennsylvania weren’t happy that I ignored the Pittsburgh Pirates. Baseball fans can be a little intense, and there’s no love lost between Phillies and Pirates fans.”

Amy asked how long Milton has been a collector.

“I started a long time ago, when I was a prosecutor in Philly. It’s hard to find this stuff, especially the older ones. I can’t search through junk shops for pennants and pins now that I’m a Senator. But I have a few people who know about my collection and tell when good things are available. My staff thinks I’m a little looney here.”

Glass sat in a chair looking bored. Milton, on the other hand, was happy to have a new audience. Amy asked which pennant was the oldest. Milton pointed out a pair of 4 inches pennants, one yellow with purple writing and the other purple with yellow writing. These are from 1936. And this one” – he pointed to a four-inch red pennant that a pair of crossed bats and said Philadelphia Blue Jays – “is my favorite. It’s from the late 40s when the team owner tried to change the name of the team to the Blue Jays. The name didn’t stick, and the team is still the Phillies. And this one….”

Amy interrupted. “They’re all so small. I thought baseball pennants were a couple of feet long. I’ve been to the ballpark on occasion, and the pennants are always long. You don’t seem to have any of those.”

Milton explained, “You’re right. Most pennants are 30 inches. That’s the standard size. But they’re awkward to collect and display so they didn’t interest me. I get the guys in the Capitol Frame Shop to make up the cases for me as I get new pins and pennants. They do a great job. Now here, I’ve got a Whiz Kids pennant – that’s the team that got to the World Series in 1950 and got swept in four games by the Yankees – and pins from that era. I’m waiting to have a pin and pennant from a World Series that the Phillies won. The team was awful for most of the 50s and 60s, and they only recently started to get better. Maybe this year…maybe in a couple of years.”

Amy teased him. “I feel like I’ve entered my twelve-year-old nephew’s bedroom. Except that he’s a Yankees fan. And he tapes his items to the wall, which drives his mother crazy. He got into baseball after he went through his fireman phase. Did you graduate from fireman too, or is that next? And why don’t you have any baseball cards? I thought that cards were a traditional baseball collectors focus. My nephew has a zillion.”

The Senator liked her reaction. “I got past the fireman phase when I was ten or so, but I haven’t gotten beyond the baseball phase. It’s taken me years to assemble this stuff. It’s as much the thrill of the chase as the actual collection. Finding a new item is wonderfully satisfying, and finding another serious collector gives me the chance to learn something. Too many people collect cards, but cards don’t interest me. Do you collect anything?” Amy immediately thought about her shawls but didn’t know if clothes counted as a collectable.

Glass stood up. “I hate to interrupt your collection fest, but I don’t have much time so if I could get the letter, I want to leave before you start discussing model trains and marbles.”

Milton frowned, but he went to the desk and got the letter. “Your draft is fine. I wrote a personal note at the bottom to let him know that I had my hands on it. He’s an old friend. Let me know if he responds. So…. Amy, what can you tell me about the investigation?”

Amy responded, “Nothing right now. I’m right in the middle of interviewing Ed, and I plan to interview you, maybe tomorrow. As for the investigation, I am wading through people and files. That’s all I can say for now. I’ve cleared some people and am working on a suspect list. There isn’t much more to say, and if there were, I’d need to talk to Charlie too.”

Glass headed for the door, and Amy said, “I need to finish my interview with Ed. Besides, I don’t think I could find my way back to civilization without an escort. See you tomorrow, I hope.” The two of them left, much to the Senator’s regret, and Amy continued the questioning as Ed led her back to the Russell Building.

“Did you play a role in hiring Frank when you were AA?”

“Yes. The Senator interviewed Frank, and he decided to hire him. He didn’t ask anyone else for an opinion. Frank came with a well-established reputation from his work on the House side. After the interview, the Senator told me to hire him.”

“Did you try to make him report through you?”

Glass pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re back to finding a reason for me to kill him. Sorry, nothing there. Frank and the Senator clicked. Frank’s reporting directly to the Senator and having signature authority just happened. I didn’t like it particularly. A Senate office isn’t like any other office, governmental or private. We don’t have formal organization charts or written procedures. There are processes for handling constituent mail because we have a big volume and a staff to do it. But there are fewer people doing the legislative and policy work here. Surprisingly few. There’s a lot of informality. Ad-hockery, if you will.

“Frank worked directly with the Senator on that Smithsonian investigation. The Senator wanted to know all the details and to see all the evidence. He was nervous that the hearing would somehow blow up in his face. He made Frank go over everything with him directly. The Senator prepared for that hearing as if he were a prosecutor in a courtroom. He wanted to know that all the evidence was solid. I sat through most of the preparations, and Frank had the goods without question. We even got a handwriting analysis so that we could say with certainty that a particular memo was written by the guy who appeared to have written it. We were that careful.”

Amy was surprised. “Is that unusual? We do that sort of thing all the time at the Bureau. We control all the evidence with great care, and we document everything we do. If your case turns on a particular piece of evidence, and the court doesn’t admit it because of your mistake, it’s a huge black mark. And the prosecutors hate you personally.”

Ed explained, “What we did in the Smithsonian case was atypical for Capitol Hill. We almost never go to that extreme. We throw all the spaghetti at the wall and see if any of it sticks. We don’t care about rules of evidence, chain of custody, privilege, admissibility. Anything goes up here. But the Senator had a courtroom mentality, and he wanted to meet the higher standard for his first big splashy investigatory effort.”

“Were you happy with the result?”

He was. “The hearing was unbelievably good. It’s what started the whole banana thing. No one could have planned or predicted that. It made the Senator something of a cult figure in the state. It cemented his seat. It was amazing…unprecedented…. unique…and it saved donors a fortune. He’s been such a lock for reelection that he doesn’t need to raise much money. If he were vulnerable in any normal way, he would need five, ten, twenty times as much money for his campaigns. Now, that money’s available to other Democrats. It’s great all around.”

“So that hearing made Frank a special character, with direct access to the Senator. He was able to bypass you entirely.”

Glass got beyond being annoyed at Amy’s persistence and was now amused. He said with a smile, “You are single-minded. I didn’t kill Frank. That hearing was wonderful for the Senator. And what’s good for the Senator is good for his staff. If he’s more effective, then we’re more effective. Yes, it turned out as a result that Frank got more access. I would have preferred otherwise, but that was years ago. I have no lingering resentment. I made peace with it all a long time ago.”

“What else can you tell me? Were there other internal conflicts?”

“Sure. There’s always conflict and rivalry on the Hill. Frank created conflicts with other staffers and with other committees. That dragged me into his investigations. Every committee here jealously guards its own jurisdiction and its own programs. A staffer on another committee works for years to create a new program or new office, to get legislation for it, to get funding. Frank comes along, finds something admittedly improper going on, and then he tries to blow up everything and everyone associated with it.”

“How do you get involved?”

“They come to me to complain. ‘Get your guy off our turf.’ That was the usual request or, should I say, demand. ‘It’s our program, and we’ll handle any problems that arise. Your committee doesn’t have any jurisdiction.’ They were usually right, but sometimes Frank’s investigations were so compelling that it was hard for anyone to stand in the way. There’s no question that he was tremendously effective at times. He had a cadre of reporters, whistleblowers, and weirdoes that hung out with him and provided him with leads or reported on his work.”

Amy shifted her focus. “Do you think that any of those other staffers didn’t like Frank enough to kill him?”

“Yeah. Kathy Weed. She hated Frank. She hates all of us. She hates everyone. She wants the world to think of her as the queen investigator. She hated Frank for his success. If I compiled a list of suspects, she would definitely be in the top three. But I doubt….”

“Anybody else?”

“Some of Frank’s other targets are well known. John Murphy, Norman Nelson….”

“What about Joan Lester?”

“Nope. Can’t see it. She wouldn’t be on my suspect list at all.”

“Did you know a GAO auditor named Wally Vocelli?”

“Rings a vague bell, but I can’t help you with him.”

“What about Jules Armstrong, National Library of Medicine?”

“Yeah, he’s a maybe. But it was a long time ago. NLM is a nasty small agency that fights dirty. Frank caught them at…at… something with a slush fund. I don’t remember. Armstrong took the fall for it. I don’t remember much else.”

They were almost back to the office in the Russell Building. Amy said, “Last topic. Got any advice for me when I interview the Senator?”

“I don’t know. He may not be much help. He’s insulated from a lot of what goes on here. He’ll know about investigations that come to his attention. Don’t get me wrong. He can be sharp as a tack, but we keep many details from him unless he asks. That lets him concentrate on the bigger picture, political matters, relations with other Senators, and whatever he wants.”

“Okay. Thanks for all that. I may get back to you if I have more questions.”

Amy left and went back to her office. She didn’t quite know what to make of Ed Glass. She misinterpreted his intent back in the corridor, and that shook her up. Otherwise, however, she has no specific reason to suspect him. He struck her as honorable, thoughtful, and experienced.

Then she went back to reviewing files. File after file. Page after page. Late in the day, Hicks called her with an update. He said that his agents were able to clear Chief Alton and Dan Gold. Hicks reassured Amy that he did so as covertly as possible in Dan’s case. He could not, however, clear Eric Howe. He asked the agents a lot of questions and that Howe told them a different story than he told Amy, and that was both suspicious and unusual. Amy said she would press him for more details. She still didn’t believe that Howe did it.

She gave more names to Hicks to clear. Amy was pleasantly surprised at the cooperation she was getting from Hicks. She expected it to be much harder. Nothing like having the Director on your side, she thought. It also occurred to her that having someone else do all the grunt work of checking alibis was a great luxury. And an essential one because she still had way more work to do than she could manage.

Chapter 14: Press Crisis

Amy met Sally in the kitchen first thing Friday morning. Sally tossed her the Washington Star. “You’re going to hate this.”

The Star had an eight-column headline that read “Butcher Investigation Using FBI Resources.” The news was the FBI agents interviewed Hill staffers and others as part of the investigation. The story was sourced to “Capitol Hill insiders” who had been interviewed by FBI agents. The story didn’t have much else in it. An accompanying editorial asked why the FBI was involved in an investigation run by the Senate Police, but it didn’t explain what the Star thought the actual problem was.

Amy was surprised that she was not nearly as depressed about the story as she was on Wednesday when the Post ran Dan Gold’s story on the first day of the investigation and said so.

Sally smiled at her. “I think that’s progress. You’re getting used this town. A story isn’t a disaster. It’s just a story. Another part of the give and take. This one is something to write in the absence of real news. The question is whether this story will get a life of its own.”

Amy commented on the lack of a byline for the story, and Sally said that it was the first thing she noticed. “That’s another sign of progress. You’re doing good, kid. Another month or two….”

“I won’t be here in a month or two,” Amy interrupted. “If this case isn’t over soon, I’ll be shipped home in disgrace.”

Sally wondered how the Senator’s office would react to the story, and Amy worried about that. “I hope it doesn’t distract me all day. I can’t run this investigation and manage the press at the same time. I suddenly think better about the FBI public affairs office.”

They both left for their respective offices. Rod knocked on Amy’s door slightly after 9 am. “I assume you saw the Star. I think you should come to the Senator’s office while we decide how to react.”

When they got there, Rod went in another room to get a notepad, and Janie spoke quickly and quietly to Amy. “I don’t know that I like what Eric wants to do. You need to get in there and slow things down. I’m going to try to get the Senator to come in early and intervene. No one expects him this morning, but I think I can get him here.” Amy nodded.

Rod returned and ushered Amy into the Senator’s personal office. Eric Howe was discussing possible press releases with Doug Olsen, the Senator’s AA. An assistant of Eric who Amy didn’t know was there, along with two other unidentified personal office staffers. Rod asked for a recap.

Eric turned on Amy. “What are you doing here? This is the Senator’s business, and you already told me that you don’t work for the Senator.”

Doug thought she belonged. “Whoever Amy works for, she has an interest in this, and she knows more than the rest of us. Maybe, Eric, you shouldn’t believe everything in your own press releases. We’re all in this together. Now set out the options, please.”

Eric had two press releases and asked for a choice between them. The first was to come from the Senate Police. It proposed to quote the Chief as saying “The Butcher investigation has proved to be harder than we expected, and the resources that we devoted to it were inadequate to the task. That’s why we asked the FBI to help.” That quote was the main point, and the rest was filler.

Amy definitely thought that the statement – “inadequate to the task” – was a shot at her, but she didn’t speak up. She wondered if the other release was worse.

Eric’s second release was from the Senator. It offered the Senator’s comment that there was nothing unusual about using FBI agents for parts of the investigation that did not involve confidential Senate investigatory documents. All Senate prerogatives were protected because FBI agents remained insulated from Senate files.

Doug asked Eric for his preference.

“I much prefer the first release. It comes from the office conducting the investigation, at least nominally, and it doesn’t mention the Senator. I think that we need to begin to distance the Senator from this investigation so that the blame will fall elsewhere when it fails.”

“If it fails,” said Rod. “You have no reason to assume that the investigation won’t find the murderer.”

Amy was grateful for the support, but she understood the realities. She kept silent.

Eric explained the theory behind the second press release. “The Senator is known as a criminal investigator from his days as an AUSA, and he has the authority to dismiss the Star’s story as relatively meaningless. The problem with the approach is that using the Senator as an authority binds him closer to the case, and that’s not a good thing. The second release is lamer and responds to a point that the Star didn’t emphasize.”

Doug said that as between the two releases, he had a slight preference for the first. He asked Rod for his views. Rod couldn’t state a preference. Doug then asked Amy for her preference. Amy definitely felt on the spot.

“I don’t have the experience that all of you do in dealing with the press. I don’t like either approach, but I don’t have another idea right now. Do you have to respond at all?”

Amy then remembered Janie’s request that she slow things down. Her two-sentence statement didn’t help with that. Amy regrouped. She told a long-winded story about a purported kidnapping of a four-year old boy in Denver. Amy saw that Eric wanted to cut her off, but she managed to make the story both interesting and relevant enough that Eric never quite managed to intervene. The story involved a distraught mother, an inexperienced 9-1-1 operator, and a host of misunderstandings that resulted in a massive statewide response. The matter mushroomed out of control and almost immediately included the FBI, local police, state police, and the national guard. All became involved in the search for the kid, who turned out to be at a neighbor’s house. Amy told the story in a suspenseful way and with a lot of insider details that usually interested others. The point of the story was that no one objected when extra help was called in, and that there was no criticism that so many resources were used to find a missing kid, even after it turned out to be a false alarm.

Amy said that she thought that the Star’s story was way overdone and that maybe no one was likely to care.

In the midst of telling the story, Amy realized that she was staging a filibuster. She was dragging out the discussion in the hopes that the time would get her a better result. She filed that thought away for later consideration about how far she had been corrupted by the Capitol Hill environment, and it was only her first week.

Just as she finished, Eric pressed for a decision. As the discussion was drifting toward a conclusion, the Senator entered the room along with Janie. Doug and Eric brought him up to date. Eric pushed for a choice, but Milton didn’t react. He wondered aloud if he needed to respond at all. Instead of making a choice between the two drafts, he turned to Rod.

“Do you think you can get a second opinion on this?”

Rod nodded and left the room. Amy was terribly confused by the request, which seemed to make sense to the others. Whose opinion was Rod supposed to solicit? It couldn’t be Chief Alton. It was well-established that no one cared about his views. If Milton had wanted the FBI’s opinion, he would have called Parisi himself or asked Amy to do so. While Amy pondered the “second opinion” question, the discussion in the room wandered. It seemed that everyone was deliberately marking time, and the Senator described the previous day’s baseball results, reporting with satisfaction that the Phillies were getting closer to first place.

In a few minutes, Rod returned. “I spoke to my informant. He didn’t think that there any real news in the Star story. He doesn’t see a second day story here from the Star or from any other paper. He doesn’t think the Post or Times will care. His main observation was that any press release will be guaranteed to provide a hook for a second day story. No release, no story.”

Milton thanked Rod and took a position. “I’m inclined to agree. We don’t need to say anything. Cooperation among law enforcement agencies is wholly unremarkable. The Star is still mad about getting scooped by the Post, and it’s playing its usual game of one-upmanship after-the-fact. I don’t think they scored any runs here, and we should just sit on our hands. Anybody disagree?”

Eric was taken aback by the decision. “If we don’t have a release, what do I say to reporters?”

Doug answered the question to everyone’s satisfaction. “Give off an off-the-record statement using what the Senator just said. Cooperation among law enforcement agencies is wholly unremarkable, and we don’t have any comment. I’ll tell Chief Alton to do the same.” He turned to the Senator for approval, and the Senator nodded. The meeting was over, and the story played out – or didn’t play out – just as the informant suggested. There was no second day story about the FBI and the investigation.

Amy left to return to her work, winking at Janie as she exited the Senator’s office. Janie winked back with a smile. Rod left with Amy.

“I have to ask. Whose opinion did you get? Everyone seemed to understand what was going on but me. I’m dying to know.”

“Umm, this is really off-the-record. We don’t discuss this sort of thing outside the office. But the Senator has a great relationship with Dan Gold at the Post, and we occasionally seek his opinion on press strategy. I usually do the calling since I know Dan personally from the poker game. Sometimes the Senator calls him our ‘secret agent,’ our ‘first base coach,’ or he makes another indirect reference. We never mention Dan’s name, as we all recognize that getting this type of assistance from a reporter is out of bounds. So does Dan, but he does it anyway. It’s a part of the incestuous relationship between the Hill and the press.”

“What would have happened if the Senator hadn’t arrived?”

Rod shrugged. “Eric probably would have gotten his way. We put out releases all the time without consulting the Senator. It’s rare that he gets involved in a release. I guess it was lucky that he showed up.”

Amy didn’t say so, but she felt even more indebted to Dan Gold. Amy went back to her office and reported to Hicks that the Senator did not plan to respond to the Star and suggested that the Bureau do the same. Hicks agreed, and the Star crisis was over. Amy looked at her watch and was surprised that it all took less than an hour.

Chapter 15: Interview with the AA

Amy prepared for the interview scheduled with Milton Friday afternoon. When Rod showed up later in the morning, she asked for advice on the interview. She told Rod that she saw the Senator’s hideaway office yesterday.

“Wow. He doesn’t let many people in his Capitol office. I’ve never been inside myself. I went over once with Ed, but I had to wait outside. I’m jealous. What’s the big secret?”

Amy didn’t realize that entry to the office was so controlled. “I don’t know, but if it’s a secret, I won’t reveal it.”

Rod was disappointed, but he moved on. “Be that way. But if you expect to catch him today, better check his schedule again. It’s rare to find the Senator here on Friday afternoon. I don’t know what you expect to learn. The Senator knows only a little about most about ongoing investigations, but he isn’t likely to know who the subjects are unless they are political appointees. Frank would tell him if the targets were high level. Milton usually only got involved at the end, if then. He’s carefully briefed but usually only if there’s a hearing. Otherwise, he may know little or nothing.”

Amy said that she was interviewing Doug Olsen first. Rod thought that Doug would be more useful than the Senator. He left, and almost immediately Eric Howe knocked on the door.

Eric started, “I’m getting a ton of inquiries from reporters and lots of pressure from the Senator. Do you have any results that I can share? Something, anything would help.”

Amy said flatly that she had nothing to offer and that wouldn’t change until the investigation was over. She spoke bluntly.

Eric said, “You’re hurting the Senator by dragging this investigation out. It will damage him politically.”

Amy responded with scorn. “This is day three of the investigation. You think I can produce results because you snap your fingers at me? It’s your job to protect the Senator, not mine. Get out of here.”

As Eric turned to leave, he said, “If you don’t come up with something soon, you’ll be on a plane back to Denver and we’ll get a real investigator to find the murderer.”

Amy lost her cool and said, “You mean a man?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” And he slammed the door.

Amy threw her pen at the closed door. She worked to control herself. It wasn’t the first time she heard a comment like that. But repetition didn’t make it any easier to take. She figured that Eric was bummed that his press release was nixed and that he came to take it out on her.

An hour later, now fully composed, Amy went down to the Senator’s personal office to meet Doug Olsen, the AA. She walked in and sat by Janie’s desk. Amy didn’t know where Eric sat, and she hoped not to run into him. While waiting, Amy showed her gray shawl for Janie, who said that she preferred the more colorful shawls of the previous days. Amy invited Janie to Denver for a personal tour of her shawl collection. “I don’t know how many shawls I have, but it’s dozens. I’ve only got a few with me so get used to them. Am I still on the Senator’s schedule this afternoon?”

“Yes. The Senator said that he would stick around to wait for you. I never schedule him for Friday afternoon without his express permission. You should feel honored.”

Amy did.

Doug Olsen, the Senator’s Administrative Assistant, emerged from the Senator’s office and invited Amy into his own. In sharp contrast to the Senator’s large, clean, organized personal office, Amy noticed that Olsen’s office was small, filled with files, books, papers, newspapers, and more. Materials were stacked on the desk, the floor, and the two chairs in the office, one of which he cleaned off for Amy.

Olsen was cooperative. “I’m happy to help you in any way that I can. Start wherever you want. I’m yours until you’re done with me.”

Amy began with the usual question. “Thanks. Let’s get right to it. Were you in the building on Labor Day?”

“No. I was coming back from the weekend hiking in West Virginia. With my wife. We got back in the early afternoon. The weather was rotten, so we left earlier than we’d planned.”

“Okay, I’ll check that out later. Write down her name and number. I’ll need to know where you were staying as well.”

Olsen added, “You know I did come in after the Senator arrived and well after Frank was dead.”

Amy continued. “That’s consistent with the sign in lists. When I can verify your West Virginia story, you’ll be off the suspect list. Talk to me about Frank Butcher.”

Olsen began with what sounded like a textbook explanation of his job. “My role here is to supervise the staff, handle anything that the Senator doesn’t want to do, represent the Senator with Pennsylvania politicians, supervise constituent services, manage our field offices, coordinate with campaign staff, whatever. I do substance, I do personnel, I do administration, I do policy when necessary, and I do politics. I tell the Senator when he’s wrong. That’s the hardest part most of the time.”

“What was your relationship with Butcher?”

Olsen responded, “I knew Frank, of course, but I didn’t have that much to do with him day to day. Frank was one of the few staffers here who could go directly to the Senator without going through me or Ed Glass, the subcommittee staff director. Personal office staff generally goes through me. That’s how I know what’s going on, and how I maintain some control. Subcommittee staff goes through Ed. We need to protect the Senator from demands from everybody for face time. Ed and I work well together. We work to give Milton enough space to …to…to be a Senator as he sees fit.”

“The Senator can do as much or as little as he likes. Anything he doesn’t want to do, the staff does for him. If he wants to know the details, we tell him. But we can sometimes take an idea he’s approved, draft legislation, run it through the committee, and get it enacted into law without too much further effort from the Senator other than maybe presiding over a hearing or making a statement in committee or on the floor. If he wants to be lazy or do other things, we can run his office with almost none of his participation. That all works for noncontroversial matters, at least. We need him to play Senator with folks in Pennsylvania. We need him involved here when things are contested or if another Senator is personally involved with something. We can manage when it’s all at the staff level.”

Amy probed, “So can I assume that you didn’t like it that Frank had direct access?”

Olsen didn’t contest the point. “Yeah, that’s fair enough. But it didn’t seem to bother the Senator, and it wasn’t such a terrible thing that I wanted to have a fight over it. And I would’ve had to fight both of them. Milton liked Frank, and Frank earned the access. I did try to keep an eye on Frank’s activities, especially when the Senator was personally involved. Frank could be wild sometimes, and if he caught the Senator in the right mood, they would go off in a nutty direction.”

Amy asked if that happened often.

“Not very. If I smelled wildness, I paid a lot of attention. If it was more run of the mill, I tried to stay out of it. I have enough other things to do. Sometimes Ed Glass played bad cop with Frank.”

Amy asked for examples.

Olsen said there weren’t many recently. “Nothing like the Research Time Fraud Scandal. That was the biggest battle we ever had. It took a long time for both of us to calm down afterwards.”

Amy was glad she read the story Rod gave her. “I read about that investigation. I remember reading about it in the newspapers at the time it happened. Weren’t you happy with it?”

Olsen was. “As it turned out, it was great for the Senator. It enhanced his investigatory credentials. It got him a ton of press. People liked the story, and we managed to do it in a way that didn’t piss off our own universities too much. They didn’t like it, but most recognized that things could have been much worse for them. I quietly made them understand that. They took a small reputation hit, but we never took any action to cut off the flow of funds. They know what’s important. There are a lot of major universities in the state, and we’re always supportive. At the same time the investigation was riding high in the papers, we worked behind the scenes to get more medical education funding for our schools. Parts of the medical research community dumped on the Senator, but you never saw any of that coming from Pennsylvania schools. We look after our own, and they know it.”

Amy pushed for more about Butcher. “What do you mean by ‘as it turned out’? Sounds like there’s more to the story.”

Olsen stood up and closed the door to his office. “Oh, yeah. I had an enormous fight with Frank. And with the Senator. I’ll tell you what happened, but I don’t want this story getting out. My instructions from the Senator about dealing with you were quite explicit. I’m to cooperate fully, but I don’t want old internal conflicts getting out for no reason. It was a couple of years ago. If I had wanted to kill Frank over it – and it got heated at one point, but that point was shouting and not murder – I would’ve done it then. I don’t think this has much to do with your investigation.”

Amy kept questioning. “I appreciate your candor, and I can tell you flatly that I’m not interested in doing anything to embarrass you or the Senator. I’m only interested in finding the murderer and going back to Denver. But don’t assume that because it happened in the past that it isn’t relevant. Someone connected to that old investigation was here on Labor Day, and he’s a suspect.”

Olsen knew who. “Yeah, it’s got to be Norman Nelson. I know he later chaired the Death Commission. That guy seems to have nine lives. He ended up being the fall guy in our investigation, but it was largely his fault for stepping up to try to defend the indefensible. We were all happy to see him get it in the end. But that came later. It was Frank’s first approach that was the problem.”

Amy kept focusing on Butcher. “You think that Dr. Nelson didn’t like Frank?”

Olsen had no doubts. “I assume. I never talked to Nelson myself. He had to see Frank Butcher as the cause of all his troubles. And the Senator, of course. But Nelson was enough of an insider to know to blame staff rather than the Senator.”

“What was your fight with Frank?”

“Frank comes to see the Senator about his investigation. Frank had telling evidence. The basic problem was a lack of attention by the research establishment to the grant process. It looked like the researchers had their hands in the cookie jar. We support research. That wasn’t the question. The research community – and the agencies that provide their funding – are all in bed together in the usual Washington way. The fraudulent time practices grew up over a long period, and no one ever stepped outside the grant process to think about how it looked. That’s what Frank did, with prompting from the Connecticut lawyer who found it in the first place. At one level, you can argue that Congress supports research, and the details don’t matter. All the money supported research and research institutions. That was Norman Nelson’s response, and it lost him his job. But the facts looked awful to the man in the street and to editorial writers. Selling more than a hundred percent of your time is both easy to understand and indefensible.”

“And the fight?”

“Frank brings his investigation to the Senator one day. I’m not there. After the meeting, the Senator tells me about it. Frank wanted…. Let me give you a chance to play staffer. Give me a reaction. Do you know who Dr. Charles Templeton Dilworth is?”

Amy did. “I think everyone knows him. He invented the Dilworth procedure, some new way to do heart surgery. I don’t understand the details, but he won the Nobel Prize for it. Cover of Time. Honorary Knighthood. Dilworth Institute. The procedure saved a lot of lives. One of my uncles had the surgery, and he’s still alive today at 93.”

Olsen teed up the issue. “Okay. Frank had the evidence that Dr. Dilworth’s name was on dozens of grant applications, and that he had sold way more than 100% of his time that way. It was what the investigation found for other researchers. Frank took it to the Senator and convinced him that Dilworth was the right target. High profile, to say the least. Once you got Dilworth, everyone else would’ve given in and pleaded guilty. Frank wanted to bring down the biggest target that he could get. That was his plan. What do you think? What’s your advice?”

Amy thought for a minute. “Well, I already know the right answer because you didn’t do what Frank wanted. The story I read didn’t mention Dilworth. But I’m having trouble finding a good reason why. In any criminal investigation, we want to get the big cheese. We sometimes have to work our way up to the top, but if we manage to start at the top and get a conviction, we can settle up easily with all the little guys. They know that they have no defense if Mr. Big pleads. But that isn’t what you did so that’s the wrong answer. What am I missing?”

Olsen looked pleased. “Your answer was Frank’s answer, and it has its appeal. The Senator was intrigued by it. We would’ve gotten twice as much publicity had Dilworth been the target. Front-page story in every newspaper in the country. In the world! So why did I object? He’s the best-known doctor in America. He’s Dr. God. Looks the part too.”

Amy didn’t see Olsen’s point yet, and Olsen continued. “I didn’t want to have a battle between Senator Milton and Dr. God. Everybody has an uncle who had Dilworth surgery. Their answer is that they don’t care if Dilworth raked a cut off the top for his Institute. He’s worth it, they say. He kept my uncle/brother/cousin/grandfather alive.”

Amy got it. “I see your side. Obviously, criminal investigations and political investigations have different goals and methods and risks. You make sense. Was it a big fight?”

Olsen stretched out his arms as far as they could go. “Gigantic. I jumped up and down. I yelled and screamed. I finally convinced the Senator. Then Frank goes back to see him and pumps him up again. It doesn’t help that Milton wants to put on a big show for his old law school classmate who brought us the issue in the first place. Then it’s my turn. After a couple of rounds of this, we all got together. Frank can be – could be –nasty when he wanted to. He wouldn’t let go. Dilworth would’ve been his biggest scalp ever, and that’s want he wanted. My focus was on protecting the Senator, but Frank kept arguing that the bigger scalp would make the Senator bigger. He got on his soapbox, talking about protecting the taxpayer against abusive grantees who suck up federal money and about preserving the integrity of federal spending. Once he got rolling down that track, it was like fighting against the flag, motherhood, and apple pie. We had a heck of a debate, and it started to get personal. We were both dug in deep. Eventually, Milton did the senatorial thing.”

Amy leaned forward. “And that was…?”

Olsen pointed to the door. “He walked out. He left it all to the two of us to sort it out. We put him in a tough position where he had to pick between two of his main staffers. Naturally, he didn’t like doing that. I didn’t like putting the Senator on the spot. It’s my job to avoid that, but I couldn’t let the Senator risk fighting with Dr. God.”

Amy asked, “Was it hard to work it out?”

“Yes. Frank didn’t want to let go of Dilworth. After two days of arguing, I finally told him straight up that he could only do it his way – and this is a bad expression in light of recent events – over my dead body. I told him that he could do anything but mention Dilworth. I used all the weight I could bring to bear, and Frank finally conceded. Because if we disagreed all the way, it would have been him or me. It was that kind of fight. One of us would have had to leave.”

Olsen continued, “That wasn’t the end, either. I made Frank promise in front of the Senator that there would be no leaks about Dilworth. I told Frank that anything else was okay, except that he couldn’t target anyone from Pennsylvania. That was one thing that Frank agreed to easily. He wasn’t so far off the deep end that he wanted to make trouble back home. We picked on a doc from Wisconsin as the poster child. No one ever heard of him. When reporters asked about Dilworth, we said we didn’t have any information on him. They could have dug up information on their own, but it would’ve taken a lot of time and effort, and reporters are too lazy. If you don’t hand it to them on a silver platter, most reporters won’t do a story. We worked out a series of releases and leaks. As soon as anyone stood up to defend the researchers, we let more out. We discredited spokesmen and institutions one-by-one. It was beautiful. Once we got him on the right track, Frank did everything wonderfully.”

Olsen was having a good time reliving the past triumph. “Some nothing of a Congressman from Indiana tried to defend the researchers. He was chair of a dinky House Government Operations Subcommittee. He thought he could say something to defuse the investigation. We heard what he was up to. Frank wanted to release personal information about the congressman to discredit him. Seems Frank knew about two of the congressman’s girlfriends and didn’t think that the congressman’s wife knew about either one. But I intervened there too, and Frank didn’t struggle over this. There wasn’t any reason to get personal. The congressman wasn’t a crook. He just had too many women. That’s not all that uncommon here, and trafficking in personal information about elected Members is a terrible precedent. All of a sudden, no one will trust you lest you expose their dirty laundry. The Senators all know stuff about each other that would be ruinous. So do reporters. It just isn’t done, at least not now. There may come a time….”

Amy was perturbed about the story about the congressman and his girlfriends, but Olsen didn’t notice.

“Anyway, in the end, I called the congressman myself and said that we had the goods on researchers from his state, and that we would use it. What was interesting was that he didn’t care what we did, and he told me so. Anywhere but Washington, it wouldn’t make sense for him to invite us to attack him. You see, he was getting pressure from his local medical school, and he said that the best course was for him to say something and for us to dump on his local school. That would get him off the hook. The medical school in his district never gave him the time of day before, so he was willing to do what they wanted now that they finally came to him for help. He didn’t mind getting flack for defending a hometown institution. We both went ahead and played our parts. It helped him back home because he told the school what would happen if he did what they wanted. He got a little respect for being right and for taking it. As for us, it convinced everyone else up here to stay far away. Just about every significant researcher was guilty. Nelson was the last to shut up. I told his organization that we would keep dribbling out the scandal until he stopped. He ended up resigning.”

Amy loved the insider’s perspective, but she returned once again to Frank. “Butcher accepted your decision about Dilworth in the end?”

Olsen responded, “Yeah, but he didn’t like it. It was the biggest confrontation that either of us had up here. We stayed away from each other for a while. But when Frank had something problematic to pitch the Senator again, he either came to me first or asked me to sit in on the meeting. Neither of us wanted to have another knock-down, drag-out fight. We both recognized that the Senator was uncomfortable too. It all worked out slowly but reasonably in the end. We got along okay.”

“What other fights did you have with Frank?”

Olsen shrugged. “I got involved in Frank’s investigation of a DOT computer procurement, maybe two years ago. The contractor who won the bid was a crook, but he was a big supporter of Senator Ingram. Ingram begged us to let the procurement go through. It wasn’t the biggest scandal in the world, and Milton was willing to do a favor. We get along well with Ingram, and doing favors for other Senators is one way to earn chits for when you need them. Frank wanted to stop the procurement flat and prosecute the DOT contracting officer.”

Amy wanted to know if Frank objected or, rather how much he objected.

“Not nearly as much as with the research scandal. Frank wanted to make a big splash. There was a gambling angle in the story – the money that the contracting officer lost on the cruise – that made it good fodder for the papers. Frank wanted his pound of flesh. Or should I say pound of newsprint? We ended up striking a deal that made everyone happy. The agency got their computers. The company quietly agreed to lower its price, so we did save the taxpayers. Senator Ingram got to show his constituent that he could help, and he raised a lot of money as a result. We let Frank quietly torture the bureaucrat as he pleased. It was a win-win all around, except for the bureaucrat who bore the full weight of Frank’s wrath.”

Amy asked for additional details, but Olsen didn’t have much to offer.

“Frank did many investigations. Most of them were routine. An agency didn’t follow procedures, overspent on a program, covered-up travel abuse, failed to comply with one law or another, that sort of thing. Frank thought that everything he dug up was a major scandal. For a lot of his stuff, we let him operate on his own mostly. If he got a story, that was fine. If not, that was fine too. Frank helped the Senator make his first splash with the Smithsonian investigation. That was such a big benefit to the Senator. It made Milton’s entire career here. There’s no way to overestimate the benefits of the Smithsonian investigation, and that’s part of what made Frank harder to control. He knew it. We knew it too.

“Frank’s other major work, like the Research Time Fraud Scandal, kept up the Senator’s credentials. Milton liked all the press, but he didn’t always want to get his hands dirty. Everyone once in a while, he would tell me to tone Frank down. The Senator sometimes found Frank to be too much of a good thing. Frank never quit.”

Amy widened her questioning. “What about conflicts between Frank and other staffers?”

Olsen didn’t have much to offer on that front. “Frank didn’t have much substantive contact with the personal office staff. Most of what we do by volume is dreary constituent work, and staffers on the make stay away from that if possible. The rest of the staff does legislative work, and that rarely interested Frank. When we did a bill following the research scandal, Frank glanced at it and said fine with him. He wanted scalps. He didn’t care about legislation. As for the subcommittee, you probably should ask Ed Glass. He could tell you more. He also was around when Frank was new, and he may know more about the early days.”

Amy said nothing about having interviewed Glass. “What about the Senator’s other staffers? District office, other committees? Is there anyone there I should pay attention to?”

Olsen was doubtful. “I don’t think that any of our district office people even knew Frank, and I doubt that any of them were in town. You can check on that. The Senator chairs the Rules Committee, but the staff there does all the work, and he rarely gets involved personally, except to do favors for other Senators. I keep an eye on the Committee for him. I can’t imagine that anyone there would’ve known Frank. The Senator also has a Veterans’ Subcommittee. Let’s say that it’s not his favorite assignment, but Pennsylvania has a huge number of veterans. The Senator just does the bare minimum. The staff does it all. I don’t know of any connection between Frank and the Senator’s Veterans Subcommittee. You can ask around Rules or Veterans, but you’ll be wasting your time. The Senator is mostly interested in Judiciary work, as you might expect.”

Amy kept trying. “I’ll look into all that. What about other offices? Did Frank’s work create conflicts with other Senators or committee staffs?”

Olsen had more to offer here. “Yes, it did. Much of it was routine turf warfare. Frank did an investigation, and the agency would run to another committee and say that Frank was on their turf. Turf wars here are classic, and they happen all the time. We try not to let the turf fights get too personal or too out of hand. It doesn’t always work.”

“Who fought with Frank recently?”

Olsen rolled his eyes. “I guess that I should tell you about the fight between Frank and Kathy Weed from Governmental Affairs. That committee has a lot of investigative jurisdiction and staff, and Kathy rose over time to become one of the main investigators. She’s famous among Hill staff mostly for starting investigations, talking about them endlessly, and coming up with nothing in the end. She and Frank butted heads over an investigation. I don’t remember all the details now. It was a small program, and it was a few years ago. Ask someone else. But Weed has to be a candidate in this investigation. She’s a nasty bitch.”

“Any other conflicts involving Frank that I need to know about?”

Olsen remembered another one. “I did have a fight with him a few years ago about a junket to Antarctica. The Senator was invited and didn’t want to go. Both Frank and I were interested. In his usual fashion, the Senator left it up to us to decide. It wasn’t a huge fight, but it was a fight. I finally gave in. Frank seemed to have a genuine interest in Antarctica, and I didn’t. This kind of staff battle over perks happens from time to time.”

Amy saw a whole new front opening. “Was this one of those congressional staff trips?”

“Yes. Plus, the escorts from the agency who went along.”

“Do you think that anyone on the trip might have disliked Frank?”

Olsen didn’t know. “Well, that’s hard to say. Frank could be charming up to a point, but he could also be easy to dislike. A lot depended on whether he was investigating you or not. He had to suspend his investigatory instincts for the trip. Even he understood you can’t bite the hand that feeds you, and we all know the Senator likes the Weather Service. But it’s possible that he made an enemy on the trip from another office. Or maybe a penguin followed him here from Antarctica and killed him. No one would’ve noticed a penguin in the Russell Building on Labor Day.” Olsen alone chuckled at his joke.

She asked about Eric, but Olsen had nothing much that would be helpful. He didn’t know of any particular fights between Frank and Eric. Frank caused Eric to do a lot more work from time to time, but it was what Eric was paid to do. Amy got the impression that Olsen didn’t much like Eric, but he never said so directly.

Finally, Amy asked for advice on interviewing the Senator, but Olsen didn’t have any. “I’d normally be more protective of him and try to steer you this way or not, but I won’t here since you’re not a reporter. The Senator can speak for himself. You’re on your own. You seem to be pretty thorough, if your interview with me is a representative sample.”

Amy was impressed with Olsen’s candidness. The insider’s view of the investigations was enlightening, but it didn’t provide any names she hadn’t heard already. Still, she learned more about Butcher, and that helped. She went back to her office to review more files. She had a lengthening list of names for Hicks and his team of agents to check out. Olsen was on that list, but Amy thought that he would not remain a suspect for long, and she turned out to be right.

Chapter 16: Interview with the Senator

Mid-afternoon, Amy returned to the Senator’s office. Amy showed up on time for the interview and stopped at Janie’s desk. Janie knew about the hideaway visit and wondered if the Senator was developing an interest in Amy. Janie felt so secure in her own position that she was able to consider what was in the Senator’s personal interest. She thought Amy might be a good thing for the Senator.

Amy asked her for advice about interviewing the Senator, and Janie described how he ran the office and dealt with his staff. Or didn’t run the office, as it were. Janie also shared information about the Senator’s late wife and her importance in his life. None of it seemed relevant to the investigation, but Janie offered the details in case something was developing. Amy seemed interested.

Janie pulled out of her desk a new shawl. It was light cotton, multi-colored, featuring blues and reds mostly. Janie said, “I got it for you at lunch. It looked like you needed a new shawl.”

Amy joked, “Sorry, Janie, but you’re still a suspect, shawl or no shawl. But these are my colors, and I’m grateful. Where’d you get it? I need a new supply.”

At that moment, Milton emerged and escorted Amy into his office. “I’ll tell you later,” Janie said.

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No thanks. Now that I’ve seen your hideaway office, I have a different perspective on this office. And today I see a Pirates pennant over there. I didn’t notice it the first time I was here. I can’t help but think that you put it there so you can’t see it from your desk.”

Milton was pleased. “You’re the only one who figured that out. Or was willing to say so, at least. My staff mostly chooses to ignore my baseball interests. They don’t think of me as a real person. They think I’m here to do their bidding.”

He lowered his voice, conspiratorially. “Anyway, I hate the Pirates, like most Phillies fans. I can’t admit that publicly. I’d lose a lot of votes in Pittsburgh if I said anything bad about their team. Now, you never answered my question yesterday about whether you have a collection of anything.”

Amy responded, “Not really. I think collecting is mostly a guy thing. But I do have a large number of shawls…” Amy lifted up the shawl around her shoulders to show it off. “…but I’m not sure that clothes count as collectibles if you wear them or that men care about clothes.”

Milton asked, “What are your other passions?”

Amy liked Milton, and would have happily pursued the personal discussion, but she needed to stick to her knitting.

“Now, Senator, if I didn’t already know that you’d been cleared, I would think that you’re trying to distract me from my work. And that would make me suspicious. I think that I better use my time with you wisely, at least at present.” Amy left that personal door open slightly.

Milton reluctantly agreed. “Tell me how the investigation is going. Anything new?”

“It’s going. There’s no change from yesterday. I’m doing all the things that you do when you don’t have any prime suspects. You know how this goes. I started with all the people who were here on Labor Day. I’m working to find Frank’s investigative targets who might have been unhappy with him. That’s hard. Reading someone else’s files is difficult, and Frank wasn’t a model of organization or recordkeeping. He must have kept details in his head or in cryptic notes. But overall, it’s going okay. It’s going slowly. It could take weeks to get through everything the first time. We’ve succeeded in eliminating some people because they were out of town or otherwise had an alibi. Rod’s been wonderful, but there’s only me and half of Rod to do the work on this end, and there are many people and many files. If this were a normal FBI investigation, there’d be at least ten people working full time. I’m getting a lot of help from the Bureau. Support from the top makes a big difference there.”

“I’d ask you how long this will take, but I already know the answer.”

Amy said, “That’s right. It’ll take as long as it takes.”

Milton sat back in his chair. “Well, I’m not getting much heat over the investigation…yet. The full committee staff and other committee members have been mostly quiet. I’ve talked to a few reporters, and I’ve been able to satisfy them by talking in general about the investigatory process and saying nothing meaningful. Senators are good at that. I’m only talking to reporters if they agree not to write a story. The Star wouldn’t agree to my terms, so I told Eric I wouldn’t talk to them. Their story today was way overhyped. I hope they drop it. I think we’re probably okay for a few more days at least. I’ve been juggling reporters like this since my days as an AUSA.”

Amy wondered for a second whether she should disclose her contacts with Dan Gold, but she decided against it. It would create more problems and result in more rules that she might not be able to follow. Plus, she might be asked why she didn’t disclose it before. She still remembered that Parisi told her at the start that she was going to have to make her own procedures and follow her own instincts. She decided to do that here. She wasn’t always confident that she was doing the right thing, but this choice felt right to her.

But she did bring up Eric Howe. “I’ve gotten leaned on by Eric Howe. It’s worse because I haven’t been able to clear him. He keeps telling me that you’re getting a lot of pressure and are unhappy.”

The Senator frowned. “I haven’t said a word to him about your investigation. He’s playing the ‘Senator’ card. Staffers do that all the time. They represent what they think their boss wants in his own voice, but it’s usually their own opinion. Don’t pay any attention to him. Maybe I should talk to him directly and tell him to stop.” He started to reach for the phone.

Amy didn’t want that. “Until I clear him, it might be best if you left it. If I need you to intervene, I’ll let you know. Is that okay?”

Milton nodded agreement. He then asked Amy about her other work, and Amy couldn’t help but respond despite her concern about diversions. The Senator told old war stories about his days as a prosecutor and about one or two of the wilder FBI agents that he worked with. Amy found the Senator to be personable and real. It wasn’t necessarily what she expected from a Senator. They had a lot in common because of his work as a prosecutor. She wanted to turn the conversation back to Frank Butcher, but she found it hard to change the subject. Besides, she was having a pleasant discussion with someone who seemed more like a colleague from a U.S. Attorney’s office. The conversation flowed easily for an hour, and it was the best hour of Amy’s visit to Washington. It didn’t help her with her work, but she didn’t care. Amy would have rated it highly had it been a first date.

Finally, the Senator came back to the topic at hand. “All right. The rain delay is over. What do you want me to tell you about Frank?

Amy pulled out her notes. “How did you come to hire Frank?”

“Let me set the scene. I was the new Chairman of the Subcommittee on Investigations. Frank had a developed a big reputation on the House side, and my AA arranged an interview. It was the most extraordinary interview I ever had with a staffer. He burned with an intensity that I’d never seen before.” The Senator recounted the interview nearly word for word.

"I've heard a thing or two about you as an investigator, and I've seen your press clippings. I must say that I'm impressed. I don't get half the press that you got your former boss."

"Thank you, Senator. I hope you realize that you've become chairman of one of the best investigative subcommittees on Capitol Hill. I'd like to know more about your plans for staff and for conducting investigations."

"Well, I'm new at this, and I’m not quite sure how I should proceed. I've been meeting with people from all over to collect ideas. What do you recommend?"

"What's your budget, Senator, and how many staffers are you going to be allowed? Are you bringing anyone over from your personal staff? How are you going to allocate your staff between the investigative and legislative work of the subcommittee? Did the full Committee chairman place any restrictions on what you can do with your subcommittee?"

"Stop. Who's interviewing who here? I thought I was the one doing the hiring. I'm the Chairman, right?"

"You're the Chairman, all right. But you have to understand two things. First, you have to be a player. You can take the lead and set the priorities as much as you want. But you have to run the hearings. You can't be too casual a participant. You can't walk out of a hearing when the mood strikes you or because you’re bored. You’re going to have to sit there for a couple of hours and handle the public part of the work that your staff can’t do for you.

"The second thing you need to know is that I’m the best damn investigator on Capitol Hill. I can only be successful if you recognize that the investigative process is a joint venture between you and me. When you were in the U.S. Attorney's office, how did you work with your investigative staff?"

"Well, back in the day, I had resources from my own office and from the FBI, but they were unreliable and unpredictable. There were too many who didn't understand what it took to make a case before a jury. There’s a big difference between describing testimony to me in my office and putting a live and nervous witness on the stand in front of twelve jurors who are tired, lazy, or bored. It took me a couple of cases before I understood the difference myself. In the end, I learned that I was usually my own best investigator. At the very least, I had to exercise a lot of control over the people who did the investigations on my cases."

"Well, Senator, about half of that experience translates to Capitol Hill, but you can't be your own investigator anymore. You don't have the time. You still have to make your case, but the jury is the press. The best part is that you don't have to get twelve reporters to agree on anything. If either Dan Gold of the Post or Tim Haskins of the Times or any of a handful of other reporters writes a decent story, that's all it takes. The story itself will produce much of the change that is appropriate. Nothing shakes up an agency like a phone call from the Secretary who wants to know about an embarrassing story in the morning paper. It only takes a few stories like that to make you make you famous and more powerful."

"Okay, Frank. What’s your basic approach?"

"I do freelance investigations. I look into anything and everything. I start ten investigations for every one that I finish. I attract the best snitches from the government, from the private sector, and from the media."

"You get leads from reporters? I don't understand. Why don't they do the work themselves?"

"There are two reasons. First, I can get documents that they can't always get themselves. Second, they can't always get approval from their editors to pursue a story. The editor may have another story for the reporter or may not be able to spare the reporter for a lot of time chasing a story that may not be there. They bring it to me, and we work together. If it leads to something, I give the reporter an exclusive and the editors eat it up. They pay me back by quoting my boss in the story."

"I thought that the leaks mostly came from whistleblowers."

"Too many of the whistleblowers in government are pursuing a personal vendetta against their agencies or their bosses. They got offended when they were passed over for a meaningless award. They talk your ear off with details about life in the bureaucracy. That doesn't mean that they don't have anything useful. You have to wade through a lot of crap before you uncover a thieving bureaucrat using the government to his personal advantage. Once I find one of these guys, I don't take any prisoners. I give him the death penalty, or at least the bureaucratic equivalent to it. Do you have the balls for this?"

"Do you expect me to give you carte blanche for anything and everything?"

"Senator, I'm not stupid and I'm not naive. I won't pick your biggest contributor as the subject of my first investigation. And I know that you’ll tell me to kill an occasional investigation because you traded it to another Senator for a vote. I understand the realities of the world. But you can't do investigations without my legwork, and I can't be successful without your support. We work together or I'm wasting my time. I'll make you look good, and we'll both make the government run better. I don't care what your motive is. If you’re only interested in press, that's fine. If you want to make your colleagues jealous, that’s fine too. I’ll assume you want to get reelected. If you want to be President, all the press will help you.

“But I have to tell you, Senator, that if you don't want to do real investigations of fraud, waste, and corrupt bureaucrats, then don't even think of hiring me. I don't like to pull punches. When I find a crook, I'll rip his heart off and offer it to you on a plate, in front of as many TV cameras as I can find. A good investigation is like building a bomb. A lot of work goes into that bomb, so I find a truly deserving victim, and then I stick it up his ass and set it off. I’m an investigative terrorist."

"Okay, Frank. How would you feel about working for someone who’s moderate and pragmatic? Pennsylvania is a mixed bag of a state, and I can’t play too far to the left and get any votes in the middle of the state. Working for me will be different than that New Deal liberal you have been working for."

"I understand your need to get reelected. But there’s nothing liberal or conservative about bad government. Everyone’s against it. It’s a matter of guts and not politics. You can't be afraid of your own shadow – or that of another Senator. I can get you so much attention that bureaucrats will shit a brick when you ask a casual question. Reporters will hound you for details about your targets. I don't have any personal interest in press. I don't want any attention. You get all the glory in exchange for letting me do what I like to do."

“Okay, Frank. Do you have a list of current investigations that you can bring with you?”

“That’s a tough one. I’ll work that out with my current boss. I feel honor bound to offer to leave stuff behind that I started when I was on his payroll. But I don’t know that he’ll care. He’s planning to retire in another term or two, and he’s beginning to slack off. That’s why I’m looking around. Anyway, it’s unusual for someone to pick up on an investigation started by someone else, unless it’s a big deal. Besides, many of my investigations rely on snitches who won’t talk to anyone but me. If I come here, I’ll work this all out. I may bring a couple of cases with me, but it won’t matter either way. I never have a problem finding new targets. In fact, it’s the opposite. I get more tips than I can possibly pursue.”

“Good. I’ll leave that all to you, and I would expect you to keep me out of all that. I don’t want to get your boss mad at me for stealing you and for stealing his investigations.”

“Not a problem, Senator. I’ll handle it all.”

"Well, you do live up to your reputation. You’re direct and blunt. I’m interested, and I’ll get back to you shortly after I talk it over with my AA. We do have other candidates."

"That's fine, but don't wait too long. I have an appointment with another Senator this afternoon, and there are two others who asked to see me. But I would love the chance to work with you."

“When Frank left the interview, I told my AA to hire him right away. All these years later, Amy, and I’m still in shock over that interview. Most would-be staffers are careful and cautious in interviews. Even experienced staffers aren’t aggressive in interviews. Frank came in with using a vocabulary right off the streets of South Philly. I knew that if I could harness that zeal, then the Subcommittee would be a success. It turned out that Frank admitted later that he felt nervous giving me his routine. He wanted the job, but he decided to see right away if I would put up with him. The truth is that his intensity never diminished. He was just what he said he was.”

Amy sat and listened to the interview without interruption. “Frank’s style had to create conflicts with others. How did the people on your staff react to him?”

“I can say that I liked Frank a lot more than they did, and that’s why I let him have direct access. Just about everyone else goes through Ed or Doug first. But I was afraid that the usual channels would create too much conflict. Besides, Frank was so different from the rest of my staff that it was a hoot to deal with him. It was refreshing to deal with someone who was blunt and edgy. Most staffers are deferential and try not to push too hard.”

Amy looked at her notes. “I understand that there was a big fight over the time fraud research scandal. Can you say more about it?”

The Senator paused to remember. “Frank wanted to go after a big target in this one, and I’ll admit to being tempted. It was one of his best investigations, and the guy who brought it to me was a friend from my law school days. To be honest, I wanted to show off for an old friend. But Doug saw a lot more danger in it than I did, and we went round and round trying to figure out what to do. It got uncomfortable, and I’m afraid that I didn’t provide enough direction. One of the nice things about being a Senator is that you get to decide when not to decide something. I couldn’t pick between the two views, so I left it to them. They worked it out, but it was dicey. I think in retrospect that Doug was right about lowering our sights. We got enough attention as it was, and we didn’t need the extra risk.”

“You don’t think that it left any lingering scars.”

The Senator couldn’t say. “Maybe, but they got over it. Both are adults, which is more than I can say for some other staffers. That old fight had nothing to do with Frank’s murder. At least, I know that Doug wouldn’t have done anything like that. He could leave here anytime and get a high six-figure salary from any of a dozen law firms in town. He fought to protect me. Frank was also working on my side. The fight was purely about tactics and what was best for me. Despite the heat, it was an honest disagreement by two staffers who did not have an ulterior motive. That’s not always the case. A lot of staffers have hidden agendas.”

Amy shifted to another investigation. “What about Dr. Nelson? Did you have any dealings with him?”

“Yes, but not at that time. He was in government at HEW, and we had some contact. I always found him arrogant. But he played his role in the investigation. I don’t know that he deserved to be the fall guy, but that happens sometimes. The wrong guy takes the bullet. I don’t know why he would hold a grudge after all these years. But I guess it’s possible.”

Amy tried another one. “A name that keeps coming up is Kathy Weed. Do you know her?”

“By reputation. I stay away from her, which is quite easy. I don’t serve on her committee, Governmental Affairs. She created conflicts with Frank. And if the truth be told, vice versa. But her reputation is mixed, and when there’s a fight, I stand up for my people. If I think that they’re wrong or way off base, I’ll pull them back. But if you don’t support your own staff, you’ll pay for it in the end. You see this all the time when an outside critic gets appointed to run an agency. All of the sudden, the guy defends the agency he made a career attacking because that’s his job. If the agency head doesn’t look out for his own, people inside will work against him and not for him. It’s not so easy being in power.”

The Senator continued. “I can’t say whether Weed’s disagreements with Frank could lead to murder. I can tell you that even the Chairman of her committee doesn’t have a high opinion of her. He doesn’t have the nerve to fire her. Staffers would be surprised to learn that Senators talk amongst themselves about their staff. It’s like teachers talking about students. The students would be shocked to know what the teachers say about them.”

Amy asked about the Smithsonian investigation. “I understand that Peter Peabody is dead now. Was there anyone else who got caught up in the Smithsonian investigation who would have cause to hate Frank?”

“That’s hard to say. It was a long time ago, Frank’s first big splash for me. That whole banana thing was almost surreal. It just happened. I had fruit at the hearing because I get hungry when these things drag on. If I’m not in the chair, I can leave and grab something in the backroom. But I was stuck there and started nibbling. None of it was planned. It made a huge difference for me. Dan Gold’s story was reprinted all over the state. Not having to campaign hard – or raise campaign funds endlessly – is a blessing beyond price. Every one of my colleagues who has to fight for reelection is jealous, and they often tell me so.”

“There isn’t anyone else who stands out from the Smithsonian?”

The Senator shook his head no. “The Secretary was happy to let Peabody resign, and he’s long since retired himself. He was a decent guy but a lousy manager, just like a lot of agency heads. The audit resulted in major changes to the Smithsonian, but I don’t know who would’ve been upset enough to commit murder years later. If you saw Peabody reaction at the hearing, you wouldn’t have suspected him. He was humiliated by what happened. He didn’t show his face anywhere in town thereafter. He moved back to Boston and died there not long after the hearing.”

Amy looked at her watch and saw that it was after 5 pm. “Am I keeping you from something? You’ve been generous with your time, especially on a Friday afternoon.”

“Well, I’m rarely here this late on a Friday, but I changed plans so that I could meet with you. I’m willing to do my bit for this investigation, but I’m afraid that I haven’t been much help.”

Amy disagreed. “I tell everybody that you never know what little bit of information will make a difference.”

“Believe me, I know that.” The Senator then told another old story about a corruption investigation that turned on a subway token. “The state senator got ten years, which he truly deserved, but he almost got away with it.”

“Is there anything else that you can tell me that might help?”

The Senator did not think so. “I’ve been turning things over in my mind ever since the murder, but I can’t see that anyone who ever worked for me would’ve murdered Frank. He investigated and tortured bureaucrats and others in his own way. One of them may well have done it. But I knew almost nothing about most of his work, to be honest. I couldn’t tell you what he was working on last week. Unless it was a big target, I never heard about his investigations until near the end.”

“Well, thank you again for seeing me. I’ll keep you and Charlie informed of any developments that you need to know about. I hope to have a more formal report next week.”

As Amy left, she passed by Janie’s desk. Janie was still there, of course. “That was quite a meeting,” she said. “I don’t recall ever seeing him here this late on a Friday, unless there are votes. He must think well of you.”

Amy replied that it was both useful and fun. “But I either find Frank’s murderer or I’m a failure.”

Janie motioned for Amy to sit down next to her desk, and when Amy did, Janie said in a whisper, “Eric is lobbying for you to be fired. He thinks the Senator needs a real investigator. Doug isn’t buying it for a second and refuses to bring it to the Senator. I thought that you’d want to know.” Janie offered more details on the conversations between Eric and Doug.

Amy wasn’t all that surprised, given her encounters with Eric, but she was pleased that Doug supported her. And grateful for the inside information.

Janie told Amy that all the press calls for her went to Eric. “Those were Eric’s instructions, but I was sure that’s what you would want. You can say otherwise, of course.” Amy didn’t. “I would put through any personal calls you get.” Amy did want to know if there had been any calls from the Post or the Star. Janie said that Dan Gold had called for her once but that no Star reporter had called, but most reporters called Eric directly. Amy wondered to herself why Dan Gold called her through the Senator’s office. Cover? Amy did ask that any calls from Sally Sutton or from her Denver office be put through.

Amy thanked Janie for the information and the shawl, and she went back to her office with even more on her mind than before. She had no idea what else could happen, and this was only her third day on the job. She felt like she was getting nowhere, but there was nothing to do but continue.

Shortly after she got back to the office, the phone rang. It wasn’t the rotary phone, so she knew it wasn’t Dan Gold. It was Richard Pennington, the head of the Denver Field Office and her boss. She’d always gotten along well with Pennington. He didn’t have a problem with a woman agent, which wasn’t true everywhere in the Bureau. She knew from her sister agents that many had trouble getting meaningful assignments. The worst case was in Texas, where the first woman agent was assigned to be a typist. It didn’t last long after headquarters heard about it, but it was distasteful all around, and the agent transferred shortly thereafter.

After the usual pleasantries, Pennington asked, “When can I expect you back here?” Amy was almost happy to be missed, but she knew that no good could come from her response. She gave Pennington a brief update and said that she couldn’t make any promises about when. Pennington said he understood, but if she didn’t have any idea in a week or so, he would have to start reassigning her cases. Amy couldn’t object, and Pennington signed off.

Just what I need, thought Amy. More pressure.

Chapter 17: The Weekend

Amy spent almost the entire weekend working on the investigation. Rod came for most of Saturday, but he left late in the afternoon and didn’t return until Monday morning. For Amy, the weekend was long and boring, reviewing file after file trying to identify people with a possible motive. No car chases, no shootouts, no confrontations. Amy’s weekend was much like those that Frank Butcher spent in that same office. Frank researched programs, budgets, and documents as well as materials provided by snitches. Amy reviewed Frank’s files.

Amy didn’t feel so bad about it when it rained all day on Saturday, and she stayed in the office until late in the evening. She got home around 9 pm that day, and Sally came in shortly thereafter. It was the first real chance they had to talk since that first night, and Amy told Sally the events of the week. She was particularly interested in her views about Eric Howe. Sally didn’t know him personally, but she knew of his reputation as a surly, aggressive press secretary.

Amy told Sally about the visit to the hideaway office, but nothing about the trip there or the contents of the office. Sally pressed for details of her interactions with the Senator, like a dorm room discussion following a date. Sally looked for a romantic angle, but Amy wasn’t sure of the Senator or herself and wasn’t talking.

Sunday dawned bright and pleasant, with the first hint of autumn in the air. The temperature was in the 50s early in the morning and rose to a pleasant 72 by noon. For Amy, the worst news of the morning was the lead editorial in the Washington Star, No Progress in Butcher Investigation. The paper said basically that more needed to be done quickly before the trail went cold. Amy protested to Sally that it wasn’t true that there was no progress. She already eliminated lots of suspects, but she couldn’t say that publicly. She also knew, but did not say, that she wasn’t much closer to finding the killer. Sally offered tea and sympathy.

Feeling depressed about the editorial, Amy couldn’t stomach going straight into the office on a lovely Sunday morning. She decided to take the morning off and head to her old stomping grounds at Eastern Market, a few blocks up East Capitol Street in the opposite direction from the Capitol. Sally would have gone with her, but she had other plans for the day.

Once you get away from the immediate area of the House and Senate Office buildings and the Library of Congress buildings, Capitol Hill is a real neighborhood, with houses, apartments, schools, churches, stores, restaurants, and Eastern Market. Virtually all the houses on the Hill are row houses, usually made of brick, each block with ten or more homes side by side. Rarely are there more than three or four houses in a row that are the same. On any street, the houses were typically built at different times by different builders. An 18th century house might stand next to one build two centuries later. Amy’s parents lived in a row house a few blocks south of the Market.

The neighborhood waxed and waned over the decades. In the previous century, Congressmen lived in boarding houses near the Capitol. Those are gone, replaced by Library of Congress buildings. Eventually, the area became seriously run down. In the 1960s, gentrification resulted in renovated houses and stores and restaurants slowly upgraded to serve the new, more prosperous population. Amy’s parents had been pioneers in the changing neighborhood.

Eastern Market itself is the heart of the neighborhood. It’s one of the last of the old-fashioned food markets where Americans shopped in the era before supermarkets. The market building itself dates back to 1873, a lofty, red brick, high-pitched building with a single floor accessible to customers. Inside Eastern Market are separate, independently owned stands. A butcher, two vegetable stalls, two poultry and egg sellers, a cheese stall, a flower seller, a bakery, two delis, a fish monger, and a pasta vendor. At the end of the central hall is Market Lunch, home of the best crab cakes in Washington, fried fish, and more. On weekends, the line for breakfast and lunch stretches out the door and down the block.

Outside the building on the eastern sidewalk is Farmer’s Row. On the weekends, farmers set up stands under a rusting, open-sided iron canopy, selling fruits and vegetables. There can be a dozen farmers on Saturdays and Sundays outside in the summer, with locally grown peaches, corn, tomatoes, melons, and more.

There’s a flea market as well on Sundays. Local artists, booksellers, jewelry artisans, furniture makers and restorers, photographers, and clothing sellers peddle their wares to the crowds coming to do food shopping.

The Market was exactly like Amy remembered, and she was happy to be there again. She didn’t like political Washington, but Eastern Market was different. It was all so familiar. There wasn’t a single change inside the building. Amy recognized every stall and most of the vendors. She didn’t know whether she was happier being back in the best part of her old neighborhood or just being away from the pressure of the investigation, but it was fine either way.

The market building sticks out in the neighborhood like a sore thumb. A welcome sore thumb, but a building that takes up most of a block and that doesn’t look like anything else in the area. The Market towers over its surrounding row houses. Nothing about it would remind anyone of the Congress or a government building.

The people at the market were mostly casually dressed in shorts and t-shirts. A few looked like they came from church. Their conversations were devoted to the price of melons, what people did yesterday, and, inevitably, what was in the Sunday papers. On one corner, Amy overheard a discussion about whether a local liquor store should have its license yanked for being open too late. On another corner, she recognized a longstanding local debate about possible changes to the Market that pitted preservationists against renovators. The locals were so good at this type of infighting that the debate was in its second decade. Amy realized that it was the exact same fight that went on in her youth. On the next corner, Amy walked by a discussion between a Hill staffer and a reporter about the prospects for the highway bill being finished before adjournment. But for that last conversation, Amy could have been in any city in America on a lazy Sunday morning.

Amy walked slowly though the market as she did years before, and she got in the line for lunch. Amy had a sandwich piled high with North Carolina whole hog barbeque, along with coleslaw and fries. It was hot, dripping with a vinegar-based sauce, and wonderful. She ate at a common table, chatting with the others seated there about the weather and the food. A few talked about baseball or local politics. Not a word about Frank Butcher. That was last week’s news.

After lunch, Amy browsed the fruit stands to bring something back to Sally, selecting peaches, tomatoes, and apples from the new crop just harvested in West Virginia. She was happy that several merchants sold shawls. Amy’s shawl period began after she’d left D.C. Amy spent 45 pleasant minutes perusing the selections, examining them closely or trying them on. The merchants inevitably said that anything she tried on look lovely, but Amy got a few more honest opinions from fellow customers and passers-by. She nearly wore out the mirror before she was done. In the end, she bought five shawls for herself and one that seemed perfect for Janie. They were eight dollars each, and she debated buying more. Maybe next week.

Just as she paid for the last of the shawls, an older woman dressed casually in a light dress, an old cotton sweater around her shoulders, and sandals tapped her on the shoulder. Amy was delighted to see Charlie Parisi’s wife Catherine. It had been years since they last met in person. Catherine was there shopping for food, a Sunday ritual. She looked right at home in Eastern Market but for the two men wearing suits, white shirts, and ties, who were right behind her. Most of the locals recognized Catherine and were used to seeing her with FBI agents. It was no longer a topic of conversation. Everyone understood.

Amy asked where Charlie was. Catherine pointed to her escorts. “He’s at home. If he came, there would be four agents trailing him, and he hates that. He’d rather be a prisoner. They won’t let me out without a tail, and I hate it too. But I refuse to stay home. She turned and handed her packages to one of the agents. “Here. Make yourself useful, please.” The agent didn’t like it, but he couldn’t refuse her.

While they were standing, Catherine waved and nodded to various passing neighbors, who curiously eyed Amy. But Catherine knew better than to introduce her to anyone. She invited Amy to come for dinner that night, but Amy declined. They moved out of the mainstream of traffic so they could talk without being overheard. Amy didn’t know what Catherine knew about the terms of the investigation, so she simply said that she was too busy – citing the Star Editorial – rather than explain the issue. Catherine said she read the editorial and that she understood the problem that Amy faced. They dropped the subject there. Amy was happy to have someone to show her new shawls to. Catherine confessed that Charlie threatened a divorce if she brought home any more clothing from the Market. After a few more minutes, the women parted, and Amy promised to call if she could break free.

That ended Amy’s pleasant interlude. She dropped her purchases off at Sally’s and then went to the Russell Building. On her way in, she noticed that the policeman at the door followed the sign-in rules to the letter and refused to let her in without signing even though she showed her Senate Police badge. The murder had an effect on security, but Amy doubted that it would last long.

By the end of Sunday, Amy managed to compile a rough list of suspects, with over 150 names in addition to those who were in the building. It wasn’t yet complete, and most were highly unlikely, but it would be easier in the long run if many could be eliminated completely, especially if someone else did the work. She prepared the names – other than the top candidates she kept to pursue on her own – to give to Hicks and his team to find out if any were possible candidates. Dozens of people had already been eliminated. She expected another long week, but having a list was a good start. Amy was well aware that the names at the top of the list included several of those that Dan Gold had identified. Joan Lester was one of the people on Dan’s list who had alibied out.

She walked home long after sunset, planning to eat fruit for dinner and to have a long bath. By the time Sally came home that night, Amy was asleep.

Second Intrusion

I haven’t been fully honest. I feel duty bound to tell you why. The reason is I don’t want to bore you to death. I haven’t told you the details about the process that Amy and I – mostly Amy – employed going through files for possible suspects. Hours and hours, reading files, skimming documents, trying to understand Frank’s disorganized records, trying to discern why he collected stuff in the first place, trying to find who might be motivated to kill Frank. I had other duties, but Amy focused only on the investigation. One file could have dozens of names or none. There were dozens and dozens of files. Amy conducted many more interviews and phone calls than I’ve told you about.

Take a file labeled DOT computer procurement. That didn’t tell us whether Frank was interested at it because the procurement was for computers that the agency didn’t need at all; because the specifications were unclear, biased toward one vendor, or out of date; because the evaluation process was fishy; because the agency could have bought off-the-shelf software at a lower price; because the winning contractor was the best friend of the agency head; because the bidders were in cahoots with each other; because the contracting officer took a bribe; or because of a dozen other possible irregularities. When you know the end of the story, it’s easy to figure this all out. When you have files of incomplete investigations – and few notes by the investigator – you have little to go on. The truth is that even Frank didn’t know what he was looking for a lot of the time.

What I call the investigation fallacy arises when you draw conclusions about the process only from those investigations that had a formal result. For every one of those, many more produce no result at all. They end for lack of time, absence of documents, shift in priorities, changes in personnel, insufficient resources, another investigation, boredom, or something else.

Notwithstanding what you see on television, not all investigations are neatly wrapped up in an hour or two before the credits roll. Or a week or a year. Some drag on in the hope that new evidence will show up. The statute of limitations ends most criminal investigations, but there’s no statute of limitations for murder or for congressional investigations. An old scandal with front-page appeal may make a wonderful hearing, even if it is too late to do anything about it.

Did you know that President Kennedy ordered the National Security Agency to wiretap all of Richard Nixon’s personal phone calls? Well, I don’t know that either. I made it up, but it’s sexy enough to be grist for a hearing, even so many years later, provided if you have a scrap of evidence. You can’t put a dead man on trial, but his actions can still be chewed over at a congressional hearing. If nothing else, a Senator can always ask why the problem wasn’t exposed earlier by other means or whether we need to see that it doesn’t happen again? Those are fine subjects for a hearing.

I want to give more flavor about the investigatory process. If you want to get back to the murder story, jump ahead. I won’t mind.

Trying to solve a murder made the objective of our investigation apparent. That’s not always the case in a traditional congressional investigation. But what piece of evidence among the tens of thousands of pages in his office might provide a hint of who had a motive and opportunity to kill Frank? Finding a needle in a haystack is hard enough. We had multiple haystacks. Each of Frank’s investigations was its own haystack.

Amy also knew that her investigation must produce evidence that would stand up in court. Thankfully, we congressional investigators never have to worry about that. Rules of evidence for Congress? Don’t be silly. The criminal process is more rigorous, as it should be. If it’s successful, someone goes to prison. At a hearing, just about anything goes. Hearsay? Admissible. Rumor? Admissible. Invective? Okay, but don’t go on too long lest the reporters leave the room.

On the other hand, criminal investigators have nifty tools to use, like search warrants, subpoenas, grand juries, and wiretaps. Those may require approval by a judge, but that isn’t always hard to obtain. Still, it’s another procedure, and all procedures are barriers in their own way.

The congressional process has few tools other than hearings, which are relatively easy to hold, and legislation, which is relatively hard to pass. A congressional committee can issue a subpoena, but a subpoena can require political support. Getting a congressional subpoena and can be tricky and delicate, unless you chair a full committee and can sign your own subpoenas.

What Congress lacks in formal weaponry, it makes up for in bluster. Hearings are a dime a dozen. They’re mostly show business, and Washington likes a good show. I’ve already told you about the best show that Senator Milton ever produced. The Smithsonian hearing ranks near the top for drama and consequence, both for the Smithsonian and for the Senator. I didn’t tell you about the lesser consequences because the actual aftermaths of most investigations are less likely to hold your interest. I knew the banana part would appeal.

There are many motivations for hearings, and many types of hearings. Most hearings are staff-generated. A staff member with a particular objective is a leading cause of hearings. The reasons may be admirable, personal, petty, or otherwise. Members themselves sometimes have an interest in something and force a hearing. That’s right, Members sometime have a say in what their committee does, especially in the House. Staffers hate that.

I worked for a House Member who would raise a new subject every once in a while and ask for action. I learned to collect information on the topic and leave it on my desk. Nine times out of ten, the Member never asked about it again, and the matter died, just as I wanted. For that tenth time when the Member followed up, I had the material right at hand and could look responsive. I didn’t want my boss’s ideas to deter me from pursuing my own.

A hearing is a great way to harass a government agency. Hearing preparations take a lot of time for agencies. At one hearing I staffed, the Chairman spent the morning dressing down a political appointee. As we approached noon, he had exhausted the prepared questions and anything else he could think up. The appointee had taken the abuse well, but he finally couldn’t stand it anymore and lashed back at the Chairman for wasting his time. The Chairman calmly announced that the hearing would resume after lunch. When the witness protested, the Chairman said, “I don’t know what you have to do that’s more important than testifying before this committee.” The Chairman turned to me and said, “Write more questions.” The hearing dragged on for several pointless hours in the afternoon, but that appointee learned a lesson.

It can be hard for staff to teach a Member about anything. Some Members work hard, read background memos, engage in policy discussions, etc. Others won’t read anything and will listen to an oral briefing for only a few minutes. A hearing, however, may be the best tool to force the Chairman to pay attention and learn something. During a stint in the House, I wanted my no-homework chairman to introduce a bill, but I was afraid I couldn’t get his attention or get him past the political downsides of the proposal. I organized a hearing and invited an eloquent expert to testify about the problem. All the stars were aligned that day, because my boss listened to the expert. Half the time, he would sleepwalk through the hearing, paying no attention and read mechanically from my script. At this particular hearing, however, he leaned over to me and asked if we could do something about the problem that the witness discussed. We introduced my bill the next day.

So now that you have a broader view of the congressional hearing process, do you like it any better? At least, I hope that I gave you something to think about next time you see 20 seconds of a hearing on the evening news. I haven’t even gotten to the incestuous relationship between staffers and the interest groups that provide some witnesses.

Those who labor on the nuts and bolts of the congressional process lead lives of quiet legislation. Outside the narrow communities of sorghum farmers, patent lawyers, tire manufacturers, barge operators, or retired bureaucrats who stand to benefit or be harmed by changes in the law, it’s often hard to find anyone interested. The first time I pushed a bill through the Congress that became law, I thought I had done something significant. But the bill was so uninteresting that I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to hear about it. Two years later, even I couldn’t remember what the law did. Later, I did legislative work that had the effect of changing every income tax form. I was doing my mother’s taxes, and I showed her the change that I brought about. “That’s nice,” she said. “Just tell me what I owe.”

You now know more about congressional investigations by reading this account than you would know by reading newspapers for years. You were only attracted here by the murder. You want to know who did it. I had to stuff the boring parts in between the drama, the personalities, and the suspense.

Chapter 18: The Murphy Investigation

Amy was almost afraid to look at the Monday papers, so she was truly thankful that they had nothing at all about Frank Butcher. She hoped that would be the start of a trend. Maybe the Star burned itself out with its Sunday editorial. She got to the office and found taped on the door of Frank’s office a white piece of paper with the number 8 on it. She looked at nearby offices, but there were no similar notes. She removed the paper, but she saved it in case it meant something.

Amy called Hicks first thing and told him to pick up her newly compiled suspect list. Hicks sounded to Amy to be remarkably cooperative. They discussed some of the people who the agents were able to clear already. Hicks reported that they finally cleared Eric Howe. It turned out that he was at a cookout at the house of a Washington Star reporter. Apparently, Eric didn’t want to reveal that. That gave Amy pause, but she said nothing to Hicks.

The next stop was the Senator’s office, where Amy dropped off her list for Hicks and a shawl for Janie. Amy smiled and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone I gave this to you. The Bureau frowns on agents giving gifts to suspects.” Janie peeked at the shawl, looked pleased with it, and hid it in her desk.

Amy was loaded with questions by the time Rod appeared in her office.

She began before he sat down. “I see that there are quite a few boxes of documents for a Department of Transportation investigation. It’s marked as closed. What do I need to know? I heard about John Murphy in interviews last week. He’s on everyone’s list of suspects.”

Rod replied, “John Murphy had plenty of reasons to hate Frank. Frank ended Murphy’s career and nearly sent him to jail. If Murphy was in the building, he’d be on the top of the suspect list. But I didn’t see his name.”

Amy looked on the list. “You’re right. He isn’t on the list. But his wife, Beatrice Helvig, was in the Rayburn Building on the House side on Labor Day. “

Rod was truly surprised. “I know Bea. She’s the head of congressional relations at the National Archives. She’s a classy person. Some of call her the Archives Lady. I didn’t know that she’s married to John Murphy. How did you know?”

Amy didn’t want to admit that she first learned it from Dan Gold. “This isn’t my first investigation. I took the list of people who were in any of the congressional buildings and asked colleagues at the Bureau to add the names of spouses, children, parents, classmates, neighbors, etc. Any connections that we could find were added. I’d be happy if I could limit the investigation to those on the list, but you never know who else will come into view when you broaden your focus. I had a case in Denver where the key connection that linked two seemingly unconnected people came through the perp’s secretary’s ex-husband. The ex worked in the accounting firm of another health clinic, and he was the supplier of information used in fraudulent billing. Turns out that while the two were divorced, they got along anyway. We offered to let her walk so she could look after their kids, but the ex had to plead guilty, do time, and testify against the firm. That worked.”

Rod didn’t believe Bea could have done it. “There’s no way that Bea would’ve marched into Frank’s office and stabbed him. She’s a professional archivist, for crying out loud. She’d worry that blood would get on the documents on his desk.”

Amy was amused but skeptical. “You never know what people are capable of. In any event, tell me the Murphy story.”

Rod settled in for a long story. “Okay. The low – but losing – bidder on a Department of Transportation computer contract came to Frank. The company didn't want to use regular channels. The usual route, protesting the contract award to the General Accounting Office, probably wouldn't help. GAO rarely upholds a protest. Besides, a formal protest would make life difficult for the company next time. Agency contracting officers hate protests, and they find a way to screw the protester next time just for sport and to protect their reputations. It’s often a no-win situation for a losing bidder.

“Butcher provided an alternative. A losing bidder who offered a good story with press appeal could get Butcher to investigate. It might not help to overturn the contract award in question, but the offending agency would get beaten up without the losing bidder’s fingerprints on anything. It’s rough justice, but that’s sometimes the best justice available in Washington. For his part, Butcher got a headline and another notch on his gun.”

Amy interrupted. “How did the Judiciary Committee have jurisdiction over the Department of Transportation.”

Rod was impressed. “That’s a good question from a Hill newbie. You’re mostly right, but Frank viewed the entire government as his turf, and he didn’t care if he stepped on other toes. Sometimes this created real conflicts with other committees and other staffers. But much of the time, other committees have no interest in investigating anything, so they don’t even wake up. In any event, Milton’s reputation was such that other Senators wouldn’t intervene without a good reason.”

“Butcher first asked the agency for documents. This was the first step in the dance. A letter goes out under the name of the Chairman asking for everything relating to the procurement. Butcher had authority to sign the Senator's name. The dumb agencies stonewall these demands. The dumber agencies respond partially. Frank loved nothing more than beating up agencies in the papers for not complying. Withholding documents is easy to understand, provides great headlines, and makes agencies look guilty, even if they did everything else right.”

“Frank taught me that it’s better to fight over procedural issues than over technical, scientific, or legal matters. No one ever understands whether procurement rules were followed. That’s a battle among experts, and people tune out in an instant. Frank tried to turn everything into a procedural issue. Anyone accused of withholding document automatically looks guilty of something.

“Anyway, the Transportation Department's contracting officer for this particular procurement was John Murphy. He sent ten boxes of procurement papers to Butcher. Murphy probably figured that Frank would never read or understand any of the documents. If so, he was right. Butcher didn't read a single document. He knew that the information he needed wouldn’t be found in the papers he got. He thought it highly likely that a contract award to the high bidder had to be crooked. He needed to know how it was done and why it was done.

“Butcher's next step was to scare up the information he needed. This part was fun. He set up a meeting to discuss the procurement with Murphy at the Department. This was unusual because most congressional staff made the agency people come to the Hill. Butcher demanded that everyone even remotely connected with the procurement attend the meeting, along with the usual cast of agency lawyers, congressional affairs representatives, and nervous political appointees. The more people the better. He needed an audience of knowledgeable people. I went along with Frank to the meeting, but he expressly told me to say nothing.

“The meeting was strangely cordial, and Butcher played dumb. He began by giving everyone in the room his business card. He let Murphy explain the contract award in excruciating detail before the assembled throng. He said that he evaluated the contractor proposals based on three criteria specified in the DPA from GSA. Butcher let Murphy patiently explain the details of a procurement process.

“Murphy explained using the usual jargon, something like this: ‘Based on our evaluation of the projected use of the computers, price was weighted at 28%, technical excellence at 32%, and service reliability at 40%. We used these special weightings because of the Office of Surface Transportation that needed the computers had special requirements as documented in pages A-12 to A-156 of volume 1 of the procurement plan. That's located behind Tab 6, with the support documents required by OFPP rules at Tabs 25, 34, and 47.’”

“He was on a roll. A half an hour later, Murphy finished a detailed review of each bid. He showed that while the winning bid was higher in price, it was also higher in the other criteria. The final weightings showed that the winning proposal rated 1.236% higher than the next bid. It was unfortunate that the price was 25% more than the next bid, but the agency's hands were tied by the process. It had no choice but to award the contract to the bidder with the highest score. It was all mathematical.

“Butcher asked a few deliberately stupid questions and left. I later heard that once we left, Murphy crowed. He mocked Frank. ‘That guy never even saw a procurement manual in his life. He's a rookie. He didn't understand anything I told him. He never laid a glove on us, and he never will. We won't hear from him again. So much for Mr. Hot-Shot congressional investigator. He didn't even know what a DPA was.’”

Amy interrupted. “Umm, what is a DPA?”

“It’s a delegation of procurement authority. That was the authority that an agency needed from GSA to buy a computer system. The procedure was designed so that agencies didn’t run off and buy computers that they didn’t need. They had to get independent approval from GSA. Frank knew exactly what a DPA was.”

“Everyone else in the room was pleased because it looked like the problem might disappear. Everyone but Annie Arkin, Murphy's deputy. She worked for Murphy for five years, and she hated him for his constant jokes about her short stature, for his criticism of her writing, and for his refusal to retire. She wanted his job. She knew the real story of the procurement, and this was her chance.”

Amy stopped him again. “Hang on there. You’re telling the name of the informant? Doesn’t that violate Frank’s policy?”

“Normally, you would be right. But once Murphy was ruined, Annie told the immediate world about her role. It’s not a secret anymore.”

Rod continued, “The next day, she called Butcher at lunch from the most remote pay phone she could find on the end of the subway line in Virginia. She wouldn't meet Butcher here in the Russell Building for fear of being spotted. After much negotiation, they finally settled on a meeting on the subway on a Saturday. They would both enter the last car of the first train leaving a particular station after noon. If neither spotted anyone that they knew, they would sit together and talk.

“Frank said that many snitches wanted to play cloak-and-dagger. They dreamed up elaborate plans for meetings. Frank usually went along, unless it was really crazy. He met one snitch at a hot dog stand, and the code words were “hot dog with chili and relish but no sauerkraut.” Another snitch insisted that Frank go to the National Gallery and start sketching a particular painting.

“The meeting only took a few minutes. Annie needed no coaxing to tell the true story of how Murphy and the contractor rigged the bidding. She identified the missing documents. She wouldn't give him copies, but she identified them. It was enough. When Frank staged those cattle call meeting, there was usually someone who would come forward. Somebody almost always took the bait because of ambition, a grudge, or sometimes, even a desire to see something done properly.

“Butcher waited a few weeks before asking for another meeting. He asked that everyone who attended the original meeting to be at the second meeting. This was the part that he loved the most. The first meeting was Murphy's show. This was Butcher's show, and he wanted an audience. He wanted Murphy's colleagues to be witnesses and to spread the word.

“Butcher’s first few questions were easy, and Murphy felt more at ease. Frank lured him into a false sense of security. Frank finally asked, ‘Did you get a waiver from GSA to permit you to alter the evaluation weightings from those specified in section 65(b) of the Brooks Act regulations?’

“Murphy was taken aback by the specificity of the question. It is an obscure requirement. He said, ‘We must have, and the waiver must be included somewhere in the documents we already sent.’ He smiled weakly.

“Frank replied, ‘There’s no waiver document. I spoke to the Assistant Administrator at GSA last week, and he said that they haven't granted your agency a waiver in three years.’

“Murphy fought back. ’Well, we don't need a waiver. Section 65.2(b)(3) sets out three conditions under which the contracting agency has the discretion to waive the requirements on its own. We met two of those conditions.’ Murphy may have been crooked, but he did know the rules.

“Butcher honed in. ‘First you said that you had a waiver and now you say that you didn't need a waiver. Which one is it?’

“Everyone else in the room – everyone but Annie – began to squirm. The surface transportation people began to see their computers disappear. It had taken them years to get this far.

“Murphy tried to fight back with generalities. ‘We complied with every requirement in the book. There’s nothing wrong with this procurement.’

“Frank kept going. ‘I understand that the evaluation criteria for the procurement changed before you issued the request for proposals. I asked for all the documents about the procurement, but I didn't get a copy of your memorandum dated December 1 documenting the change.’”

“The chief congressional affairs officer chimed in before Murphy could speak. ‘If there’s a missing document, it must have been an oversight, and I guarantee you that you will have it by close of business today. It is the policy of the Secretary to comply fully with any congressional request for...’

“Butcher interrupted. He didn't need the document now. ‘Let's move on. Mr. Murphy, I understand that you went on a cruise last November before the procurement started. Who paid for the cruise?”

“Everyone was surprised at the question. The agency lawyers began to get nervous at this point. ‘Murphy's personal affairs have nothing to do with this procurement and are not within the jurisdiction of your committee,’ one of them said.

“Butcher turned to the lawyer and barked, ‘Who died and made you Parliamentarian of the Senate? Who the hell are you to tell me what the jurisdiction of my committee is? We have jurisdiction over any federal agency activity, and we can subpoena any goddamn document that we need, and I can ask any goddamn question I want. Would you like to receive a subpoena tomorrow for the Secretary’s personal bank account? I can arrange that. And I can see to it that the Secretary reads in the Post that it was because one of his lawyers has a big mouth.’

“The lawyer turned green and backed down.”

“’It's okay,’ said Murphy, ‘I paid for the cruise myself and I can prove it. I have a cancelled check.’ The lawyers looked calmer.

“Butcher went back to the cruise. ‘Who else was on the cruise? Did you meet anybody that you know?’

‘Not that I remember.’

"’Well, here's a copy of the passenger list from that cruise.’ Butcher whipped a document out of his briefcase and slid it over to Murphy. ‘Want to answer again?’

“Another lawyer chimed in. ‘What difference does it make? Murphy paid his own way. If someone else happened to be there, it’s a coincidence.’”

“Butcher ignored him. ‘I understand that you lost ten thousand dollars gambling. Is that true?’”

“Even the lawyers knew enough at this point to keep quiet. Murphy was on his own.”

“‘That’s not true. I only lost $500. I can afford it. What of it?’ “

“Butcher moved in for the kill. ‘We had a nice normal procurement underway before you went on the cruise. You lost more money gambling than you could afford. Coincidentally,’ Frank nodded to the lawyer, ‘a representative from Acme Computer happened to be on the ship with you. The day you returned from the cruise you changed the rules for the procurement. Acme ended up as the high bidder and won the contract anyway. What do you have to say about that?’”

“Murphy was silent. The congressional affairs officer started to speak, but Butcher cut him off. “I want to hear from Murphy.” But Murphy just sat there, with a guilty look on his face. Finally, Butcher said, ‘I’m going to tell you what happens now. This investigation will be turned over to the Criminal Division of the Justice Department, and there will be an indictment. The Senator wants to meet with the Assistant Secretary for Administration next week. You can forget about the computer procurement too.’”

“He turned to the main congressional affairs person for the agency and said, ‘Call Jane Thompson for an appointment with the Senator. This meeting is over.’”

Amy said, “I don’t get it. Why did he do this in private and not at a hearing? It would have made great theatre, like that Smithsonian hearing that made Milton famous.”

“Remember what I told you about Milton’s reluctance to confront people at hearings. He didn’t want to do it, so he asked Frank to find another way. Frank loved embarrassing bureaucrats in front of their colleagues. He was always surprised at the willingness of a bureaucrat to throw a multi-million-dollar contract for peanuts.”

Amy asked, “I get what you said about the procurement documents. Something about how Murphy changed the criteria so that Acme’s bid would come out on top. Annie must have told Frank about it. How did he find out about the cruise?”

“That also came from Annie. She was no dummy. She saw that Murphy changed the procurement criteria the day he came back from the cruise, and she was suspicious. When the guy from Acme came to the office the next day, she saw that he had a tan as well. She overheard them talking about the cruise and about Murphy’s gambling. She put two and two together, but she couldn’t prove it. Frank guessed that the Acme guy billed his company for the cruise, and he found someone there to give him the expense vouchers. An expense of $10,000 for meals on the cruise jumped off the page because meals were included.”

“If Milton didn’t want to be involved, why did Frank set up the meeting with the Assistant Secretary?”

“This is messy. Acme Computers is in Ohio, and its CEO is a big supporter of Senator Ingram. Frank knew this, and he knew that Ingram was a friend of Milton’s. That’s why he told Milton the details of this relatively low-level investigation. Milton knows the CEO, although luckily, he never got a campaign contribution from him. That made everything a lot easier. Milton went to Ingram to let him know what was coming, and Ingram asked as a personal favor that Milton not disrupt the procurement.”

“Okay, but why didn’t Frank end things at that point?”

“Because Frank had a plan to torture Murphy further, keep the Senator out of it, and not disrupt the procurement. That was the purpose of the meeting. Frank was there when the Assistant Secretary arrived, and he escorted him into to see Milton.

“After the introductions, Frank did a setup. Milton began to speak, but Janie buzzed the Senator and told him that the Majority Leader wanted him in his office. As he left, Milton said, ‘I don't want to force you to cancel this procurement, but something has to be done. Why don't you and Frank work something out while I’m gone? If this matter becomes public, it’ll be five years before you see any new procurement funds. That may not be the best thing for your agency or for the country.’ He shook hands and left.

“Butcher knew what he wanted. ‘I think Acme paid Murphy's gambling losses, but I can't prove it. If I could, I'd hang him by his balls from the Washington Monument on the Fourth of July. If you want to see this investigation go away, get rid of Murphy. I don't care how you do it. Fire him if you can or let him retire. Once he goes, I want you to refer this case to the Justice Department for a criminal investigation. You can do this quietly. I don’t care about publicity. Everyone in the agency already knows he’s a crook, and the word will be passed around to the contractors. I want Murphy to pay for a lawyer to represent him. I want to eat up his retirement savings. Justice can drop the case after torturing the motherfucker for a couple of years. Making Murphy pay for a white-collar criminal defense lawyer and sweating it out will be punishment enough. Murphy can live out his days much more modestly than he planned, and he’ll never work on a procurement matter again for anyone. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a part-time job at McDonalds.”

“Frank told me later that the Assistant Secretary seemed stunned by Frank’s terms. Frank could not only be crude with his choice of words, he could be harshly vindictive. But he agreed because satisfying Butcher was the best alternative for the agency. He didn’t want to go to bat for Murphy.”

“Butcher told him, ‘It is a privilege to be a public servant, and anyone who violates the public trust is a personal enemy of mine. You can believe me or not, but that’s my motive. If I can do the right thing in private – and the Senator is willing to skip the publicity – then it’s all the same to me. There are many different forms of justice.’”

“Butcher left a note for the Senator saying that everything had been resolved but offering no details. The Senator didn’t need to know and didn’t want to know.”

“What happened to Murphy? Did they prosecute him?”

“Murphy was forced to retire years before he planned, and the criminal case was referred. It’s been at Justice for a couple of years, and Murphy is represented by an expensive lawyer. Frank jiggled the Criminal Division every few months for an update, making it clear that Milton wanted the investigation to continue. Now that Frank is dead, I figure that the case will be closed out soon, but Frank got most of what he wanted.”

Amy went back to Bea Helvig. “So, Helvig may have had a motive to kill Frank. Or she could have brought her husband in the building with her. I’ll get someone to find out where Murphy was on Labor Day. In the meantime, they’re both suspects. That’s quite a story. He’s a real suspect. And she is too, despite your views about her. Anyway, I’m headed out to Frank’s house to look for leads there. I’ll be back later.”

Chapter 19: Frank’s House

Butcher’s son agreed to the home search and gave Amy free rein to look around and to take whatever she needed in the investigation as long as he got an inventory. The son didn’t show any more interest in his father’s possessions than he did in his father. He left a key, but he declined to be interviewed. Since he was in LA on Labor Day, Amy had no reason to press him.

Amy borrowed Sally’s Mustang to reach the house in an old Maryland suburb, a pre-World War II housing development. The house wasn’t big, with only two bedrooms. It wasn’t an expensive house or any different than the other houses in the area. The only part of the house that appeared new was the kitchen, which looked remodeled.

Shortly after she arrived around 2 pm on that Monday, there was a knock on the door. It was Abe Dixon, the next-door neighbor. Abe was around 70, casually dressed, mostly bald, with a modest beer belly, and appeared in good shape for his age. He came over to play the role of nosy neighbor. “I wanted to see whether I should call the police,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see people coming and going.” Amy showed her credentials, and Abe shrugged. “I guess you are the police.” Amy invited him in.

“I wonder if you can answer a few questions. I’m investigating Frank’s murder, and maybe you can help. Did you see anyone else come to this house recently?”

“I saw Frank’s son the other day. I came over, like I did today and met him. He said that he expected to put the house on the market soon, but he had things to do first. He asked me to keep an eye on the place, and he offered me a key. But I told him that I had a key that Frank gave me. I now have the son’s phone number too.”

Amy sat in a chair in the living room, and Abe sat on the sofa. She asked, “What was the neighborhood’s reaction to the murder?”

“This is a quiet neighborhood. Not much happens. Frank’s murder was the biggest thing around here since my neighbor on the other side got a divorce a few years ago. Everyone gossiped about the murder. It was all over the Post, and now it’s in the Star much of the time. Most people figure that Frank was killed because of his work. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

Amy wanted to keep him talking. “You never know what bit of information will help. I’m trying to figure out Frank, his activities, and his interests. I have leads from his work, but I don’t know much about his personal life. What can you tell me?”

“Frank moved here about ten years ago. That’s when I first met him. We got along fine. I liked Frank, and he liked me and my wife. We would have dinner together from time to time. Sometimes a backyard barbeque, and sometimes a regular meal. Frank could cook. He made a risotto that was exquisite. I couldn’t get enough of his risotto. Mildred loved his spaghetti sauce. She asked for his recipe, but she couldn’t make it taste like Frank’s. He had a real talent for food.”

“What can you tell me about his schedule?”

“He left every morning to go to work, I guess. He was never home on a weekday, like most working people. He often came home late. I know that he played cards on Wednesdays because he asked me once if I wanted to play in the game. He was in and out on the weekends, although I think that he went into the office a lot even then.”

“What about Fridays? Did you ever see him at home on Friday afternoons?”

“Oh, yeah. I did see him often early Friday afternoon. I always joked with him that he was only working a half day. He would come home, maybe 1 or 2 o’clock, and then he got into his car and didn’t return until evening.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“No. He never said, and I didn’t ask. But it seems it was a regular thing now that you mention it. He came and went every Friday afternoon.”

“Did he have many visitors? A girlfriend?”

“Not that I noticed. Once when he came to our house for dinner, and my wife invited a cousin of hers, trying to fix them up. But nothing came of it. Mildred’s cousin ain’t what you would call a catch. No man had shown interest in her in decades, and Frank was no different.”

Amy asked about drugs and alcohol

“No. He drank a glass of wine or two at dinner. When he came here for dinner, he always brought a nice bottle of wine. But I never saw him drunk. I never saw him use drugs or talk about drugs.”

“What do you know about his finances? Was he well-off? Did he ever ask to borrow money?”

Abe shook his head no again. “We never talked much about money, but we did discuss federal retirement plans and health insurance from time to time. Frank knew the basics. Most Feds do. Frank seemed to know something about investments, so I assumed that he had some. He had enough cash to remodel his kitchen a few years ago without refinancing. Did a great job. Too good, if you ask me. My wife’s been bugging me ever since to do the same thing to our house. He never said anything about the cost, and I know that it wasn’t cheap. The estimate for our house was way over $20,000.”

“You said that he played cards? Did he gamble much?”

“He played once in a while in a neighborhood…Hey, are we in trouble here? Are neighborhood poker games legal? I don’t want to get everyone arrested.”

Amy dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “To be honest, I don’t know whether these games are legal or not. It’s a matter of local law, not federal. Back home, I play myself in a game with other agents so you don’t have to worry that I might turn you in. In fact, if you offered me a seat on a slow day, I might accept. I’m only here investigating Frank’s murder.”

Abe was reassured. “Okay, but we don’t let women play. Sorry. The game’s on Friday nights. Frank would play once in a while if someone begged him. He didn’t like it because we allow wild card games. Anyway, it is a nickel-dime game, so there isn’t much at stake. He would play a couple of times a year, mostly when we needed another player.”

“Any other gambling?”

“Yeah. I bet the ponies, and I got Frank interested in it a few years ago. Now, I’m no professional handicapper. I go once or twice a week. I don’t bet a lot of money, and I do okay. I mean, at least I break even. Sort of. Sometimes. My wife hates it that I go to the track, but I tell her that it’s cheaper than playing golf. As long as you don’t go overboard at the track, you can’t lose too much.”

The track sounded to Amy like a possibility. “How was Frank as a handicapper?”

“I invited him to come along one Sunday. The first time, he watched. I taught him how to read the Racing Form. He didn’t know anything about how to evaluate a horse race. But he got a bunch of books and learned the basics. He worked hard at it. After a couple of months, he asked to go along again.”

Amy asked if Frank made money.

“I don’t think so, but it is hard to tell. Everyone at the track lies about their betting. When he came the second time, he had learned a lot. He knew the basics of handicapping. I was amazed at how much he knew. He only bet so much a day, usually a dollar or two a race. I think that he enjoyed the challenge. I can tell you it’s hard to be a successful handicapper. Many variables affect a race or a horse on any given day.”

“Did he go to the track regularly?”

“For a while, he went almost every Sunday. But after a year or so, he began to lose interest. Frank was in it to make money. He kept detailed records. He didn’t expect to make a living at it, but you can make a profit if you’re good. But Frank said that if he couldn’t turn a profit with small bets, there was no way to make a profit with bigger bets.”

Amy tried another tack. “Did he make any friends at the track?”

“I introduced him to my track buddies. They’re all like me, retired. That’s mostly who you find at the racetrack. Lots of blue-collar folks, with retired federal employees as well. None of my friends own horses or anything. If Frank saw any of my friends outside the track, it would be news to me.”

“Do you think that there was any connection between what Frank did on Friday afternoons and his horse betting?”

“Not that I could tell. The handicapping was relatively recent, but the Friday afternoons went on before and after his track period.”

Amy kept at the gambling angle. “A lot of people think that the races are fixed. Did you ever discuss that with Frank?”

“Yeah. Things happen at a racetrack that seem inexplicable, and people who start out with a conspiratorial mindset see what they want to see. What’s funny is that the people who complain the loudest that races are fixed are still there betting. If Frank thought it was all crooked, I think he would’ve investigated it. He told me enough about his work that I know he wasn’t shy. In fact, he pumped me for leads for a while.”

“Where did you work?”

Abe was a policy analyst in the Social Security Administration. He described it as a boring agency for the most part.

Amy asked about racial or ethnic tensions in the area.

Abe didn’t think so. “Almost everyone here is white, mostly federal employees, many retired. People with higher incomes tend to live in a more expensive neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with this area, but the houses are old and small compared to houses built later.”

“Any gangs here?”

Abe didn’t think so. “But I have no idea what the kids here are up to. I don’t pay that much attention to the schools any more now that my kids are gone. I think that if we had a gang problem, I would’ve heard about it through the neighborhood association or the local papers.”

“Did Frank ever go to church?”

“I don’t think so. I never go, and I’d see him around here on Sunday mornings. He didn’t seem religious to me.”

Amy was coming up with nothing. “Was Frank involved in any neighborhood activities or politics?”

“He was a member of the local neighborhood association, but almost everyone is. I go to all the meetings, but Frank almost never came. You know, he did get involved in something about five years ago. One of the local development companies bought a couple of houses in the next block. They wanted to tear them down and build… something. I don’t remember now. Bigger houses or apartments or something. Whatever it was, the developer needed a zoning change. Neighbors against that change organized a campaign. Government types know how to play bureaucratic games. I thought that Frank would be useful, and I got him to go to one of the meetings.”

This sounded more promising to Amy. “Was he active?”

“It’s hard to answer that. He asked questions about who the developer was, where he was getting county council support for the zoning change, and who else stood to benefit from the change. Frank seemed focused more on the people and the company involved than on the actual plans. He made suggestions about lobbying against the zoning. There are other politically knowledgeable folks here as well, and that part of the campaign got organized. Petitions, meetings with local politicians, and the like. Frank wasn’t much interested in the petition drive. He didn’t go to the meetings with our local councilman.”

“Did he do anything?”

Abe scratched his head. “It’s hard to say. He didn’t say what he did. But a few weeks after he got involved, there was an article in the Post about the developer and problems in the company’s last housing development. It made them look bad. Nobody knew where the article came from, but it was useful. Then a couple of weeks later, there was a story showing contributions from the developer to members of the county council. Some of the contributions were over the legal limit. Then there was an announcement about a HUD investigation of the developer for a government sponsored low-income housing project. Within a month, the developer was the subject of bad press and government investigations.”

“Do you think Frank did all of that?”

Abe did, but he had no evidence. “Well, it looked a lot like the things that Frank did at work. He never talked much about his investigations, but once in a while, he would point to an article in the paper and say that it was his doing. He got animated when talking about corruption in government. Anyway, not too long after all those stories, the developer changed its mind, cancelled the request for zoning change, and sold the houses to ordinary buyers. That was the end of it. I don’t know that Frank came to another association meeting after that. I asked him if he was responsible for getting rid of the developer, but he smiled and shrugged.”

“Do you think that the developer knew of Frank’s involvement?”

Abe didn’t know. “He could have seen Frank at a meeting. But a lot of the neighborhood was there, and Frank wasn’t a leader. If no one here knew what Frank did, I don’t know how the developer would’ve known. A few of us suspected Frank, so it is possible that word got back to the company. You think someone connected with the developer might have killed Frank?”

Amy didn’t think so. “Anything is possible. What do you think? How aggressive was the company in pushing its proposal at the time?”

“The developer wanted local support, so it tried to play nice with the association. That didn’t last because everyone was dead set against it. I never heard of threats from the company. You can believe me that everything about that developer got chewed over pretty good here so if it happened, I probably would’ve heard about it. It’s hard to figure that they would murder Frank a couple of years later. What would that do for them?”

Amy agreed. “That sounds like a reasonable conclusion to me, but I’ll look into it more. What you said about the racetrack works in the rest of the world. Things sometimes happen that are hard to explain.”

Abe looked ready to go home. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”

Amy stood and thanked him. “If you think of something else, please call me. Here’s my card with my local number written on the back. I may have more questions later. Can I call you if I need to?”

Abe agreed. “Sure. I’m happy to help. You were a lot more thorough in your questioning than the other investigator.”

It was as if someone hit Amy over the head with a club.

“Other investigator? There was another investigator here?”

She felt suddenly like she had lost her bearings. Involuntarily, she glanced through the window to see if someone was following her. She felt vulnerable somehow. She felt for her gun. Who else could be investigating the murder?

Abe said, “Yeah. Yesterday, mid-afternoon. He said he was investigating the murder and asked about Frank.”

“Who was he?”

Abe looked confused. “I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember your name either, but I have your card. He didn’t leave a card.”

Amy started a cross-examination, hoping to identify the other investigator. “Was he a policeman?”

“Now that you ask, I don’t know. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he didn’t look like a cop. Neither do you. He said that he was investigating the murder. He asked a few questions about Frank’s activities and family. I didn’t let him in the house.”

Amy moved on. “Do you think he was a detective from the local police or from a federal agency?”

“Maybe. You know, I’m not used to dealing with the cops. I didn’t think about it.”

“Was he a reporter?”

Abe didn’t think so. “If he said that, I would’ve remembered. I don’t talk to a lot of reporters.”

Amy asked for a description.

“I don’t know. White. Average height. Maybe 40 or 45 years old. Drove a black car. Or blue. Maybe silver. Chevy, Ford, something boring, I think. I noticed your Mustang, but I used to own one. Most cars look alike to me.”

“What was he wearing?”

“A suit, but it looked to be a cheap suit with a visible stain. I did notice that.”

“Did he talk to your wife or anyone else?”

“No. He drove up when I was in the yard. He looked at Frank’s house, and then came over to talk. He was here maybe five minutes. Less.”

“Did you notice the license plate?”

“No. If the car had North Dakota plates or something, I probably would’ve noticed. But D.C. or Maryland or Virginia plates wouldn’t stood out.”

Amy fished for more about the other investigator. “What did he ask you about?”

“He asked me about Frank and his habits, but I don’t much remember what he asked. I already said that he wasn’t nearly as thorough as you.”

Amy was stumped. She didn’t know if someone else at the Bureau was working the case. It didn’t sound like it. An agent would have identified himself. Amy figured that Abe would have remembered an FBI agent. Could it have been Rod or Eric? The description didn’t fit. Someone else from the Committee or from the Senate Police? Would Chief Alton risk his position with an independent investigation? Could it have been Dan Gold? She thought that he would have asked better questions. She decided to put the matter aside for the moment because she didn’t have any other choice. But she didn’t like it at all. It was the most disquieting information she’d gotten so far.

Amy dismissed Abe. “I need to go through the rest of the house, so I’ll let you go. If you see anything suspicious here, give me a call. Or if your wife has something useful to offer, let me know. If you see that other investigator or anyone else, keep notes and call me as soon as you can. Thanks for all your help today. I’m grateful.”

They shook hands, and Abe let himself out.

Amy spent the next three hours searching the house. There was absolutely nothing of interest. She found Frank’s financial records. Amy could assess them easily. But they were normal. No evidence of financial problems. No pots of cash. No office files at his house. No guns. No evidence of another resident. The house seemed a dead end. Nothing she learned about Frank from his books, clothes, records, or furnishings seemed useful at all.

Amy headed back to the Hill, which she concluded had to be a lot more promising than Frank’s personal life. She did make a note to ask another agent to take a look at the developer. She also decided to have someone find that Post article about the developer. She bet herself a nickel that Dan Gold wrote the story.

The other investigator haunted her all the way back to the Russell Building. When she got back to the Hill, she called Walter Hicks. He said that he sent no one to Butcher’s house, and he had no idea who else was “investigating” the murder. Amy mostly believed him, but she wasn’t fully convinced. She couldn’t figure out who else might be working the case. She had another package for Hicks, which he promised to pick up in the morning.

Hicks later had someone look at the developer, but it was another dead end. The news story about the developer was, however, written by Dan Gold. Amy’s hunch turned out to be right.

Amy’s last stop was in the Senator’s office, where she saw Janie once again. Amy wore one of her new Eastern Market shawls, light blue cotton shawl with a white stripe and a white fringe. The two of them discussed the merits of the Eastern Market shawl vendors. Janie then started whispering to Amy. “I don’t know if you want to know this, but you are the subject of a pool in the office.” Amy didn’t understand.

Janie pulled out a piece of legal paper divided into a grid. The title at the top was “Amy Forest’s Fate.” Down the left side, there was a row for each week remaining in September, for October, and for November up to election day. Across the top under the title were five columns labeled FIRED-NO PROGRESS, QUIT, FIRED TOO MUCH PRESS, PUSHED ASIDE, and SOLVED.

People in the office signed up for various squares. Janie explained that each square cost a dollar, and whoever had the winning square got the money. She said that the office had football pools, election pools, baby pools, legislation pools, and more. The election pools were the most popular, and people took them seriously. Many of the other types were just fun.

This one, Janie said, was unique. The only restriction for the pool was that Eric couldn’t buy the TOO MUCH PRESS squares since he could engineer that outcome. Eric had bought all the FIRED-NO PROGRESS squares. Various other staffers bought most of the other squares. Janie hadn’t bought any squares herself. She was the referee.

Amy didn’t know whether to be mad or honored. Janie said she shouldn’t take it personally. She asked why the pool ended election week. Janie said neutrally, “No one thinks you’ll be here after the election if you don’t solve the case.” Amy frowned, but she knew that the office was probably right. She wasn’t sure herself that she would last until November. Or even until October.

Amy’s day ended on a small positive note, however. As she got up to leave, she noticed that Rod bought all the SOLVED squares. It wasn’t much, but Amy was gratified at the vote of confidence. Still, that wasn’t enough to overcome the mystery of the second investigator that haunted her thoughts.

Chapter 20: The Labor Day Conferences Part I

Tuesday’s Star had another eight-column headline about the case: “NO PROGRESS IN BUTCHER MURDER CASE”. The story itself had no new facts. It included quotes from police officials in other places about how murders need to be solved quickly or the trail would go cold. The story included accounts of murders from years earlier that were solved in a few days. The Butcher case was now a week old, and the Star was seemingly demanding results immediately. Sally tried to cheer Amy up before they left for the day, but there wasn’t much to say. The screaming headline was bad news from every angle. The lack of a byline was old news now to both of them.

Amy said, “You know, I realized yesterday that I haven’t had a single conversation with anyone for more than a week that didn’t involve a mention about what appeared in the Post or the Star.” Sally laughed at her. “Welcome to Washington, kiddo.”

Amy asked rhetorically, “Will no one rid me of this troublesome press?” Sally laughed again, as they walked out the door. “You already know the answer to that question.”

Amy went to her office and found a note on the door with the number 9 on it. She put it with the previous day’s note and went to work.

It was apparent from the start that the two meetings held in Russell on Labor Day were natural sources of witnesses and suspects. On Tuesday, Amy planned to follow up with the participants. The good thing was that everyone she needed to talk to was around because it was the end of the session. Legislative staffers don’t go on vacation in September of even numbered years. The consistently bad thing was that everyone had seen that day’s Star headline story, and everyone asked about it. Amy quickly came up with a way to deflect comments about the story. “You know how the papers exaggerate and how they always get things wrong.” That resonated with all the staffers. Amy got sympathy, but no substantive help.

The exhaustive set of interviews with staffers from the insurance privacy bill conference all followed the same pattern. An occasional staffer knew of Butcher, but no one had ever done any business with him. No one saw anything relevant to the investigation that they remembered. The hallways were mostly deserted on holiday. No one had any idea who might have had the reason or means to kill Butcher. It was a string of dead ends that took much of the day.

The staffers were more interested in talking about the conference dynamics than about Butcher’s murder. Amy didn’t ask and didn’t care, but she listened anyway in the hope that someone would remember something useful. She learned that all staffers from the insurance conference had disparaging comments about other staffers; that everyone blamed someone else for lack of progress on the legislation; and that people came and left the meeting room all the time. The insurance lobbyists tended to stay there throughout the meeting except for bathroom breaks and a trip to the building door to pay for the pizza. But no one paid attention to their comings and goings. Everyone seemed to think that the bill would never get any further, barring a miracle or an unforeseeable outside event.

The lobbyists required more effort. Bruce Strohmeyer, the Judiciary staffer in charge of the meeting, had already provided Amy with a list of the lobbyists. All three lobbyists at the meeting also appeared on the Labor Day sign-in list for Russell. She had asked Walter Hicks to provide background on them. One worked for the main insurance industry trade association and lived in Washington. One worked for the Health Information Association and lived in Boston. The third worked for MMB, a leading insurance company, and he appeared to have houses both in the Northern Virginia suburbs and in Connecticut.

Frank Butcher had an open investigative file on MMB, but with almost no information in it. In fact, it wasn’t even clear that the MMB of the file was about the company. It could have referred to the Milk Marketing Board or something else, but Dan Gold’s information suggested that the insurer was the subject. That seemed promising, but none of the staffers she asked knew of any connection between Butcher and MMB.

Amy asked Hicks to assign someone to interview the two insurance association guys. She decided to interview the MMB guy herself. Before the interview, Amy took another look at the MMB file. It was one she reviewed before but put aside. The file had only one piece of paper in it. MMB was a gigantic, multi-line insurance company with roots dating back into the previous century. The company was the product of multiple mergers over the years, and the company’s current name evolved from various merged components. Most people informally called it the Mammoth MegaBucks Insurance Company.

The sole piece of paper in the MMB file had a few letters and numbers on it: “Bennett = 0”, and the letters SFH and CT. It was one of two dozen or so files that had only a page or two with cryptic notes. She and Rod spent time going over all of them, but Rod was unable to decipher most. It appeared that the files with few pages were either new, unexplored, or never developed. There were often no dates, so it was impossible to tell which. Some were several years old. They tried working back from known investigations, but an exhaustive review of closed files didn’t reveal any comparable pages. Their theory was that Frank discarded sketchy notes, like the one they were reviewing, when an investigation ended.

Because Arthur Bennett from MMB had been in the building – and a suspect on Dan Gold’s list – they tried to figure out what the 0 and SFH stood for. A reference from the Congressional Research reading room showed Single Family Home as one possibility, something that would be of interest to a casualty insurance company. Another possibility was St. Francis Hospital in Hartford, CT. There could easily be a relationship between MMB and the hospital in its hometown, and odds favored finding a physician or administrator named Bennett in a big hospital. She had Hicks sent an agent to investigate this possibility, but the agent later reported finding no Bennett working for the hospital and no apparent connection anywhere to Butcher.

The MMB lobbyist was Arthur Bennett, who ran the company’s private equity investment office. Bennett was the MMB representative at the conference. Amy didn’t understand why he represented the company on Capitol Hill while he ran another office in the company. She realized that she needed to find out. She also remembered that Dan Gold had asked her for the name of the MMB guy, who was on his list of suspects. So far, Amy didn’t have any specific reason to suspect Bennett, other than the fact that he was in the building that day. She didn’t know if Frank’s file related to the insurance company or to Arthur Bennett. Still, that was more to go on than most.

Late on Tuesday afternoon, Amy met with Arthur Bennett in his home in Shirlington in Northern Virginia, not far over the main bridge that separates Virginia from the District of Columbia. Shirlington is an old suburb, dating back to World War II, and the homes are small and centered in clusters around a parking area for each cluster. A developer recently converted the homes to condos aimed at first-time buyers. Bennett’s house looked to be typical, not big. The furnishings were tasteful, like a four-star hotel, with generic art on the walls and no homey touches visible inside. The living room, where they talked, was uncluttered.

Bennett was open and friendly. He was six feet tall, looked like a linebacker, had dark and carefully styled dark hair and was well-dressed in an expensive suit and Countess Mara tie. He looked the part of an insurance company lobbyist. He said that his main job in the company was overseeing private equity investments. It was one way that the company used its assets to make a profit. Other company funds were used to buy real estate, bonds, or stock in publicly traded companies. The private equity group invested in small companies with big prospects. The investment pool was small, at least on the MMB scale, at $200 million. If only one investment in ten turned out to be a significant winner, the whole project would show a profit.

Bennett explained that the house he lived in belonged to MMB. MMB used it for executives assigned to stay in the D.C. area for extended periods. The previous occupant was the company’s congressional affairs representative, who had quit abruptly a few months earlier to take another job. Because Bennett previously held the position, he came back to step into the role for a few months until the end of the Congress.

Amy questioned Bennett closely about both his current and former assignment in Washington. Bennett said that his work focused exclusively on legislative matters, usually with and through various industry trade associations. He went on for a while about the legislative issues that he worked on in an earlier Congress, but it all struck Amy as both boring and irrelevant. Bennett denied any knowledge of any investigations into his company or the insurance industry other than the recent flap that resulted in the insurance privacy legislation currently under consideration. MMB had no more involvement in that matter than any other company that wrote life insurance.

No matter what she asked, she couldn’t find any apparent link between Arthur Bennett and Frank Butcher. Bennett knew about Butcher from reading the Washington Post, and he knew something about Butcher’s famous investigations. But none of those investigations had any connection with MMB or with the insurance industry. Bennett said he never met with Butcher or talked to him. Or any other House or Senate investigative staffers. Bennett knew quite a few legislative staffers from the Banking Committees, and he offered their names as references. He also named a few Senators and House members as well. Bennett was a regular at fundraisers for politicians on the House and Senate Banking Committees.

Finally, Amy took the unusual step of showing Bennett the notes from Butcher’s file. His best guess was that SFH stood for single family homes, which MMB insured, as did many other companies. He was unable otherwise to figure out what Butcher might have been investigating. Bennett said that his company was large and that many people in the company were involved in housing activities. He knew of several other Bennetts in the company because he often got their mail. He later provided Amy with a list of all the Bennetts in the company, but Hicks reported that none of the others was in the D.C. area over Labor Day weekend. None appeared to have a Butcher connection. Bennett was jokingly offended at the suggestion that any Bennett was a zero, but he couldn’t explain what the note meant. He noted with a smile that Mr. Bennett was a character in Pride and Prejudice, but that seemed totally irrelevant. Amy found Bennett friendly and seemingly fully cooperative. She didn’t get any sense that he was being evasive or untruthful. She didn’t find anything new connecting him to Butcher or to the murder. All in all, MMB seemed to be another blind alley.

At the end of the day, Amy talked to the FBI agents who interviewed the other industry trade association representatives who attended the insurance bill conference. Amy wanted something, anything that might represent a lead, but the interviews appeared to be nothing more than additional blind alleys. Amy thought that she might have to redo the interviews someday if all else failed.

Amy went home and fell asleep in the tub. Sally came home at 10 pm and knocked quietly on the bathroom door. That woke Amy. She listened to Amy’s account of her efforts, but she had nothing to offer but a friendly ear. Amy went to bed feeling sorry for herself. What would Parisi think? What would it be like to go back to Denver a failure? What would the Senator think of her? She knew that she would have to report to them soon. And she felt like she was running out of time somehow.

Chapter 21: The Labor Day Conferences Part II

On Wednesday morning, the Star had a front-page box bordered in a thick black line: Day 10 of the Butcher investigation. Sally kidded that it was only the ninth day because the day of the murder shouldn’t count. Amy was too depressed to point out that she didn’t start until two days after the murder, so it was only Day 8 for her. When Amy got to her office, the note taped on her door was the Day 10 box cut out from the Star. Whoever did the previous notes counted days the same way as the Star. Amy suspected Eric, but she realized it could have been anyone. She considered trying to fingerprint the notes, but she dismissed the thought as a distraction.

Amy’s plan for the day was to do the same staff interviews as the day before, but this time with the people who were at the death bill conference. She asked Rod to come by to explain the death bill, and Rod showed up first thing. Rod described the background of the bill, its history, and its connection to Frank Butcher’s Research Time Fraud Scandal. Amy said that Dr. Norman Nelson was already of her list of top suspects. Rod had an inside-the-Senate story to offer.

“The first and only known casualty of the Death Bill was a staffer who worked for Senator Rockford, the original sponsor. The staffer wrote the statement for the Senator that accompanied the introduction of the bill. The statement used lines from ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ Remember where the Munchkins are trying to determine if the Wicked Witch of the East is dead? They ask if the witch is ‘medically, ethically, spiritually, physically, morally, undeniably and reliably dead’ or something like that. It sounded cute in the statement. In the usual fashion, the Senator never saw the statement before it appeared in the Congressional Record. All was fine until a columnist dubbed Rockford the Senator from Oz. That title did not sit well with the Senator. When the dust settled, it was the staffer who was most sincerely dead. Fired, that is. Sic transit gloria staffer. The story is famous among Senate staff now.”

“What happened to him?”

“He landed on his feet at a trade association, where he now makes double his former salary. All the Senate LAs – that’s legislative assistants – know the story, and they treat him well in sympathy. The same thing could have happened to any of them. Any of us.”

Amy had her own view. “He deserved to be fired. It’s a terrible title. Everyone here is the Senator to Oz. Capitol Hill is over the rainbow, the Munchkins are in charge, and there don’t seem to be any Wizards anywhere.”

Rod was mock insulted. “If I’m a Munchkin, does this make you Dorothy or the Wicked Witch of the East? Or is that Wicked Witch of the West?”

Amy replied, “I don’t know who I am quite yet. I need more time to figure it out.”

As he left, Rod told Amy that Eric Howe was still nosing around for information about her and was working against her in the Senator’s personal office. Howe had been waving around the Star stories as part of his campaign. Amy realized that there was no hiding from the press. Rod said that Howe hadn’t scored any points with anyone in the office, but only the Senator’s opinion counted in the end, and Rod hadn’t talked to the Senator recently so he couldn’t say more.

Amy told Rod about the other investigator she learned about from Frank’s neighbor. Rod was not all that surprised because parallel investigations were common on the Hill. He recognized the difference in a murder investigation, however. He didn’t have any idea who might be the other investigator. Rod could see that Amy was unhappy about the unknown investigator and about the press stories. Amy didn’t know which one was worse, but she observed that only a few people knew about the other investigator but that everyone seemingly read the Star stories.

Amy spent the day interviewing conference attendees, staffers working on the bill, about a dozen from various House and Senate Committees. The only outsider who came to the conference meetings was Dr. Norman Nelson from the New Haven Medical Ethics Center.

Interviews with the death conference staffers had an entirely different flavor than the interviews for the insurance privacy bill, but nothing useful to Amy. She figured out right away that the dynamic of this conference was more positive than the insurance privacy conference. The staffers weren’t bitter or sarcastic. All were working cooperatively on the bill, with everyone seemingly committed to finding a compromise that would solve the thorny political and policy problems that the legislation presented. The staffers mostly liked Nelson. They found him helpful. Several mentioned that Nelson’s note taking was particularly useful when they had to go back over earlier discussions. Nelson was also a useful substantive authority because he was the only physician in the room.

But for Amy’s purposes, the interviews led nowhere. No one had done any business with Butcher or reported any personal feuds. Most knew about the Research Time Fraud Scandal and that both Nelson and Butcher were involved. No one cared about Nelson’s history with the scandal. He was smart, knowledgeable, and there. That was enough for them. No one, including Nelson, brought up the past scandal in the discussions. It just wasn’t relevant.

The worst part of the interviews derived from the Day 10 box on the front page of the Star. More than one staffer claimed to be insulted that she had waited to talk to them so long. One thought he should have been a Day 5 witness or even a Day 3 witness. But he didn’t have any more useful information than the rest. There was no escape for Amy from the Star’s counter and the continuing pressure for results.

Amy next step was to interview Nelson, which was easy because he had essentially moved to Washington for the duration of the conference. He was living in a hotel on Capitol Hill. Amy got a committee room in the Russell Building for the interview. When Amy called, Nelson understood why and readily agreed to the interview.

Nelson arrived for the interview precisely on time. He seemed to be an old Washington hand who was comfortable on Capitol Hill. He walked confidently into the room without knocking. He appeared to be in his mid-60s, moustache, silver gray hair, expensive brown suit, and carried a large briefcase stuffed with documents. Amy could imagine him in a doctor’s white coat. He said up front that he understood why he was a suspect because of his history with Butcher. His tone was business-like, neutral, and cooperative. He didn’t appear to be nervous or threatened by the interview. He said that he would answer any question without limitation. He said that he was so unconcerned that he turned down his lawyer’s suggestion that he only talk with counsel present.

Amy felt slightly disarmed by his manner and tone, but Amy asked him the usual questions about his activities in Russell on Labor Day. Nelson said he came for the conference, stayed in the room the entire time, except for one short break, and never saw Butcher. In fact, he’d only met Butcher once, several years ago. Amy asked for details of that meeting.

Nelson told his tale. “You must already know the story of what came to be known as the Research Time Fraud Scandal. You also know that I was involved, and I resigned my job at the AAMRU over it. I understand why that makes me a suspect in Frank Butcher’s murder. I want to give you a different perspective on the scandal. This is off the record, right?”

Amy agreed. “I’m only interested in who murdered Butcher. If you confess to another crime, I might arrest you for it, but I won’t report on the details of old scandals to anyone unless it’s relevant here.”

That was good enough for Dr. Nelson. “That’s fine. When the Research Time Fraud Scandal first hit the press, several of us recognized the jeopardy for the medical research community. I was one of those people. It made researchers looked like petty thieves and abusers of federal funds. Nothing venal was happening. No one was getting rich or buying sports cars. The funding mechanism for medical research was mostly casual because there were no outside pressures or oversight. All the money supported research, but it wasn’t straightforward. It just looked bad. I thought that we should plead guilty in the press, agree to reforms, and put the story behind us. Too many other people felt threatened or feared that researchers would end up in jail. Or worse, that the flow of money would be cut off. The decision was to fight back. I had to play a role from my perch at the American Association of Medical Research Universities. I had enough political and press experience from my stint at HEW, and we hired several PR firms to help. The firms were expensive, offered useless solutions from PR 101, and generally made things worse. We ended up firing them.

“Butcher played us like a fiddle. He was killing us, but I had to admire his skill. He was masterful. As things got worse and worse, others finally began to agree with me about the dangers. We looked for an exit strategy, and we decided to take the human sacrifice approach. I was the sacrificial victim. It was even my idea. I wanted to get out of Washington anyway, and I worked out a deal at the New Haven Ethics Center where I am today. I took a few months off in between to let everything cool down.”

Amy asked about his reasons for leaving Washington.

“I learned to dislike Washington. Things aren’t what they seem. Too much politics, too many hidden agendas, and not enough substance to suit me. This place wears you down in the end.”

That comment resonated a lot with Amy, but she pushed Nelson back to the Butcher investigation.

“Did you meet Butcher at that time?”

“No, there wasn’t any reason to. My resignation worked, and the crisis subsided. The legislation passed. It didn’t make any real reform, and research money continued to flow. There was just more paperwork. I left town and didn’t look back, except that my area of interest continued to draw attention because of developments in organ transplants. I got Senator Rockford interested and brought him the idea of a commission. That’s what led me back to Butcher. Rockford thought he could get me the chairmanship, but he was worried that Senator Milton would block it. I decided to confront the lion in his den. Frank Butcher, that is. I knew Milton would listen to him. I made an appointment and went to see Butcher.”

Except for Nelson’s calm demeanor, this sounded like the best lead so far. “So, you have been in his office?”

“Yes.” Nelson said pointedly, “My one and only visit to that office was a couple of years ago.” He paused for effect and then continued. “Frank Butcher was the most – I need a neutral word here – extraordinary staffer I ever met, and I’ve met a ton of them over the years. He told me that he saw himself as a solo whale hunter with a single harpoon. He waited until the right target came along, and he used the harpoon with deadly effect. He went on and on about corrupt bureaucrats as his personal enemy. He was graphic. He talked about dragging crooks through the street by their ankles, cutting off their balls and stuffing them down their throats, and the like. He ranted and raved for about 20 minutes, with a mixture of his own blend of patriotism, paranoia, and righteous indignation. I was afraid for a while that he might be psychotic. It made me feel like I was lucky that I got out of the scandal alive. But he finally calmed down, and once he did, the rest of the meeting was normal. Even friendly. He was mostly sane once he got off his soapbox, but I’m still not sure whether he qualified for a diagnosis of schizophrenia.”

“Who was the subject of Frank’s tirade?”

“It was general bluster, albeit his tone and his language were something you’d expect in an alley and not in a congressional office. I’ve dealt with Members and staff for years, and I never heard anything like it in my life. It’s usually the Members who are nutty, not the staff. Please don’t take that as a general endorsement of staff. They have their own problems, including laziness, ambition, and megalomania. In my experience, Frank was unique. I don’t know if he intended to shock, terrorize, or motivate himself. I didn’t respond to it. I didn’t object. I didn’t argue. I let him rant, and he finally stopped. Then I told him why I came. He said that he didn’t have anything against me personally, that he knew that I was playing my role in the scandal, and he wasn’t upset that my resignation ended it. We talked about how the scandal played out. He didn’t see me as a crook. More importantly, he said he wouldn’t ask Milton to block my appointment, and I guess that he kept his word. I got the chairmanship. It was an amazing meeting, and not something I expected.”

Amy had doubts. “You’re telling me that Frank Butcher was your friend?”

Nelson didn’t agree with that. “No. I wouldn’t put it that way. He wasn’t my enemy, though. He only had to make a phone call to block my appointment, and he didn’t. I was grateful for that.”

Amy pressed. “To be honest, I’m having trouble buying that. You’re telling me that you didn’t have any reason to want to kill Frank Butcher. But I don’t see any simple way to verify your story about that meeting. Only the two of you were there.”

Nelson agreed. “True, but I did tell the story to Senator Rockford. I told others as well. I can only hope that they remember it. This all happened maybe three years ago. The fact that I got the appointment tells you something.”

Amy didn’t shake Nelson and couldn’t get him to acknowledge a motive. No matter how she tried, Nelson calmly stuck to his story. Everything about his tone and manner said innocent.

She finally had to change the subject, so she asked more about Nelson’s role in the death conference.

“I’ve been at all the meetings. I’ve been available to the key staffers at any time. I’ve done a lot of work to find compromises and help with language that works both medically and legally. You can corroborate that by talking to the others who attended the conference meetings. We’re so close to an agreement.”

“What about Labor Day? Can you account for yourself during the hours from 11 am to 2 pm?”

Nelson said he was at the conference the entire time. “There was a bathroom break and a break for lunch with all of us in the room. Except for a trip to the bathroom, I was in the room the whole time. Lunch was pizza, and one of the staffers brought it in the room. My Center paid for lunch. Forty bucks worth of pizza buys lot of good will with staffers working on a holiday.”

Amy tried again. “You could have slipped out of the room at a break or otherwise and gone down the hall to Frank’s office. It wouldn’t have taken long.”

“So could anyone else in the room. But it would take a cool customer to run down the hall, commit a murder, and then come back and push words around a page, let alone a definition of death bill.”

Amy pushed further. “You’re a doctor. You’re used to doing procedures on bodies.”

Nelson laughed. “True, but my teachers worked hard to train me not to kill people. My surgical rotation was decades ago, and it wasn’t a great success. Let’s say that I didn’t abandon a promising career in surgery for research. Anyway, I haven’t practiced medicine for years. I’d be nervous as hell suturing a cut.”

Amy observed that medical procedures were easier if you didn’t want the patient to live, and Nelson agreed. “True, but it’s harder to send a dead patient a bill.”

Amy changed the subject again. “Staffers at the conference said that you took notes. Can you say more?”

“Yes. I should have brought that up myself.” Nelson opened his briefcase and took out a large handful of yellow legal pads, each one filled with handwriting. “I take careful notes at each meeting. I started doing this to keep track of everyone’s position. The work was so exacting that it was essential to write down things for future reference. I’m a note taker from way back. I have two filing cabinets full of notes from Commission meetings.”

Nelson looked through the pads and pulled out the notes from Labor Day. “Here. You can see for yourself.”

Amy scanned the notes. The side on the left of the margin listed the times and speakers, with a time entry about every ten minutes. The handwriting wasn’t easy to read, but Amy had practice reading what doctors wrote. She could see that the notes were detailed and looked contemporary. The break came at 11:15 and appeared to last only ten minutes. There was no change in the handwriting before and after the break. Unless Nelson manufactured an unbelievable amount of evidence as an alibi, the notes and the statements of the other staffers supported Nelson’s version.

After a few minutes reviewing the notes, Amy asked if she could make a copy. Nelson agreed without hesitation. ‘You can take the original if it’ll help, as long as I get a copy. You are welcome to look for blood stains on the paper.” He was smiling. Amy accepted the offer, but the lab later found nothing on the pages but the ink itself and a trace of tomato sauce, oregano, and garlic.

Amy kept questioning. “What did you do the rest of Labor Day?”

“I went directly from the Hill to a small party at the home of the guy who took my job at AAMRU. You want his name and address?” Amy nodded, and Nelson wrote it down for her. Amy took names of others who could corroborate his story. She didn’t want to talk to Senator Rockford unless absolutely necessary.

Amy seemed to have come to a dead end with Nelson. She had no real reason to suspect him anymore. He was yet another suspect who seemed straightforward and honest. His story and notes were consistent with what she had heard from the others at the meeting. But she couldn’t cross him off the suspect list either. He knew Butcher, it was possible that he could have killed him, and she had the nagging feeling that maybe Nelson’s story was too convenient. He was a doctor, after all, and slicing up Frank might not have been all that traumatic for him. With nowhere else to go at the moment, she thanked Dr. Nelson and asked if she could get back in touch with him if she had more questions. Nelson agreed and left.

It had been another long day with little to show for it. She was getting nowhere on all fronts. She had a narrowing list of suspects, which was good, but the best prospects were washing out. She thought that she should give Charlie and the Senator an update, but she was too depressed to call them. She wanted to have something positive to report. She felt like she was going backwards. Time was passing quickly.

She did have something to look forward to, however. Rod had a seat for her a seat at the poker game that night.

Chapter 22: The Poker Game

Rod was nervous about bringing Amy to the Wednesday night poker game. He didn’t want to be embarrassed if she turned out to be an incompetent player. He went over the basics with her for a second time late in the day. When he was finished, he was convinced that she knew how to play. For her part, Amy seemed quite self-assured. She was worried about being the only woman. It had taken her quite a while to break into the Denver Field Office game. There was a lot of opposition to women in that game, and she was treated badly at first. Rod told her that a woman in this game was not unprecedented. One woman was a regular at the game, at least until she got married and her husband’s objections kept her home when he was in town. Other women played in the game from time to time although none currently.

They discussed how to introduce her. Amy worried that if she was introduced as the FBI agent investigating Frank’s death, it would put a damper on the game, and everyone would be afraid to say anything. Rod was less concerned about that. He knew that Brewer, the host of the game, would keep the poker moving no matter what. After much debate, they decided that Amy would be introduced as an out-of-town colleague of Rod’s, and they would let the truth come out on its own. Rod was sure she would be identified right off the bat, and they made a nickel bet that Rod would win if someone figured out Amy’s connection to Frank before 8 pm. Rod said that wanted to get his nickel back from their earlier bet about the boxes.

Rod and Amy left the office at 6:30 pm, each going in a different direction with the plan to meet at the poker game at 7:30. Rod went home, and Amy walked back to her place on East Capitol Street to change clothes. It was the first time she had come back before 10 pm. The house appeared to be unoccupied as she entered, and Amy assumed that Sally was not home yet.

But as she proceeded to her room on the second floor, she heard a sound from the third floor she hadn’t heard since college, the rhythmic moaning of a woman in the act. In college, Sally had always been vocal when entertaining her many boyfriends, earning her the nickname of Sally Slutton. The girls in the suite developed a complex rating scale for Sally’s boyfriends based on the length and pitch of Sally’s vocal performance. Sally never seemed embarrassed, never minded the teasing, never seemed particularly attached to any of the boys, and generously offered to provide introductions to those who had better ratings. The other girls were happy to discuss Sally’s morals, sounds, and boyfriends at great length, but no one took her up on the offer. Or if anyone did, Amy never heard about it.

The sounds ended shortly after Amy reached her room. Amy tried to remember the rating scale that the girls in the dorm used, but she realized that it didn’t matter. She had missed the start so there was no way to time the event, and the time had been an essential component of the final score. Amy nevertheless estimated that the score wasn’t likely to be noteworthy. To her ear, Sally didn’t seem all that engaged. But it was a new environment, and Amy didn’t know how sounds in the large house would reverberate differently than in their old college dorm. Amy was amused at how, after so many years, she tried to adapt the dorm rating system to a new location. She changed clothes quickly and left before Sally and her friend emerged. Knowing Sally, that friend could be just about anyone in Washington.

Amy slipped out quietly and met Rod at 7:30 outside Brewer’s house on the House side not too far from where Amy used to live. The door was unlocked, and Rod opened it and walked in, announcing himself with a loud “hello.” A voice from the kitchen said, “Come on in and sit down. I think we have a quorum.”

Rod and Amy walked into the dining room of an ordinary Capitol Hill rowhouse. The table was set up with a green felt tablecloth, seven chairs, two decks of cards, a small plastic tray of uncertain purpose, a cat food can with a plastic top, and three cloth bags tied together with rubber bands. The table and chairs took up nearly all of the small room. The walls had small decorations here and there, with a round needlepoint in a square frame as the centerpiece. Amy recognized it as the vintner’s window from Chartres Cathedral. It was elegant and beautifully framed.

Rod indicated that Amy should sit next to him. Gary Lake and Mike Birmingham, both dressed in suits, were having a heated discussion about a piece of legislation and ignored the newcomers. While Rod and Amy were taking seats, the voice said in the kitchen, “Start making stacks.”

Rod took the rubber bands off the three chip bags, two tan and one red. Lake took a bag and spilled out its contents of white chips. “Hey Brewer, how many whites?” Birmingham took another bag, poured out blue chips and began counting. Rod took the red bag.

“Jeez, you guys have been playing here for years, and you still can’t remember the basics. It’s 15 whites, 20 reds, and 14 blues.” Brewer entered the room and watched as Rod took the red chips out of the sherry bag. “At least the red chips are in the red bag. We did something right last time.” Brewer was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt that said Eat Bertha’s Mussels, and a John Deere cap of ancient vintage.

Brewer held out his hand and said “Hi. I’m Brewer. You must be Amy. Rod tells me that you know how to play poker. I hope he’s right. That’s Lake and that’s Birmingham.” They shook hands all around. No one showed much interest in Amy, and Brewer began to shuffle one of the decks. Amy picked up the other deck, counted the cards, and started shuffling.

Amy had a question. “If my math is right, the three stacks of chips add up to $6.25. That seems like a strange amount for a buy-in. Is there a reason?”

Brewer responded. “Yeah, your math is right, and I’m worried about you already. If you can do math in your head, you probably can count cards too. I don’t like that a bit. Anyway, the first time we played poker was about ten years ago, and we divided the chips that we had into seven piles. It came out to $6.25, and it has been that way ever since. We believe in tradition here. Otherwise, we might actually have to think. Now I need $6.25 from everyone.”

Brewer took the money and put it all in the plastic tray. “Good job, people. Exact change all around.”

Amy said, “So red chips go in the red bag because that’s another tradition, I assume.”

Brewer answered, “Hyde, where did you get her? She’s way too sharp. It’s bad karma if the red chips don’t end up in the red bag. Don’t ask why.”

Another player entered the house, went straight into the kitchen, and then came into the dining room and sat down on Amy’s right. “Hi, I’m Bob Jensen. You look new.”

“Hi. I’m Amy, and I am.”

Jensen asked if she know how to play poker.

“Straight flush, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, three of a kind, two pair, pair, high card.” Amy rattled off the order of hands in one breath. “Do I pass?”

Jensen wanted to know more. “Okay, but we play a lot of lowball here. Can you play lowball? I mean, I want to take your money, but it’s not as much fun unless you know what you’re doing.”

Amy exuded confidence. “I know lowball too.”

Jensen had a quiz. “All right, which hand is lower? Ace, two three four king or two two three four five?”

Amy responded instantly. “The first hand, with the king, is lower. The second hand has a pair of twos and loses to any hand without a pair. That’s easy. What’s the perfect low in this game?”

Jensen responded, “It’s a sixty four. A wheel is a straight and not a low unless you care to play it as an ace high bust.”

Amy said, “Got it.”

Jensen was satisfied with Amy. “Good enough for me. Brewer, who else is playing?”

“The Turk. He said he might be late. We have six players now so we’re ready to roll when you guys are done with the chips.”

Amy turned her head to look at Rod, smiling and mouthed questioningly, “The Turk?” Rod grinned and nodded.

“Let’s find a dealer. First jack deals.” Brewer began to deal cards face up. Rod prayed that Amy wouldn’t get the jack, but his prayers were not answered.

Rod said quietly to Amy that she could pass the deal the first time, but Amy took the shuffled deck and properly, but unprompted, presented it to Jensen on her right for a cut. At that moment, the Turk came through the door wearing a three-piece suit, a classy tie, wing-tipped shoes, and carrying a paper bag. Amy thought that he has a slight foreign cast, but she wouldn’t have guessed his nationality without the prompt. He sat down in the last chair. He spotted Amy, stood, and offered his hand. “I’m Abdullah Mehmet,” with no trace of an accent.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Amy.”

Brewer said, “He’s known here as the Turk. That’s a lot easier than remembering his real name. And that will be $6.25 from you.” Brewer took the money from the Turk, added it to the tray, and moved the tray and the cat food can off the table.

“Are we ready?” asked Amy.

Brewer said, “You know the rules here? Dealer’s choice. Games are high-low unless otherwise stated. All hands are decided by five cards using standard poker values. No acey-deucy, 727, or crap like that. And no wild cards. Three raises. Max bet is a quarter. Nickel ante everyone.”

Amy said, “I’m ready to go. We’re playing seven stud, high-low, roll your own, all the way. I see seven white chips, so the pot is right.”

Everyone looked impressed that Amy called a slightly complicated game for her first deal, and Rod relaxed.

The Turk interrupted. “Stop for a second. Don’t you think that we should say something about Frank? After all, he was a regular in this game for years.”

Several of the players looked around, uncertain. Brewer said almost immediately, “Hell, no. Butcher would’ve hated that. If one of you guys croaked, he’d have been the first to object to a moment of silence, a prayer, a séance, or whatever the hell you had in mind. If you feel the need, you can sit out the first hand, go in the kitchen, and sing Kumbaya. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I quote Butcher’s most frequent statement at these games. ‘Shut up and deal.’”

“Okay, okay,” said the Turk. “I thought that something had to be said. You know that in Turkey, we would mark this kind of occasion with…”

Brewer interrupted. “Yeah, but in Turkey you also play football with goat carcasses. I don’t plan to do that any time soon either. My wife’ll kill you if you try it in the kitchen.”

The laughter broke the tension. The Turk said, “There is a real game played with goat carcasses, but that’s in Afghanistan, not Turkey. Those are two different countries, just in case you didn’t know. I’ll bring a map someday to show you. But all right. I tried. I’ll shut up and let Amy deal.”

Amy began to deal three down cards to everyone and repeated the game as she dealt. “Seven stud, high-low, roll your own all the way. Everyone turn up a card.”

Amy looked at her cards. She always preferred to fold the first hand or two at a new game, just to have a chance to size up the players. She was grateful that she dealt herself seven, nine, and queen of three suits. She turned up the nine, scanned the table, and said “Jack bets.” Amy folded in turn.

She dealt the rest of the hand, dealing all the cards down and ordering players to turn up a card after each round but the last. When the hands were complete, Amy asked how they did the declaration.

Brewer responded. “Simultaneous declaration. Put one or more chips in your hand. White chip if you’re going low. Blue chip for high. Both chips if you want to go both ways. The local rule is that if you go both ways and tie for one way, you still win your share of the pot, usually three quarters. It’s bet, declare, bet.”

“Understood,” said Amy. “Most games play that if you tie, you lose the whole pot. But your way is good too.”

Three players declared, two high and one low. One of the highs dropped immediately, and Brewer and Rod split the pot. There was an extra white chip, and Brewer put it in the plastic tray without comment. The deal passed to Rod.

Rod announced the game. “Chicago. High hand splits with high spade in the hole. No declaration. No low.” He silently took the deck from his left and put in on the right side near Amy. She cut it without prompting, and he started to deal.

Jensen began to question Amy. “So, are you from Washington?”

“Nope. I grew up here, but I live in Denver now.”

Rod announced the betting. “First ace bets, and it bets a dime. That’s ten cents to everyone.” Amy was the only one who folded.

Jensen continued, “What brings you to Washington?”

“I’m here doing a temporary assignment. I hope to go back to Denver soon.”

“Ace king bets another dime.” Jensen folded and continued interrogating Amy.

“So, you work for a federal agency?”

“Yes.”

Jensen began speculating, “So let me guess. DOD? No. That’s not right. Transportation? You don’t look like a DOTie. It’s not HUD. How about…. the FBI? Any chance you work for the FBI? You wouldn’t happen to be the Amy Somebody who came here to investigate Butcher’s death? I read Dan Gold’s story last week, like everyone else. Not to mention the string of content-less stories from the Star.”

Rod said, “That didn’t take long.” He looked at his watch, and it read 7:50. He showed it to Amy, and she took a white chip and flipped it to him. “We had a bet how long it would take you guys to ID Amy, and I won. I said it would happen before 8 pm. Ace king ten bets.”

Lake spoke up. “After Dan Gold’s story about the Butcher investigation, Rod shows up with a new player named Amy. I figured it out a while ago. Do I get a nickel too?”

Brewer said, “We all read the same story. Anyone who didn’t figure it out within 30 seconds of meeting Amy doesn’t belong in Washington. Too bad Dan Gold couldn’t play tonight. I’ll bet you were thrilled with his story last week, front page and everything. Could definitely have been more fun today if Dan came.”      

Jensen said, “So you came straight here to this full house to flush out Butcher’s murderer?”

That elicited groans.

“Pair of sevens bets.”

Amy responded. “I came to play poker. But I also hope to get a better sense of Frank Butcher. I gather that he came here often to play poker so you guys may know him better than some. We have lots of suspects, but not that many real leads. You never know when a small piece of information will make a big difference to an investigation.”

Rod announced, “The hands are complete. Last round of betting.”

“Quarter.”

“Quarter quarter.”

“Fold.”

“Bump.”

“Last quarter.”

“Seventy-five to me. Call.”

“Fifty to me. Call.”

“Quarter. Call.”

Brewer turned over his hole cards. “I got the ace of spades down and three sevens. I want the whole pot.” Two players mucked their cards at the announcement.

Birmingham turned over three eights in the hole. “You don’t get the whole pot with a mere three sevens. Anybody beat my eights?”

No one did, and Brewer and Birmingham split the pot. It was now Brewer’s deal.

“Anaconda right, three passes, three, two, and one.” Brewer looked at Amy. She nodded knowingly so Brewer didn’t explain further. He dealt everyone seven cards.

Amy spoke again. “I’ll shut up about Frank if anyone objects, but I would like to hear something about him from you guys.”

Rod intervened. “Do I need to say that everything here is off the record?” No one objected. “After all, it’s Washington, and you can’t be too careful.”

Brewer announced the first pass. “Pass three cards to the right.”

Lake pointed at the Turk. “In the last game, Butcher was the big winner, and the Turk was the big loser. Time to confess, Turk.”

The Turk scoffed. “I was the big loser at seventeen forty-five. I paid more for dinner tonight than I lost last time. How much did Butcher win last week, Brewer? Twelve dollars? Big win for him.”

Brewer responded. “That’s true, but Frank being the big winner was rare. He usually lost. Maybe you killed him, Turk, over the shame of losing to him. Is that another Turkish custom? Avenge your poker losses with murder? After all, two games ago I was the big winner and you lost. You threatened to kill my cat. Pass two cards to the right and arrest the Turk. But wait until this hand is over. It’ll disrupt the passing.”

Amy passed cards and said quietly. “I don’t think anyone here did it. I’ve got a list of people who were in the Russell Building on Labor Day. Rod looked at the list and didn’t recognize any poker players. Anyone here want to say otherwise?”

“Pass one to the right.”

Birmingham spoke up. “Lake and I were both in the office that Monday. We work on the House side as LAs, legislative assistants, for Congressman Pearl. It’s his first term, and he still hasn’t figured out how to be a Congressman. He demands a report from us on every bill that goes to the floor. Well, that Tuesday had a suspension calendar with 45 bills. We had to work all day to get the report done. I didn’t sign in because I knew the cop at the door.”

Lake continued. “Same for me. We keep telling our boss that the bills on the suspension calendar are not interesting, politically troublesome, or controversial, but he wants a report anyway. We worked all day at it, gave him the report Tuesday morning. In the end, all the bills were voiced so we wasted our time entirely.”

Amy asked, “Can you explain that for someone who isn’t well versed in legislative process?”

Birmingham did. “The suspension calendar is for non-controversial bills. Each bill is allowed 40 minutes of debate, equally divided. No amendments are allowed. The price for the convenience and assurance of the suspension calendar is that a bill has to get a two-thirds majority.”

Brewer moved the hand along. “Chuck two cards, rack’em and prepare to roll’em.” Discards flew into the center of the table, and the players put their remaining five cards on the table in order, face down.

Birmingham continued. “At the end of a session, the only way to get a bill to the floor is the suspension calendar. You can’t get floor time because the leadership is only focused on the must-pass bills. Garbage bills – National Pickle Week and the like – end up on the suspension calendar in September. No one asks for a recorded vote on most of these bills. We have to do a full write up anyway. It’s annoying. We can’t get Pearl to understand what a waste it is. Sometimes, they sneak a more important bill on suspension, but Pearl won’t let us pick out the significant bills. He wants it all.”

‘First ace bets. That’s you Amy.”

“Quarter.”

Rod, Brewer, Birmingham, Lake, and the Turk folded.

Jensen, who had a king up, was the only caller.

Amy was stunned. “What happened? Everyone got out for a quarter? Doesn’t anyone want to play poker here?”

Rod explained, “This can be a tight game. A quarter is a big bet on the first round. Jensen probably stayed in because he’s hoping that your ace means you’re going low. He must be going high with a king.”

Amy said with a touch of sarcasm, “Interesting. There’s a lot of chatter in this game.”

They turn over another card. Amy showed a deuce, and Jensen another king.

Jensen shrugged and checked. Amy hesitated. “Maybe we’re going to end up splitting this pot. I’ll bet another quarter anyway.” Jensen called.

Amy showed a second deuce, and Jensen two kings and an eight.

Rod spoke up again. “Maybe I spoke too soon about Amy’s low. It’s now looking high to me.”

Amy spoke again, this time louder and with a smile, “There’s definitely a lot of chatter in this game.”

Jensen checked. Amy bet, and Jensen called.

The next card gave Amy two aces and two deuces. Jensen had kings and eights.

Amy bet another quarter. Another call.

Brewer announced the declaration. “White chip for low, and blue chip for high.” Everyone watched Amy intently.

They each took two chips and put them under the table. Amy put up a closed fist right away. Jensen asked for a minute to think. “I hate playing with new players. She could have two pair and think that’s a big hand in this game. But she seemed to know what she was doing when I asked her. Damn, I should have folded on the first quarter and let her have the antes. That was stupid.”

Amy sat there looking inscrutable, staring casually at the ceiling. When Jensen finally put a fist on the table, they both opened at once, and both showed a blue chip for high. Amy tossed another quarter into the pot.

“Damn. I almost went low. She suckered me into this pot when she had aces full all the time. I believe her. I fold.”

Amy silently turned over her hole card, a queen. Jensen picked up his hole card and smacked the third king on the table. “Damn. I deserved to lose that pot. I thought myself out of that hand. I was sure that your aces would beat my kings. Nicely done.”

The Turk turned to Amy and pointed to Jensen. “Did you see that? Did you see the anger? Did you see the violence? He almost broke the table throwing down the card. That’s virtually a confession. He must have killed Butcher. Didn’t Butcher beat you in a hand in the last game? That’s a genuine motive.”

Amy raked in the pot and smiled. She knew that an early win is important, and showing a bluff could pay dividends all night. Even if she had lost the hand, she knew that no one would be able to figure out how she was playing. She hadn’t learned anything about Frank, but she won a small pot all by herself and established her bona fides as a player.

Birmingham announced seven stud high low and began to deal.

Amy picked up on the previous discussion. “Both of you were on the House side on Labor Day. Congressman Pearl’s office is in which House Building?”

Birmingham finished dealing the down cards, and announced the up cards as he dealt them. “Two, four, king, another four, queen, seven, yet another four. Fours are cheap.” The Turk bets.”

“Nickel.” Everyone called but Amy.

“Pearl’s office is on the fifth floor of the Longworth Building. He has the worst office you can have. We’ll get a better office next year.”

“Two gets an ace for a lovely low. Four gets a five. Possible low and straight. King gets a suited ten for a possible royal flush. Queen gets another queen for the power. Seven gets an eight. Possible straight, weak low. Dealer gets a two for a low. Queens bet.”

Lake points to Birmingham. “Ask him if he left the office during the day. Just ask him. He can’t deny it.”

The bet is a dime, and everyone calls.

“Don’t accuse me while I’m dealing. You get a jack. That will teach you to point the finger at the dealer. Four, five, six. Very strong. King ten three, still suited. Queen, queen, ten. No improvement. Seven, eight, jack. Garbage. Dealer gets a six. Still low. Queens still bet.”

The bet is still a dime, and everyone calls but Brewer.

“I got in the office at 10 am, and I was there all day. I left at 4.”

“Yeah, I saw you leave. You SAID you were going to the bathroom and then home, but I didn’t follow you. How do I know where you went?”

Birmingham mused, “If you had followed me to the bathroom, Lake, I would’ve revised my opinion of you. You went to the bathroom too during the day. Maybe you went somewhere else. Maybe you did it. You ran down the hall, got in the elevator, took the tunnel to the House subway, rode the subway to the Capitol, went through the Capitol, went to the Senate subway, went to the Russell Building, went to Butcher’s office on the fourth floor, killed him, and ran back the same way. If you hit all the elevators just right, you could make the round trip in, say, forty minutes, maybe forty-five.”

“Only one flaw in that theory. The subway doesn’t run on holidays. You would’ve had to walk to the Capitol,” said Jensen. “And to Russell too. That’s another ten minutes on foot.”

The Turk said, “Now that was a truly incriminating disclosure by Mr. Lake over there. If you never visited Butcher in his office, then how do you know what floor his office was on? How many people would know that information off the top of their heads?”

Rod spoke up. “Only everyone who reads the Post. Everyone with a Senate phone book. It’s not like you knew what caliber gun shot him.” Rod winked at Amy.

The Turk said, “I thought he was stabbed.”

Brewer pointed at the Turk. “Aha. That’s right. Maybe the Turk did it after all.”

“I have an airtight alibi. I was in France on Labor Day. We were negotiating a contract for one of our clients. I’ve got a passport to prove it. No one else here has a better alibi.”

Amy asked the Turk where he worked.

“I’m with Conrad, Lorton, and Gilligan. That’s a big international law firm downtown. I do mostly international contract work.”

Amy asked, “Does being Turkish help with your practice?”

Brewer intervened. “This Turkish stuff is just a front. He was born in the Bronx, for crying out loud. Who played first base for the Yankees in 1947?”

The Turk responded instantly. “George McQuinn. Batted left. Hit over .300. Came from the Athletics, I believe. And yes, being Turkish helps a lot with my practice. So does knowing about the Yankees. My father came here from Turkey, and I speak Turkish, Arabic, French, and baseball. I’m a big Yankees fan.”

Amy responded immediately in French: “Je connais des Parisians qui sont fous de baseball, mais est-ce qu’il y a vraiment des fans de Yankees en Turquie?”

The Turk, both surprised and impressed, responded: “Tu serais etonné du nombre de fans de baseball au moyen orient. J’ai un client à Istanbul qui peut passer la nuit à parler de baseball. Laisses-moi deviner, tu as passé ta troisieme annéée de fac en France? Ton accent est genial.”

“En fait, je n’ai passé qu’un été à Paris pendant mes études. Y a-t-il quelqu’un d’autre ici qui parle français?

“Pas à ma connaissance. Je suppose que tu ne parles ni arabe ni turc, n’est pas? Si on peut se parler dans d’autres langues, ça embêtera Brewer.”

“Malheursement, non, mais il me semble qu’en parlant français ça ennui déja pas mal Brewer. Je ne saurais pas dire si notre conversation l’étonne ou l’inquiete.”

“C’est pas difficile d’enerver Brewer. Je prend tellement plaisir à l’embeter ce cher Brewer.”

Brewer spoke up. “All right, all right. That’s about enough of that. Communicating in another language during the game is strictly prohibited.”

The Turk disagreed. “There’s nothing in the bylaws that says that.”

Brewer said bluntly, “Well, there will be something in the next edition. Who’s the next dealer?”

Jensen went into the kitchen. “Anybody want anything?” He returned with a beer. “Amy, do you know the local rule – bring your own food and drink. But I’ve got extra beers if you want one.”

Amy declined. “Thanks, but I need a clear head to keep up with you guys.”

The Turk opened the small bag that he had brought. “It may be time to break out the chocolate. I brought these back from my trip to Paris last week.” He pulled out three large bars of foreign chocolate. “This one is from Belgium; this one is from France; and this one is special, a rare chocolate from Turkey. The Belgian is 60%, the French is 65%, and the Turkish is 75%. Bitter, bitterer, bitterest.”

Brewer started in. “Seventy-five percent WHAT? Olives, halvah, camels, dead Greeks? You never brought Turkish chocolate before. I’ve never heard of Turkish chocolate. You stabbed Butcher, and now you want to poison the rest of us. I’ll stick to the Belgian myself.”

The Turk said, “I knew you’d feel that way, and that’s why I put the poison in the Belgian chocolate.”

Brewer dropped the Belgian chocolate and reached for the French. Then he dropped that, announced that he would have to think this over. He went to the kitchen and returned drinking a beer. “I believe that beer is the universal antidote, so I think it is safe to eat any of it now.” Everyone else had already started on the chocolate.

Rod spoke up again. “Guys, we’ve played like four hands, and I think that everyone has accused everyone else of murdering Butcher. At best, Amy is highly amused, but unenlightened. Maybe we can knock off the cheap humor here. At least for a while.”

The next few hands were routine. Amy split one pot with Lake, and another with the Turk. The odd nickel in each pot ended up in the plastic tray. Eventually, it was Amy’s turn to deal again.

With only the slightest smirk on her face, she announced the game.

“Seven card stud, high low. Anyone who confesses to Frank’s murder gets an extra card down.”

Everyone roared.

The Turk pointed to Brewer. “Brewer will confess. He’ll do anything for an extra card. He’ll slit your throat for a white chip.”

“Excuse me, but I’m not allowed to slit throats anymore. Do you know how hard it is to get blood stains out of felt?”

Lake asked, “Does this game have a name? Seven card confessional, perhaps?”

“Kiss and Tell?”

“Kill and Tell!”

Amy kept dealing. The hand itself was dull, with only two players in at the end, one apparent high and one low. But Brewer and the Turk both went high, and Brewer won the pot with a low straight. The Turk announced that he may need to buy more chips, and he pulled out a five-dollar bill and waited for an opportunity to buy from another player.

Rod dealt seven card stud, high low. Amy and the Turk folded on the first bet, and Rod folded on the second. But Lake and Birmingham appeared to be developing good low hands, and both bet hard. Jensen and Brewer had apparent highs, and Jensen bet his hand hard as well. Toward the end, Brewer paused to think. Rod said to him, “If you don’t know what you should do by now, you should fold.” Brewer said, “By golly, you’re right.” He folded. At the declaration, Lake and Birmingham were both low, and Jensen was locked high. He turned over his hole cards, showing a king high hand and nothing else. He bet, the other two who were going low both raised the maximum, and Jensen capped the betting for the last quarter.

While the betting continued, the Turk turned to Jensen and analyzed his hand and his betting. “How could you bet like that? You had nothing all the way, and Brewer looked like he had a high. Whatever he had, it beat your pile of garbage. Even one of the low hands could have had a straight and taken you for high. Anyone with an ace had you beat for high. And you kept betting quarters throughout, like you had a real hand. Weren’t you paying attention here? Your betting just doesn’t make sense.”

Jensen sat passively, taking the abuse. When the Turk stopped, Jensen said calmly, “Are you finished?” He then held up a blue chip. “Do you have change of a quarter?”

The Turk and others were bewildered at first by the question. Jensen had a big stack of chips in front of him on the table. Then, in unison, they all looked at Turk’s stack of chips. Or chip. He had only a single white chip to his name. There was a round of laughter from everyone, including the Turk.

Brewer said, “That may have been the most devastating put down I ever heard in a poker game. And maybe anywhere else. Doesn’t your Turkish sense of honor demand satisfaction?”

“It does. But what I mostly demand is five dollars in chips. Who can sell me chips? I’ll slash Jensen’s tires after the game.”

Lake and Birmingham both had the same perfect low, and they had to settle for a quarter of the pot. Jensen took the high half of what turned out to be a reasonably sizeable pot.

While the pot was being split, Amy had a question. “We know that Frank took off about every Friday afternoon off. Anybody here know what Frank did on Fridays?”

No one spoke for a few seconds. Brewer started. “I don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, Butcher lived in a cave and only emerged on Wednesday nights to play poker. I almost never saw him otherwise. I know he worked in the Senate, but I don’t know that much about him personally, except that he wasn’t much of a poker player. That’s why I had no reason to kill him. Never kill the fish in your game. Now there’s a poker rule to live by. Maybe we should add that to the by-laws.”

Birmingham spoke. “I’d see Butcher from time to time. I used to work for Congressman Fletcher before he retired, and I’ve been around the Hill for a long time. I might see Frank if I wandered over to the Senate for a hearing or in the cafeteria. Or somewhere up Pennsylvania Avenue at lunch. But we would wave or chat about the poker game. I don’t know anything about his personal life. You know people here take off Friday afternoons when nothing is doing. You rarely find a Member here on Friday afternoon.”

Lake was next. “We all saw the newspaper stories about his investigations. He had a reputation for being the best investigator on the Hill. Nobody ever forgot how he destroyed that Smithsonian guy, and the Research Time Fraud Scandal was a thing of beauty. We also know that he worked a lot with Dan Gold, who plays here from time to time. They clearly knew each other from outside the game. There was one game last year where Gold ran a front-page story on a Wednesday about one of Butcher’s investigations, and we all discussed the story. There wasn’t any secret about the connection. Gold always seemed to have the inside track on what was going on in Senator Milton’s subcommittee.”

Jensen had more to say. “These two guys” – pointing to Lake and Birmingham – “are personal staffers. They work on legislative issues. I work for the House Government Operations Committee. We’re mostly an investigative committee. I tend to focus on agriculture matters because the chairman of my Subcommittee is from Oklahoma, and that’s what he cares about. That’s also how I know Brewer, from an agriculture issue years ago. People on my committee compete in a way with Butcher. All the Hill investigative staff – and there aren’t all that many who just do investigations – engage in the same essential activity. We all look to expose waste, fraud, and abuse, make the government run better, punish the enemies of our bosses, and make headlines. Not necessarily in that order. I wouldn’t put it that way in public, but that’s what we do. Once you get beyond that basic description, there are differences in focus and approach. There’s competition among investigators, and sometimes you find two different committees trying to do the same investigation. The competition can be intense at times.”

Amy brightened at this. “Do you know of any specific conflicts that anyone had with Frank?”

Jensen continued, “Not exactly. Butcher and I cooperated on one matter a few years ago. It turned out that the same informant went to him and to my subcommittee. We were duplicating effort on a GSA investigation. It wasn’t my investigation, but I knew about it because the guy at the next desk in my Subcommittee was running it. Somehow, at one of these games, one of us said enough about it so that the other one recognized a possible overlap. I can’t remember how it happened, but it involved some GSA contracting program. The informant was mostly right, but he was playing both sides, and we were all bummed about that. We decided to drop the matter and to write a joint letter to GAO instead and wash our hands of it. It wasn’t that big a deal. Minor scandal. Both sides also sent the informant packing, mostly on general principles.”

“Do you remember the name of the informant?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I should say. Confidentiality and all that. What the hell. He wasn’t my snitch, and we didn’t like him anyway. George Thomas. I remember because he was trying to make himself out as a kind of professional whistleblower. He worked at the National Archives, and he was always trying to peddle something about the General Services Administration. The Archives is a part of GSA, and the Archives sees itself as Cinderella and GSA as the wicked stepmother. Thomas had been useful for a while in a minor sort of way, but we ended up cutting him off because he became a real pain in the ass. Just in case, you didn’t hear any of that from me.”

Amy made a note of the name. She looked at Rod, but he shrugged. She then picked up the deck and began dealing seven stud high low.

As she was dealing, Jensen asked, “Do I get a reward for the information?”

Amy was dealing up cards. “Three, nine, jack, ace, four, king, and the tipster’s reward is this lovely eight of hearts. Come up with a better lead, and I’ll deal you a better card. Dealer gets a seven. King bets.”

Brewer spoke. “That lead isn’t even worth an eight. I work in the historian’s office at Ag, and I deal with the Archives all the time. What a bunch of losers, misfits, and pantywaists at the Archives. They can’t make up their minds about anything, except that they hate GSA.”

The Turk was next. “Does that same description – losers, misfits, and pantywaists – apply to professional historians too? There isn’t much of a difference between a historian and an archivist for my money.”

Brewer responded. “I’d like to argue with that, but I’m afraid you’re right. In fact, you may have overestimated the historians. I’m not a professional historian, of course. I got stuck in that office because the Assistant Secretary I worked for left, and they didn’t know what to do with me.”

Lake was next. “We don’t know what to do with you either. So does the fact that you’re in the historian’s office make you a loser, misfit, or pantywaist in training? Do you have to be one of those things to make it to GS-15?”

Amy reasserted her rights as dealer. “It’s the king. Bet or check. King bets a dime. Ten cents going around.” The hand resulted in a split pot between Rod and Birmingham, with the odd nickel going to the plastic tray.

Amy had a question. “I’ve got to ask. In every poker game I’ve played in, the odd chip from a split pot goes to the high hand. What do you do with the nickels?”

Brewer responded. “The odd nickels go into the kitty.” He reached on the counter, grabbed the cat food can, and pulled off the plastic lid. The can was full of dollar bills, coins, and a five-dollar chip from a casino. “This is the kitty, and it has probably forty dollars. We usually end the poker year with about fifty.”

Amy asked, “Poker year? Is that like a fiscal year?”

“Something like that. The poker year ends on November Fifth. The first game was held years ago on November Fifth so that’s when the poker year ends. Those who pay attention to their annual profits and losses usually count from then. Some people think that November Fifth is Guy Fawkes Day, but we consider that to be an event of minor historical significance compared to the end of the poker year. We’re considering asking Congress to make it a national holiday.”

Amy asked what they did with the money.

“Yeah,” the Turk said, “what do you do with the money, Brewer? Didn’t you buy a new car last November?”

Brewer ignored the Turk. “We use it to pay for beer at the business meeting.”

Amy asked with genuine surprise, “This game has a business meeting?”

Brewer responded matter-of-factly, “Yes. On the first Saturday after November Fifth. We mostly sit around, gossip, talk about poker, eat chili, and drink beer. It’s not quite as bad as it sounds. Wives are invited, and that mellows out the evening. It can be hard to distinguish the business meeting from a party, but it’s officially a business meeting except that we don’t conduct business at the business meeting. It just isn’t done. If you’re here in November, you’re invited.”

Amy said, “I hope to be long gone before then, but thanks. Did Frank come to the meetings?”

Brewer said, “Usually. But the answer to your next question is that he came alone, and he didn’t say or do anything weird at the meeting. He didn’t get drunk or piss on the neighbor’s lawn. He didn’t get into a fight, and he didn’t make a run at anyone’s wife. You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that you have a distressingly large pile of someone else’s chips in front of you, I would say that you wasted your time coming here. I don’t think we have any real leads for your investigation.”

Amy wasn’t prepared to agree fully. “Well, you never know what will turn out to be useful. Besides, I did come with the intention of winning money. Doesn’t everyone who comes to Capitol Hill want to go home with someone else’s money?”

Rod picked up the shuffled deck and motioned emphatically for Amy to cut the deck. “Let’s get back to the game, if you please. Anaconda left.”

Play continued for another hour, when someone came in the back door of the house and went upstairs. A few minutes later, a gray cat ran into the room followed immediately by a tall, well-dressed, attractive woman in her early forties. Brewer introduced his wife, “Everybody remembers Jean. Except Amy. This is my wife, Jean. This is Amy, a new player. She’s investigating Butcher’s murder.”

Jean stepped over and shook hands with Amy. “That was awful, but I don’t think you’re going to learn much from this group of degenerates. I don’t think any of them has the nerve. In any event, Brewer didn’t do it. He wouldn’t kill the fish in the game.”

The Turk pounced on the comment. “You made her say that to cover your tracks. I’m more suspicious than ever.”

The cat walked around the table and jumped up on Amy’s lap.

Brewer moved to retrieve the cat, but Amy shooed him away and happily petted the cat.

Brewer said, “Butcher was allergic to cats. That’s why I kept the cat locked up during the game. But he got out in the last game and jumped on Butcher’s lap, just like he did with you. God damn, maybe it’s an omen. It’s like getting the black spot, except that it’s a gray cat. You could be the next murder victim. Or even worse, you could be the big winner tonight, just like Frank last time. Maybe this is a weird form of cat divination.”

Amy asked for the cat’s name.

“Casement.”

Amy repeated, “Casement. That’s an interesting name.”

Brewer explained, “He’s named for Sir Roger Casement, an Irish nationalist who was hanged for treason in the Sinn Fein rebellion in 1916.”

Jean wasn’t having any of it. “Brewer, will you stop with that stupid story already. We named the cat Casement because he likes to sit in the window. If you hand him to me, we’ll both retreat to the second floor and let you continue with the game. Nice to meet you, Amy.”

“Just the same,” Brewer said to Amy, “I think you should be careful, in case the cat’s really a prophet and not merely the fleabag that I thought. I suppose that you can handle yourself. You’re probably packing heat, which I didn’t think about before. I don’t know that we ever had anyone bring a gun to the game. Maybe some of you guys should let her win a couple more hands so she doesn’t get mad at us. I’ve always suspected the Turk of carrying a scimitar.”

“That’s right. I have a three-foot long scimitar under my shirt. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Butcher wasn’t killed with a scimitar, was he?”

Amy said, “That’s the kind of information that we don’t reveal. All I can tell you is that he was stabbed. That’s what appeared in the news stories. If anyone can identify the secret weapon, the duck will come down, and I’ll cart you off to jail. And Brewer will confiscate all your chips for the kitty. Whose deal is it anyway?”

The game continued for several hours. Around 10:30, Brewer announced it was the last half hour. At that point, Brewer and Amy appeared to be the big winners. The three House guys were down, and the Turk was the big loser. Rod was about even. The pace of play picked up slightly as they pushed to get in more hands. Brewer won several of the final hands, and he regained the lead at the end. Amy lost a decent pot when her flush lost to The Turk’s full house.

In the end, Brewer was up fourteen fifty. Amy was next with eleven fifteen. Rod was close to even. So was the Turk, who made a great comeback in the last hour. Lake, Birmingham, and Jensen each lost less than ten dollars. The kitty made sixty-five cents plus a contribution from Amy of fifteen cents. “Don’t spend it all on one beer,” she said.

As everyone got ready to go, Brewer said to Amy, “We’re still in the market for a fresh fish for this game, and it isn’t you. I’d normally tell you not to come back again. You’re too good a player. But since you didn’t win any of my money, I guess you’re all right. If we have an open seat again, you’re welcome to it.”

Amy was pleased. “Thanks. I’ll settle for that. This was fun. I’m used to playing with sixty-year-old retired FBI agents who like to play five card stud, high only, all night. They think seven card stud is a radical new invention, and they would all have heart attacks if someone called a high-low game. I know it’s awful when a new player walks out a winner, but I won’t apologize for that. Just don’t hold it against me if somehow you remember what Frank did every Friday afternoon. It could be important. If anyone has any information that would help, you can reach me by calling Rod. Good night, all.”

Everyone headed out, and Rod drove Amy the few blocks to her place. Amy observed, “That Brewer is a real piece of work.”

Rod agreed. “He is that. He focuses entirely on the game, as you could tell, driving the play along. He was looser tonight. He allowed all that discussion about Frank, which was unusual. He’s generally the most conservative player at the table, and he’s the big winner year after year.”

Amy said, “You seemed to have dull cards.”

Rod agreed. “I only competed in a few hands, but I won enough to cover my antes, and I lost less than a dollar. I’ve had worse nights. You were something. I guess that I shouldn’t have been worried whether you could play. You fit right in.”

Amy had a I-told-you-so look on her face. “It’s like the Good Witch told Dorothy. Some things you have to learn for yourself. I’m in the next block. I’ll look tomorrow to see if George Thomas was in the building on Labor Day. I don’t recognize the name, but there were a ton of names. Right here. Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow morning.”

Amy entered the house and found Sally in the living room.

Sally asked about the game. “I’d bet anything that you won. You were always good with cards.”

“You would win that bet. Eleven dollars.”

“Anyone interesting play in the game?”

Amy described the players. “It was me and Rod, from Milton’s staff. A couple of House staffers who work for a freshman, so you won’t care about them. The host was Brewer. I don’t think I heard anyone call him by his first name, including his wife. He’s a real character, a bureaucrat at Agriculture and not in your circle. The other noteworthy guy was someone they called The Turk. I didn’t quite get his name. Mehmet something. He’s an international lawyer with Conrad. Lorton, & somebody.”

“I know the firm. They represent one of the other companies in our coalition. If I ever met a lawyer named ‘The Turk’ I would have remembered. Did you learn anything about Butcher?”

“Not really. The poker was okay, but there were no real leads. Maybe someone will call me later with something I can use. I came home to change clothes before the game. You were obviously upstairs at the time, but I didn’t disturb you. Or, umm, your friend.”

Sally was not the least embarrassed. She leaned back in her chair and smiled broadly. “So…. what kind of score did he get? It’s been a long time since I could ask anyone that question.”

“It’s hard to tell. I came in late, and the acoustics here are unfamiliar. I would guess that the score was no better than average.”

Sally nodded. “That sounds right. Maybe generous, to be honest.”

“I take it that he wasn’t someone serious.”

Sally shook her head. “No, it’s just business.”

Amy was more than a little surprised at that answer. “You’re not telling me that you get paid to…”

Sally stopped smiling. “No, I’m not telling you that. Not exactly. I’m a lobbyist. You make contacts. You keep in touch. You keep people happy. Some guys are happy with attention. Some are happy if you buy them a drink or lunch. Some are happy to be seen with me at a Washington event. Some guys want more. Of course, a lot of them want more, but it’s worthwhile sometimes. I’m not much different than I was in college. It’s still fun, at least most of the time if the guy isn’t too old. And if it helps me otherwise, I can live with that. It doesn’t happen all that often. It’s always my choice, and no one else knows. This guy won’t tell anyone. His wife would kill him. He’s got more at risk than I do. I usually stick to married guys for that reason.”

Amy repeated slowly. “You usually stick to married guys. Okay, I guess. I follow your reasoning, but I’m still happy I don’t live in Washington anymore. I’ll be delighted to get back to Denver. I’m beginning to feel like Dorothy. All I want to do is go home, and I don’t have the ruby slippers.”

“Maybe Butcher’s murderer has the ruby slippers. That’s how you’ll know who did it. You have to find him. Her! Them? Ever think that he was killed by more than one person?”

That thought did not make Amy happy. “We have enough of a problem with a single killer theory. But you could be right. Anyway, I’ll start again tomorrow searching for the ruby slippers. Good night.”

Chapter 23: Four Invitations

According to the Washington Star, Thursday was Day 11. Amy shrugged off the front-page box, and she wasn’t surprised to find it taped to the door of Frank’s office. Once inside, it didn’t take long for the phone to ring. Dan Gold wanted to know how she did at the game.

Amy was happy at the chance to boast. “I won. You want to print that in the paper? I might give you permission. Eleven dollars. No, make that eleven dollars and fifteen cents. I donated the fifteen cents to the kitty. I think that’s worth a four-column headline.”

Dan was pleased for her. “Congratulations. I hope to drink up your fifteen-cent contribution at the business meeting. As for publishing, even though it’s the first thing you said on the record, I’ll decline the story. It’s an accomplishment, though. The first time at a new game is always hard. What did you think of Brewer? He probably hated that you won.”

“Maybe, but he won more so he didn’t hold it against me. He’d fit in perfectly in the FBI poker game in Denver. I liked the game. It was a good group.”

Dan suggested that the Star might be interested in publishing the poker story. He offered a headline: Butcher Investigator Plays Poker While Investigation Drags On. Amy was not pleased with that thought, and she was tempted to ask Dan about the Star stories. Before she decided, Dan said on his own that he thought that the Star was being pumped up by someone at the Bureau or someone on the Hill.

Dan changed the subject. “I’ve got something new for you. I have a source who says that Senator Barrett was in the building on Labor Day. He isn’t on any list. Senators don’t have to sign in, of course. I can’t figure out why Barrett would’ve wanted to kill Frank, so he isn’t on my suspect list. I thought that you would want to know.”

Amy didn’t like the new information, but she had to be interested. “How good is your source? Can I ask you that?”

Dan answered the question. “Someone who was in the building saw him in the hall outside his office, maybe around noon. The source is someone I trust, someone who knows Barrett by sight. I could print the Barrett item, but it isn’t newsworthy without a reason to connect him to Frank, and I don’t have that. The Star would print it, but my source doesn’t like the Star and won’t take it to them.”

Amy accepted the information with grace. “Okay. Thank you, I think. It’ll make some things harder for me. If there isn’t anything else, I’ll sign off.”

Amy went straight to the Senator’s office. She told Janie it was important, and Janie ushered her into right into the Senator’s office, without a comment on Amy’s new Eastern Market shawl. There were votes scheduled all day, and he was in early. Amy told him that she had a serious political problem for which she needed guidance. The Senator started to ask her about it, but she asked that he call Parisi on the phone.

Once Parisi got on the line, he made the Star the first topic of discussion. No one was happy about the stories, but Amy was relieved that no one blamed her. Milton said that he was getting more comments from other Senators, and Parisi said that folks at the Justice Department were also making remarks. Neither was sure how much longer this could go on without a response. Amy felt even more pressured than before, but neither Parisi nor Milton gave her any specific orders. She felt like she was letting everyone down.

Amy gave a brief update on the case, telling both men about the ground she covered. She reported in detail on the number of people who had been cleared so that both men would understand the effort involved and that progress was being made. She told Parisi how helpful Hicks had been. She also said that being alone made the work slow. “If I had a bunch of agents working directly with me, all the work to date would have taken three or four days. I’m explaining, not complaining. I want you both to understand and not to be too unhappy about the pace. You set the terms, and we all have to live with it. But none of that is my purpose today. I have evidence that Senator Barrett was in the building on Labor Day. He didn’t sign in.”

Milton said, “I never sign in. No Senator does.”

Amy continued, “I asked Chief Alton to beat the bushes, and he did. But no Capitol Hill cop reported seeing him. Nevertheless, a source says he was in the Russell Building in the middle of the day. His office is in Russell so that isn’t a big surprise. But I still think that I need to deal with the report, and that’s why I need your advice.”

Milton asked if she asked Alton about the Senator’s whereabouts.

“That’s part of the problem I have. I don’t much trust Alton. I don’t think he’s dishonest, but I don’t get the feeling that either he or his people are rigorous. If I push, I won’t know if the answer is the truth or what Alton thinks I want to hear. I could go directly to the Senator, but I’m reluctant to do that. It might create its own problems. This is the kind of political problem you told me to bring you. What do you want me to do?”

Milton asked, “Who’s your source?”

Amy wasn’t going to admit that her source was a reporter. She thought that admission would get her fired. “Excuse me, Senator. I didn’t expect that question from you. I thought I’m here because we’re all about protecting sources and confidential information.”

Milton retreated quickly. “Sorry. It was a dumb question.”

Parisi tried a different tack. “Can you say how reliable your source is?”

Amy could answer that one. “The source is a smart, competent individual who has provided reliable information in recent days. I don’t think the information is from direct observation, so I don’t think that my informant would stand up in court to support a warrant application. But we’re not anywhere near that stage. If it was anyone but a Senator, I wouldn’t bother the two of you. I would just pursue the lead. I have no information to suggest that Barrett had a motive. To be honest, I would be happy to avoid talking to Barrett, but I felt obliged to ask what to do.”

“Ben, what do you know about Barrett?”

Milton responded. “I’d be more concerned about his involvement if the victim was female. Butcher was no competition for Barrett. That particular angle is unlikely. Staffers don’t compete for women with Senators.”

There was a pause while everyone though over the problem.

Milton had an idea. “How about if I approach Barrett on the floor and tell him that his name came up in the investigation because he was in the building. If he flatly denies it, we’ll stop there unless we get better information. If he doesn’t, I’ll take Amy to see him. Does that work for everybody?”

Parisi spoke next. “That’s fine with me. Do you propose to sit in on the interview?”

Amy said, “That’s a good idea. I would welcome a partner on this interview.”

Milton didn’t want to. “Nope. I plan to introduce you and leave. I think I’d be in the way.”

Amy pushed him. “Would a witness be useful because it’s a Senator?”

Parisi said, “If you want a witness, I’ll get you another agent or, God help us, you could take Chief Alton. I think having another Senator would violate protocol and could create problems for everyone if any controversy arose. Otherwise, Ben’s plan sounds good to me. You can handle a lightweight like Barrett all by yourself, Amy. I understand he does have a reputation with women. Did you want protection from him?”

Amy laughed nervously and didn’t respond directly to that last question. “Okay. I guess we have a plan. I’ll wait until you tell me whether I need to interview him.”

Parisi asked, “Do you have anything else to report?”

Amy did not. “Not right now. Things are moving along, I’ve narrowed down the list quite a bit, but I still don’t have any idea who did it. I’m still going through files. It’s amazing how many investigations Butcher was running.”

Parisi said that he wanted an immediate report once the Barrett angle was resolved one way or the other.

Amy and Milton agreed to that, and Parisi signed off. Amy turned to leave.

Milton stopped her. “Wait a minute, Amy. How’d you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Amy was stunned at the question. She didn’t expect it, but she was secretly pleased. She felt the temptation, but she knew what the answer had to be. She played for time. “I don’t know, Senator. I’m going to be working late tonight.”

“That’s not a problem. The Senate will have votes at least until 8:30 today.”

Amy was still thinking. “Dinner sounds like it would be inconsistent with our arrangement for the investigation. What would Charlie say about it?”

Milton had an answer. “I don’t propose to tell him. How about if we agree not to discuss the case? I would be glad for a chance to learn more about you.”

Amy weighed it all and finally felt obliged to decline. “I’m sorry, Senator. I mean, I’m flattered, and under any other circumstances, I’d be delighted. But I just can’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

The bells announcing a vote on the Senate floor went off at that instant.

“I hear bells ringing, Senator, but I think they’re for you and not me.” Amy laughed at her own joke, and Milton smiled as well.

Milton accepted her decision. “Okay. Let me know if you ever change your mind. Otherwise, I’ll let you know about Barrett shortly. He’ll show up to vote, and I’ll call you. Wait by the phone.”

They both left the office, with the Senator headed toward the Senate floor and Amy to the fourth floor. Amy saw that the Senator was immediately accosted by a man in his thirties wearing a three-piece blue pinstripe suit and a bright orange hunter's cap. The man also carried a green Harvard book bag with the number 12 on it. The hat also had a button with the number 12.

"Hello Senator". I'm E.W. Leopold from Monessen, PA, and I'm the President of the Child Draft Association. I’m seeking your support for the drafting of 12-year-old boys for the Army."

Oh, no, thought the Senator. He's a constituent. "You'll have to excuse me, but I must get to the Senate floor for an important vote."

"That's okay, Senator. I'll be happy to walk with you. I've been trying to get an appointment to see you. The Child Draft Association believes that many of our nation's problems, both military and civilian, can be solved if the United States would start drafting 12-year-old boys for the Army.”

Milton knew how to be noncommittal. “That’s a unique proposal. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone suggest anything like it.”

“The draft won't be as disruptive for kids of that age as it is for 18-year-olds. At 18, most people are starting college or starting a job, and they don't want to have their lives disrupted. They make poor soldiers because most of them want to be somewhere else.”

"Second, 12-year-olds love to fight and would welcome – "

At that moment, the Senators-only elevator arrived. But the Senator's prayer that it would be crowded with other Senators went unanswered. As he entered, he rolled his eyes at the elevator operator. She understood.

"I'm sorry" she said to Leopold, "but this elevator is reserved for Senators only."

"It's okay," Leopold said as he walked straight into the elevator. "I'm with Senator Milton."

Milton smiled weakly as Leopold continued talking. Maybe I'll shake him at the subway, he thought.

"Second, 12-year-olds love to fight and would welcome the opportunity to have guns, wear uniforms, eat lousy food, go through basic training, and the like. They still have the enthusiastic patriotism of youth, and there would be fewer complaints from a 12-year-old draftee about living conditions or the absence of women. They love crawling around in the mud."

They made it to the subway, but the train that was waiting was just as empty as the elevator.

"Third, kids can be real troublemakers at 12. Their parents would be happy to get rid of them for a year or two. It would also be easier to keep the kids off of drugs, away from crime, and out of gangs when they’re in the army."

“Fourth, taking boys out of public schools would reduce local education costs and allow schools to use existing funds to raise teacher salaries, lower class sizes, expand libraries, increase science programs, and give girls a better chance in class.”

“Fifth, when the boys return from basic training, they would be more disciplined and less troublesome. They would be programmed to follow orders from authority and to respect their teachers and parents. Summer training would keep up their military skills while keeping them out of trouble when school’s out. It solves a bunch of different problems all at the same time. It wouldn’t cost more than we spend now, and it saves money in other ways. It’s an idea that needs more attention. I’m asking for your support.”

The subway ride was over, and the Senator headed up the escalator for the sanctuary of the Capitol elevators. Even Leopold recognized that he had no chance of continuing with the Senator at this point.

"It's an interesting idea," the Senator said, "but I'm not prepared to support it right now. I’ll have to think about it."

"Okay. Here's a copy of the latest position paper from the Child Draft Association. I'll call you next week to see if you need any more information."

Milton took the paper. “If you have anything else, send it to my Administrative Assistant Doug Olsen. Thanks.”

Milton entered the elevator, where he joined Senator Burton. Mercifully, the President of the Child Draft Association did not try to follow. The doors closed.

Senator Burton said, “I hope he was one of your constituents and not mine. Loved his hat, though. Is that the latest fashion in upstate Pennsylvania?”

Milton said, "That was a nut who wants us to draft 12-year-olds for the Army. Has he buttonholed you yet?"

"Haven't had the pleasure," said Burton.

"Well, be careful. He followed me over here. These people are amazing. By the end, he was almost beginning to make sense."

As they entered the Senate Chamber. Milton handed the Child Draft Association’s position paper to a Senate Page. "Burn this," he said with a smile.

Senator Burton looked to the gallery for his staffer. The staffer turned thumbs down.

The Clerk called out “Senator Burton”, and the Senator voted no. He then turned to Milton and asked, "What did I just vote on, anyway?"

Milton looked on the Senate floor for Senator Barrett. He hadn’t voted yet, so Milton waited. Milton didn’t particularly like Barrett, thinking him lacking in substance and too interested in chasing women. When he finally showed up, Milton went over to him. “I need to talk to you confidentially about the investigation into Frank Butcher’s death.”

Barrett knew about the investigation. He smiled charmingly. “If you want things to be secret, you should keep them off the front page of the papers.”

Milton ignored the comment. “Your name came up. I’m talking to you so that we can handle this without the story making any page in the newspaper.”

Barrett said simply, “I didn’t know Butcher, and I didn’t kill him. I don’t see how I’m relevant.”

Milton explained. “The truth is that you almost surely aren’t, but the investigator needs to clear anyone who was in the building that day. There’s evidence that you were in Russell on Labor Day.”

Milton paused for a minute here for a reaction, but Barrett said nothing. “We can’t treat you any differently than anyone else who was in the building. You understand that. I want this to happen as quietly as possible. I assume that you do as well.”

Barrett didn’t deny the report. “Yes, and I do appreciate your concern. How do you want to proceed? I’ll do whatever you want.”

Milton suggested, “I’ll make an appointment to see you tomorrow, if that’s okay, and I’ll show up with the investigator. I’ll leave immediately, she’ll talk to you, and if all goes well, that will take care of it. There won’t be a paper trail of her coming to see you, so there won’t be anything for anyone to gossip about, but your box will be checked off in the investigation. If there’s a question later, we can say that everything was handled according to Hoyle, and that’ll cover you. And us, for that matter.”

Barrett agreed. “That’s great. Tomorrow’s uncertain. I’m around all day today. Why don’t we get this over with? Come by in an hour with your investigator. This could be fun.”

Milton thought that odd. “Okay. See you soon.”

“Thanks a lot, Ben, for being so discreet.”

An hour later, Milton and Amy Forest entered Senator Barrett’s personal office. They had to wait a few minutes in the outer office, and Milton grabbed a phone and made a call.

Amy sat on the sofa, remembering being in Barrett’s office years before. But that office was on the House side, and Barrett was then a newly elected Congressman. Amy was a new agent, and she was handling scutwork, a security clearance for someone who listed Barrett as a reference. A congressional reference was rare for a mid-level executive branch job.

The interview was pro forma. The clearance was for a former colleague of Barrett before he got elected, and Amy had found no reason not to give the guy a clearance. Barrett was the last interview, and he said the same positive things that others had said. No drugs, no gambling, no financial difficulties, no extremist politics, no criminal or loyalty problems of any kind. That was consistent with what Amy had heard from others, and she thanked Barrett and got up to leave.

He asked her to sit down for a minute. “We’re all done with the clearance questions, right? I want that our official business to be over before I ask you out.”

Amy was surprised but interested. Barrett was tall, young, handsome, and seemed appealing. She quibbled briefly, expressing concern that she might have a conflict of interest because she came to see him on a work assignment. Barrett waived off the concern, saying that was why he asked if her official business was over. Amy didn’t struggle too hard, and they made a date for the next day.

That was the beginning of what Amy thought was a pleasant relationship. Dinners, receptions, movie premieres followed over the next few weeks. Barrett brought Amy to some exclusive events to which Congressmen are routinely invited. The invitations were punctuated by gaps when Congress was out of town and by the many weekends when Barrett returned home to his district. Amy even drove Barrett to the airport one Friday. Amy didn’t quite know where it was all heading, but it was fun at the time, and she was happy with it. She learned a lot about Barrett’s district and about what a Congressman does. All those years living near the Capitol, and she didn’t know much about what happened there.

After a few weeks, Barrett asked Amy for help. He was about to hire a new senior staff person. He wondered if Amy could look to see if he had an FBI file and if there was anything that he should know about the guy.

Amy didn’t like it. “I’m not supposed to do things like that.”

Barrett made light of the request. “But it isn’t much different than what I did for you did when you first came to see me. You wanted my opinion about a candidate for a government job. I was happy to help you, and it all worked out so well. I’m not asking you for a copy of his file or even for any details. I only want to know if there’s a reason I shouldn’t hire this guy. Remember the last question you asked about the clearance? ‘Do you know any other reason why he shouldn’t be given a position of trust in the federal government?’ That’s all I want to know. If I hire the wrong person, it could be the end of my political career.”

Amy was conflicted, but she knew that she could do what he asked without getting caught. She was pleased to be able to do a favor for Barrett because they were getting along so well. She knew that other agents did that kind of checking for their friends and for private investigators, all under the table. It was standard practice for an agent to check up on his daughter’s boyfriend. A peek wasn’t a big deal. It turned out to be simple because there was no file and nothing to report. That made it seem like less of a transgression to Amy, and Barrett was happy with the report. He hired the guy.

A week later, Amy was working security at an event at Blair House, across from the White House. It was a major black-tie dinner, with many high-ranking officials, diplomats, and Washington society types in attendance. Amy got these assignments regularly because there were few women available in law enforcement for the work. It was the kind of assignment that most agents – especially most of the new women agents – would have been delighted to take.

Her perch wasn’t the most interesting place to be, since it was off to the side and out of the mainstream. But Amy had enough of a vantage point to see Congressman Barrett stroll in arm-in-arm with an extremely attractive blonde, nearly a foot taller than Amy, elegantly dressed in a strapless gown that showed off a fabulous figure. Nearly everyone stared at Barrett’s date, even the women. Barrett didn’t notice Amy. Amy was sure that the woman wasn’t on a first date with the Congressman.

Amy couldn’t find a rational reason for being unhappy. She didn’t have any exclusive understanding with Barrett, although she hadn’t gone out with anyone else since that first date with Barrett. Barrett hadn’t invited her to this event, but she recognized that she couldn’t have gone with him anyway. Plus, she had turned Barrett down for events when she had to work other evenings. All in all, she couldn’t find any reasonable cause to be miffed that Barrett was there with someone else. She didn’t like it anyway, and she really didn’t like it that the woman was so stunning.

Amy, of course, said nothing to Barrett, and they continued to see each other from time to time in the ensuing weeks, but Amy felt that the bloom was off the rose. At dinner one night, Barrett had another request. It was the same request, did a particular guy have an FBI file. Amy was hard pressed to find a reason to say no, but something didn’t seem right to her. She told him that she wouldn’t be able to check the files for a few days. She used the time to try to find out why Barrett wanted to know. It didn’t take long. Local newspapers reported that the guy was thinking about running against Barrett in the next election.

Amy felt used, badly used. She thought about confronting Barrett, but she wasn’t sure that he could be accused, shamed, or embarrassed. Everything was politics to him, and fair game. She was afraid that he would laugh at her. She didn’t know any more if Barrett was interested in her or was whether he was using her for her connections. After all, how could she compete with that blonde? She suddenly lost faith in her judgment and her instincts, and that was the worst part. What had been an agreeable interlude now seemed a nightmare. In addition to blaming herself, she blamed it on the penetrating corruption of Washington politics. Barrett himself was officially beneath contempt as far as she was concerned. She put in for a transfer the next day, and left town ten days later. She didn’t take Barrett’s calls. He didn’t try hard, and Amy couldn’t decide if she felt relieved or insulted about that.

All those memories went through Amy’s head, when now Senator Barrett stepped out of his office. Barrett’s eyes lit up when he saw Amy.

“This is Amy Forest, Dave. She’s the lead investigator on the Butcher murder. She has questions, and I propose to leave the two of you alone so she can proceed. It’s her investigation, not mine.”

“Great. Thanks Ben. Come in.” Milton started to leave. “It’s nice to see you again, Amy. It’s been a long time.”

Milton turned his head in surprise at the word again, but he kept walking out the door.

Amy had to admit reluctantly that Barrett was still handsome, now with a touch of gray hair. Amy thought that he somehow looked more like an actor playing a Senator than an actual Senator.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Senator.” Amy put an emphasis on Senator that suggested both recognition of the change in status since the last time they had seen each other and maybe just the tiniest touch of contempt for the political advancement. Barrett didn’t notice any of it, and he let Amy proceed without further comment.

“I’m investigating the murder of Frank Butcher, and I’m talking to everyone who was in the Russell Building that day. I have a report that you were there on Labor Day. Is that true?”

Barrett said that it was. “I drove in maybe 11 or 12 o’clock, came to my office briefly, and I left the building to meet someone nearby for lunch. I read the press clips on the murder, and it seems possible that I might have been here when the murder took place or just before. I figured someone would eventually ask me about it.”

Senator Barrett suddenly got much more informal. “I’ve been waiting for you, Amy, ever since I saw that story in the Post that you were the investigator. You still look the same. I missed you.”

Amy ignored it. “Did you know Frank Butcher?”

“Nope. Never heard of him. I’m not on the Judiciary Committee. I’m lucky to have a seat on Senate Finance, as well as a few other minor committees.”

Amy stuck to the script. “Did you ever do any business with him, directly or indirectly? Was he investigating you or anyone that you know?”

Barrett was firm. “No. That’s a flat denial. I don’t know if anyone on my staff knew him or did business with him in any way. But I didn’t know him, I didn’t have any reason to kill him, and I didn’t kill him. That’s another flat denial.”

Amy tried again. “Did you see anything or anyone that seemed out of place?”

Barrett teased her, “You mean did I see someone running down the hall dripping with blood?”

Amy was brusque. “Can we just get through this, please? I’m here to collect information and to provide you with cover in case anyone wonders if you were treated differently because you’re a Senator. That’s all.”

Barrett got serious. “No, I didn’t see anything. I came up in the elevator, ducked in my office, and then went out the same way. I walked out through the garage. I left my car here.”

Amy wasn’t finished. “Did you have any indirect connections with Butcher? Did you have any friends in common? Were you interested in the same woman?”

Barrett smiled at Amy’s visible discomfort.

Barrett said no. “Flat denial. I honestly don’t know anything that will help you with the investigation. There are a zillion staffers up here, and I don’t know most of them. I don’t even know everyone who works on my own staff.”

“Okay, I think that’s everything I need.” Amy got up to leave.

Barrett didn’t want her to leave. “Wait. We’re done with the interview. Can we talk about old times? Where have you been all these years? You disappeared on me.”

Amy responded unenthusiastically. “I got transferred to Denver, and I’ve been there ever since. They dragged me back to handle this investigation. As soon as it’s over, I head back to Denver. What else can I say?”

Barrett was not deterred. “Well, Denver is a big change from Washington. And the Senate is a big change from the House. How would you like to have dinner with me again to talk about all the changes? Maybe we can pick things up where they left off.”

That’s two dinner invitations today, Amy thought. She wasn’t tempted at all by the second one.

Amy used the same line she used with Milton. “I’m sorry, but I’m working hard on this investigation, and I don’t have time.”

Barrett took it gracefully. “Well, take it as an open invitation. I would love to see you again. We got along so well before. When the investigation is over, maybe you can find the time. I’m a Senator now, and I don’t have to fly back home every weekend.”

Amy thanked him. “If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.”

Amy almost ran out of the office. She never looked back. She went to Milton’s office, but the Senator was tied up. She left a note with Janie that Barrett had no information and was not a suspect. Amy asked what Janie thought of Barrett. “Well, even his own appointments secretary thinks he’s scummy, if that makes you feel better.” Amy was pleased to hear that.

Amy went back to her office and called Parisi to make the same report. Parisi took the call and said that he was glad that Barrett was cleared. He knew that the involvement of a Senator in any way would have complicated things tremendously. Amy was about to sign off, but Parisi had another question.

“How would you like to have dinner with me tonight, Amy? Just you and me. Forget that I’m the FBI Director, and I’m not your Uncle Charlie anymore. I know a nice quiet French restaurant with a private room where no one will see us.”

For Amy, the question came entirely out of left field. She had heard rumors about Parisi and women agents, but she never knew if there was anything to it. It was always vague innuendo, and she only heard about it from men, never from other women. She never expected a dinner invitation it from him, and she didn’t take it well.

Amy asked pointedly, “What about Catherine? Is she going to be at dinner?”

Parisi didn’t catch the tone in Amy’s voice. “No. I’ll tell her that I’m working late. She’s used to that. This will be the two of us.”

Amy struggled to be civil. After all, Parisi was her boss. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have dinner with you. It would violate too many rules. It wouldn’t be right. I would be happy to have dinner with you and Catherine when this case is over.” Parisi finally seemed to get Amy’s point and didn’t push her. The conversation ended.

Amy minded Milton’s invitation only because she felt tempted. She didn’t like Barrett’s one bit, although she wasn’t especially surprised at it. Parisi’s invitation, however, made her angry, and she hoped that Parisi recognized her anger. She didn’t want it to happen again. It made her want to go home, back to Denver. Instead, she went back to the office and reviewed files for the rest of the day.

Around 6 p.m., Rod walked in the office. He’d been working on legislation scheduled for floor action the next day. He asked Amy if she had made any progress. She told him that Barrett’s name had come up, but that he had been cleared. She left out all the details.

Rod was sympathetic. “You look like you had a particularly tough day today. Are you getting frustrated with the lack of progress?”

Amy was. “Frustration is normal, to be honest. All I can do is keep at it until something clicks or someone confesses. I plan to be here late tonight. I’m going up Pennsylvania Avenue to get a hamburger first. Want to join me?”

Rod declined. “Normally, I’d be happy to, but my wife’s family is in town, and tonight is a command performance at home.”

Amy leaned back in her chair laughing out loud. Rod looked mystified. “I don’t get it. Did I say something funny?”

“Yes. No. It has nothing to do with you. Someday, I’ll explain what was so amusing. See you tomorrow.”

Chapter 24: The Archives Lady

On Friday morning – or Day 12 according to the Star and the note on her door – Amy decided that she wouldn’t read the papers and stuck to her decision. Sally had told her that there was nothing more than the counter anyway.

Amy took a cab to the National Archives and found the Office of Congressional Affairs easily. On paper, it appeared that Beatrice Helvig had a motive to kill Butcher because of his investigation of her husband, John Murphy. Helvig was 60-ish, much taller than Amy, attractive for her age, and well dressed in a tasteful blue suit and pearl necklace. She looked more fashionable than the average bureaucrat. Her grey hair contributed to an aura of self-assurance. Her office was small, and the desk had no stacks of papers. Bea waited nervously for Amy.

Helvig had an office down the hall from the Archivist, so she was clearly important. The furniture was mahogany, much nicer than the furniture in Senate offices. The walls had stylish portraits of Presidential wives. Amy recognized Martha Washington, Dolly Madison, and Mary Lincoln. She didn’t recognize the others but thought one might be Mrs. Harding. The office suited Helvig, who fit into it perfectly. As she sat down, Amy noticed one document on the wall. It was a framed, one-line letter from George Washington to the Senate nominating John Jay to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Amy asked if it was the original letter.

Helvig said no. “The original’s in the vault. I keep a copy here because it helps me to remember that sometimes the best way to deal with the Congress is the simplest way. I like to think that George Washington sat in front of a piece of parchment trying to decide how to send a nomination. It was a new government entirely. There was no precedent. He wrote one sentence, signed it, and that was the nomination. Of course, the historian in me has to admit that it could have been his clerk who wrote the document. I’ve always wondered if George himself signed it or whether they followed the more modern practice of letting staff members sign for their principals. The signature looks authentic, but I’m no expert.”

Amy began, “As I told you on the phone, I’m investigating the murder of Frank Butcher in the Russell Building on Labor Day. Where were you on Labor Day?”

Helvig was matter of fact. “I’ve read about your investigation in the newspapers.”

Amy winced as Bea continued, “I was here briefly the day of the murder, then I was in the Rayburn Building on the House side, and I went home. Not directly. I went to a supermarket on the way home to buy something for dinner.”

Amy didn’t respond directly. “Butcher was killed by someone who was in the Russell Building. I’m trying to talk to everyone who was there or who might have been there. I’m collecting information. Did you know Butcher?”

Helvig did not.

“Did you ever do business with him? Talk to him on the phone?”

“No.”

“Did you have any reason not to like him?”

Helvig chose her words with care. “He never investigated the Archives while I was here doing congressional affairs. He was involved in a review of an Archives program that funded law enforcement records preservation. That was before my time.”

Amy put down her pen. “Look, I know who your husband is, and I know about Butcher’s investigation of him. This will take all afternoon if I have to drag everything out of you. If you didn’t kill Butcher, then it’ll be easier for both of us if you’re open and honest with me. I’m not investigating your husband’s case, and I don’t care about anything other than Butcher’s murder. Does that make it easier for you?”

Helvig stared at Amy for a few seconds. She got up to close her door, even though it was already closed. “I don’t have a precedent for being interviewed in a murder investigation. I don’t know how I should proceed. But I didn’t kill Frank Butcher, and I don’t know who did.”

Amy was encouraging. “Okay. That’s a good start. Let’s talk about Labor Day. How did you get to the Rayburn Building?”

Helvig sat back at her desk. “I often walk there from here, but it was raining so I drove. I went in the horseshoe entrance to Rayburn because it’s the only one open on holidays. I got to the room where the meeting was held around 10:30, and I stayed until the meeting ended around 2 or 2:30. I got in my car and went home. Or to the supermarket and then home. I was home the rest of the day.”

Amy asked if she ever left the hearing room.

Helvig said no, but then corrected herself. “I did leave to go to the bathroom once or twice, but I wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes. I didn’t leave the Rayburn Building to go elsewhere on the Hill. I wasn’t in Russell that day.”

“Where was your husband?”

Helvig didn’t know. “He was supposed to referee softball games in the neighborhood, but they were rained out as far as I know. It may have cleared up by the end of the day. I don’t know what he did. But he was home when I left, and he was home when I got back.”

“Do you have two cars?

Helvig nodded yes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Amy saw that she was in distress and waited. Finally, Helvig managed to say, “Look. In the interest of getting this over, let me tell you about my husband. He and I…. And this is strictly confidential. Hardly anyone here knows anything of what I am about to say. Few people even know that John Murphy is my husband. I don’t want them to know.”

Amy reassured her that her interest was narrow and anything not relevant to Butcher’s murder was not within that range.

Helvig started again. “We don’t exactly get along. I wouldn’t be upset if you sent him to jail, but I don’t think that he murdered Butcher or was capable of it. He’s seriously depressed. He lives in the basement of our house, and he rarely leaves. He can’t get work because the investigation makes him anathema in the contracting world. He’s too proud to take a blue collar or minimum wage job, and I doubt he could get one. His skills are all bureaucratic, and they’re hard to sell to anyone who isn’t working in or with government. He barely has enough money to support himself. He does things in the neighborhood, like refereeing softball. But John rarely gets further afield. I’ll bet he doesn’t drive more than 1500 miles a year on his car.”

Amy asked if he was being treated for depression.

Helvig shrugged. “Not as far as I know. I have as little to do with him as is humanly possible, given that we live in the same house. We don’t even have meals together. Some would say that Butcher ruined his life. But I think that John ruined his own life. I don’t know what John would say. I never heard him threaten to do something to Butcher. He was a successful contracting officer getting close to retirement. He did stupid things, and he got caught. He lost his job, the investigation cost hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees. I insisted that we have separate finances when it began to get costly, but it didn’t insulate me from all the financial effects. We had to refinance the mortgage to raise cash to pay his lawyer. He’s lucky he didn’t go to jail. He’s still not out of the woods. Our marriage wasn’t all that great before this happened, and I stood by him during it all. I wanted him to leave, but he had nowhere to go and no resources, and I gave in. I’m still working because I can’t afford to retire as I had planned. Anyway, I still like my job, so everything isn’t terrible for me. But I hate to go home.”

Amy kept pushing. “Is it fair to say that you didn’t like Frank Butcher?”

Helvig pushed back. “I don’t like my husband. I blame him for everything. He’s the one who did it. Butcher just was the one who caught him. If John wasn’t so stupid in the first place, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Were you with him on the cruise that led to his downfall?”

Helvig was not. “I didn’t want to go, and John didn’t want me to go. I think that he may have been involved with one of the women from the computer company. I don’t know that for sure, but I didn’t care. I knew something was going on between John and the company. John was so positive that he couldn’t get caught. I don’t know what got into him. He wasn’t like that before. He was an honest guy for most of his career. Our marriage was over long before then, except formally anyway. We were headed toward a divorce. We’d even talked about it. But the scandal intervened, and his lawyer said that a divorce in the middle would hurt his case. I don’t care about his case anymore, but I don’t have…I can’t bring myself…”

She looked considerably less self-assured now and near tears. “He begged me to let him stay in the house, and I did. Killing Frank Butcher wouldn’t get John out of my basement. If I had that much nerve, I would’ve gotten rid of John a long time ago. I don’t even have the wherewithal to make him leave, even now, after everything that happened. I couldn’t kill anyone.”

Helvig looked completely drained. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and held it in her hand. She turned to look straight at Amy. “Is that open and honest enough for you?”

Amy thought that Helvig was either a great actress or a sincerely unhappy woman. She was as convinced as she could be that Helvig didn’t kill Butcher and turned the discussion in other directions.

“Who else was at the meeting in the Rayburn building that Monday?”

Helvig recovered and became more matter of fact. “There were a bunch of House and Senate appropriations staffers. I won’t remember everyone. Just get a staff list from both subcommittees, and everyone was there. This is their big bill for the year. There were some congressional affairs types from other agencies. I didn’t know most of them. A few from Treasury and the Post Office. It’s the Treasury Postal appropriations bill, so that’s why they were there. The same bill funds other small agencies like GSA and the Archives. John…somebody was there from GSA. I try to stay away from the GSA people as much as I can. I can’t remember his name offhand. The Archives is part of GSA, and we don’t get along. They’re always undercutting us on the Hill.”

Amy asked about George Thomas, the guy she learned about at the poker game who worked for the Archives. Amy hadn’t found his name on any Labor Day list, House or Senate.

Helvig nodded in recognition. “Oh, I forgot him. He works here. He’s terribly interested in anything having to do with Capitol Hill, and I use him from time to time as an assistant. I’ll let him to cover hearings when I can’t go. I’m a one-woman shop here, so I take help where I can, and George is what I get. George usually prefers the Senate side, but he will do the House too. He’s been helpful at times.”

Amy detected something in her tone. “I take it you don’t like him?”

“Well, he’s a squirrelly, secretive kind of guy, and I don’t trust him all that much. He comes and goes unexpectedly. He begged me to let him come to the Monday meeting. He met me at the Rayburn horseshoe entrance, and we walked in together. They didn’t make him sign in since he was with me. In the end, he stayed for only half an hour or so and left maybe around 11:30. I didn’t see him again that day. I don’t know why he wanted to come in the first place. These meetings are often dull, and it is rare that committee staff wants to hear from agency people. I never said a word at the meeting, but I thought that I needed to be there. You never know. The right word at the right time can get your agency millions of dollars, justify a new program, or prevent a big cut. It’s my job to be there just in case. There’s a good deal of haphazardness to the process. The biggest concern we have is that GSA will try to increase their budget at our expense. That’s why we have to be vigilant.”

Amy followed up, “Did Thomas have anything to do with Frank Butcher?”

Helvig was clear. “As far as I know, this agency has not had any contact or done any business with Frank Butcher for several years. Before my time, Butcher investigated a program for preservation of law enforcement records, like I said. But those problems were fixed. We never heard about it again. I don’t know why Thomas would be involved in any way with Butcher. He’s not supposed to do anything on the Hill without an express direction from me. If Thomas ever dealt with Butcher, I never heard about it. He’s supposed to report all Hill contacts to me. Anyway, except for Approps, we do most of our Hill business with Senate Governmental Affairs and House Gov Ops – that’s Government Operations. We don’t normally do any business with the Judiciary Committees. Of course, everyone in town is beholden to the appropriations committees”

Amy fished for more about Thomas. “Why was Thomas so interested in Congress?”

“I can’t answer that. He’s a cataloguer here, and that’s not exciting work. He may like the diversion. I’ve always suspected that he had an ulterior motive, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve seen others in the past show interest, and one or two ended up finding a job on the Hill. Thomas is probably too much of a misfit for that.”

Amy knew that she would have to talk to Thomas. “I can’t rule him out based on what you told me.”

Helvig did not suggest otherwise. “I’m not vouching for him, but I can’t dream up a reason why he would want to kill Frank Butcher. I don’t know where he went when he left Rayburn. And I don’t know how he left the building. He knows how to get from the House side to the Senate side underground. It’s one of the first things you learn doing congressional affairs. There’s a convoluted path through the bowels of the Capitol that comes in handy when it’s raining or when the place is closed. Once you get in one building, you can go anywhere without much attention from the police. On a holiday, they’re asleep half the time at the more boring posts.”

Amy saw the end in sight. “Do you have anything else to offer that might help? If you saw something unusual that day, a person who looked out of place, anything at all. Sometimes the smallest observation helps an investigation.”

Helvig shook her head. “I can’t think of anything. It was an ordinary, boring, rainy holiday. Even the meeting was boring, although that isn’t a complaint. The result was good. We got the appropriation that we wanted.”

Amy stood up. “I or one of my colleagues will talk to your husband in the next few days. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss our conversation with him.”

“That’s not a problem. I talk to him as little as possible.”

Amy returned to the Russell building. She called Walter Hicks and asked him to send an agent to interview John Murphy. Based on Bea’s description, Amy didn’t think that Murphy killed Butcher. Murphy’s downfall took place years earlier, and it seemed unlikely that he would seek revenge so much later. Amy told Hicks briefly about Murphy’s connection to Butcher and suggested that the agent review the Murphy case files in the FBI’s files. The main purpose of the interview was to see if Murphy had an alibi. If he didn’t, Amy would talk to him herself later.

Late in the day, Hicks called back. Murphy had an alibi that checked out. He was supposed to referee softball games in his neighborhood, and he showed up at the clubhouse during the day to see if the games were going to be played. Someone saw him around the time that the murder took place. Murphy’s name moved off the suspect list.

Hicks added one disturbing fact. Murphy reported to the agent that he had been questioned by another investigator. He couldn’t describe the individual, other than to say that he was a white male who said he was investigating the murder of Frank Butcher and asked a few questions about Murphy’s whereabouts on Labor Day. Amy and Hicks both agreed that this was likely the same guy who talked to Butcher’s neighbor. But neither had any idea who it was.

Amy pondered whether to ask Dan Gold. She had something to offer, namely the alibi of John Murphy, and Gold might know something about the other investigator. She knew that bit of information wasn’t newsworthy, and it would give her a chance to give something back to Gold as a courtesy. She had to admit to herself that Gold had been useful. She put off the decision.

Hicks brought up the continuing coverage in the Star and said “the Bureau” was unhappy about it. Amy didn’t respond. Just as Amy thought they were done, Hicks asked for help. “I’m hoping that you can help us out with information on the insurance privacy bill. We’re concerned that it’ll interfere with our ability to get medical records in fraud cases. Can you provide insight on the bill’s prospects?”

Amy was taken aback. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. Don’t you have people who track legislative issues full time?”

“We do, but the guy assigned to this bill had a heart attack, and we’ve lost our connection there. I’m worried that we may miss the boat since the end of the session is so near. I figure that since you’re there and talked to the staffers working the bill, you can tell us something.”

Amy was not willing. “It’s not my job. I’m here investigating a murder.”

Hicks insisted. “Look, you’re still an agent, and the Bureau needs your help. I’m not asking you to lobby or to do anything but give me an update on events. Is that so hard?”

Amy refused. “First of all, I’m not an FBI agent today. I’m on the Senate payroll. The Director set me up this way to insulate the investigation from FBI control. Second …”

Hicks pushed harder. “I know you’re not on the Bureau payroll at the moment, but you will be again in a few days or a few weeks. This Senate payroll thing is a cover story. It doesn’t change the reality.”

Amy stood firm. “Maybe, but it’s still important. I’m telling people that I’m interviewing that I’m not an FBI agent, and that sometimes makes a difference. I wouldn’t get the cooperation I’m getting otherwise.”

Hicks was more than annoyed. “You may be on the Senate payroll, but you’re using a lot of resources here. I’ve had more than a dozen agents here doing background checks, confirming alibis, and questioning witnesses. I’ve done everything you asked, haven’t I?”

Amy could not deny it. “And I’m grateful that you’re carrying out the Director’s instructions so well. I acknowledge and appreciate all your help. We’re both doing what we were ordered to do. I just hate this. I’m here in one role, and now I’m being asked to use my access and connections for something entirely different. This is what I dislike the most about Washington. Everybody wants to use you.”

Hicks tried another approach. “It’s not like I’m asking for inside, secret information that you were given under an express promise of confidentiality. You talked to the staffers, and you must have a sense about whether they’ve made progress. I want to know how many resources we should expend on this bill. It’s not the only one that we're tracking, and if this bill has real prospects for emerging from conference, then we need to work it harder. I don’t want to know names, dates, places, or quotes from the people you interviewed. I want your overall assessment of the bill’s prospects. Everyone in Washington traffics in this type of information. It's routine, like talking about the weather.”

Amy tried another argument. “Plus, I don’t have any real experience at this type of assessment. I don’t know that much about the legislative process, and I don’t know how to put what I’ve been told in any perspective.”

Hicks kept at her. “Come on. This isn’t that hard. Tell me what you know. I’ll discount it for your lack of experience, but you still know more about this conference than anyone else I can call.”

Amy asked him to call the staffers directly. She offered the names of the right people.

Hicks didn’t buy it. “I don’t know any of the staff on this bill, and they’ll be suspicious of a call from the FBI. We’re cautious about Hill contacts. Half the time we ask someone for help or advice, they put the bite on us for a favor. It can be difficult.”

Amy liked that answer. “Well, that’s my point exactly.”

Hicks was getting angry. “I don’t know what your problem is. You’re overreacting to a simple request.”

Amy wasn’t happy, but she didn’t think she could continue to resist. It was late on a Friday afternoon, and she was exhausted and depressed. She had to admit to herself that Hicks’ question wasn’t all that unreasonable. She felt her standards wilting under pressure, and she gave up. “Okay, but I won’t make a general practice of doing this. This is a one-time thing. Is that understood?”

Hicks agreed, sort of. “I promise not to ask you again. At least until next time. Then we can replay this fight all over again. But next time may never come so let’s not worry about that. Anyway, thank you for the help today.”

Amy sighed. She told him what she had learned by talking to staffers, suggesting that the insurance privacy bill conference was not going well. Her guess was that it wouldn’t emerge.

“What I don’t know from a lack of experience is whether this is normal. Maybe conferences get to a seeming point of impasse and then move forward.”

Hicks had a sense of that. “Some do, but the more normal pattern of successful compromises is progress on smaller issues, with the big points left for future resolution. Things can happen quickly at the end, but not without good will among the participants. Or a major outside force. Anyway, you gave me a more sophisticated report than I sometimes get from my own experienced congressional affairs people. You may have a future in the Bureau’s congressional affairs office if you want it.”

Amy could almost sense Hicks laughing at her with that last comment. “Don’t sit by the phone waiting for me to apply for that job,” she deadpanned

Amy hung up, but she still couldn’t get away from feeling that she had violated her own principles. She doubted that Sally Sutton would having this internal conflict. Or maybe anyone else in Washington. All in all, it had been a tough day, and Amy was no closer to finding the murderer.

Optional Intrusion

Sorry to interrupt again, but I want to say a bit more about process. You can move on if you like because there’s nothing here that will help you solve any mysteries. Still, if you keep reading, you will better understand Amy’s actions later

Opening an investigation is buying a ticket in the Capitol Hill lottery. So is giving a speech or introducing a bill. The chance that the ticket will pay off is small, but that’s the game, take it or leave it. Small chances of variable payoffs. Anyone who doesn’t understand that about Capitol Hill will be constantly frustrated. Frank Butcher took shots when he could, but his expectations were mostly realistic. What he never anticipated was that one of his lottery tickets would be fatal.

Capitol Hill is like an iceberg. There’s much to see above the waterline: the drama of a high-stakes judicial confirmation, a tax reform bill, the President’s major proposal, the hot issue of the day. These get all the attention of the newspapers and the networks, soaking up whatever interest the public cares to spare for a government remote from their homes, jobs, and schools.

But most of the iceberg is under the surface. Dozens of subcommittees spew out legislation that is so boring that almost no one pays attention. The right lobbyists or agencies pay attention. An interest group that wants a trophy law recognizing their cause, even if it does nothing substantive, pays attention. So do those who see a reason to bring an old law up to date, oil the wheels of agencies, create new programs, change old ones, etc.

Is it as dull as I suggest? Am I too cynical? Maybe, maybe not. Some people make a career as staff on the Hill, that is, if they can survive the electoral disruptions. Most see it as a stepping-stone to a job in a law firm, at an agency, as a lobbyist or trade association. In the end and viewed from a proper distance, working on the Hill may not be much different from any other occupation. Someone has to teach school, drive trucks, build computers, prescribe drugs, and make laws.

It can be hard for the staff to make much progress, given the quality of the people that you elect and the demands you place on them. An awful lot of newly elected legislators have zero experience with laws or legislation. Would you hire a surgeon or an airline pilot who had no experience? Still, some Members trained for the job as state legislators. Some are truly outstanding, smart, thoughtful, and engaged. Some are lazy or focus entirely on politics. Some don’t care at all. The staff does the best it can.

Amy was amazed at how many decisions are made without input from any member. As a staffer, I have some idea about what Senator Milton might support or oppose. Many factors go into each decision. Milton’s past record makes a difference. Politics matter too. Does the Administration support or oppose (and which Administration)? Is the proposal from one of the Senator’s personal friends? Will it benefit Pennsylvania? What does the full Committee Chair want? For me, the overarching standard is public policy. Is it good policy, and is it the right thing to do? I like to keep a focus on that as much as possible.

But there are other influences as well. When a bill authorizing a small grant program came though the committee, I knew that funds for that program in the past were sometimes not well spent. An audit requirement would enforce some discipline. But that would have royally annoyed the full Committee’s chief of staff, as the program was his pet project. Offering an amendment would have created trouble for us, and it might have forced other Democrats to cast a vote that they didn’t want to make. I didn’t offer the idea to Senator Milton. In fact, had he brought up the idea of an audit, I would have gently advised against it for local political reasons, although I would have acknowledged the benefits of an audit.

What did I do? Sometimes, if you can’t do it directly, you find another way. I have a friend from the Republican committee staff, and we work quietly together – very off-the-record – from time to time. I gave him the idea, and his boss offered the amendment. The Committee Chair didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to ask Democrats on the Committee to vote against a reasonable amendment. He accepted the amendment, but he too found another way. Neither my Republican colleague nor I paid enough attention, and the audit amendment disappeared later in the legislative process. That lottery ticket ended up being a loser. But it works sometimes to get someone else to help you achieve a result you can’t manage on your own. Amy remembered that particular story, as you will see.

It’s amazing that the Congress works as well as it does. For all the money, politics, and personal ambition, an awful lot of decisions on Capitol Hill are made – most frequently by staff – on the basis of reasoned policy judgments. Honest. At least that was true in my day. It helps when the choices are boring because that allows the policy process to flourish. When politics and other factors are more important, you get pandering, waste, and logrolling. That’s the price of getting anything done in a political environment. It always was. In the end, you get the government that you deserve. Think about that next time you complain about what happens in Washington.

Chapter 25: Kathy Weed

Amy spent another long weekend going through Butcher’s records. She was getting tired of the pace, the boredom, and mostly the lack of real progress. Day after day, hour after hour, file after file. Rod was there most of Saturday to help. Another Sunday morning visit to Eastern Market didn’t lift Amy’s spirits much, especially since the rain held down both the crowd and the number of vendors at the flea market. Still, she managed to find three new shawls to buy, and she ignored the voice in her head that said it was too many. Even if she didn’t find Frank Butcher’s murderer, she knew that she’d always have the shawls to show for her time in Washington.

Sally was out of town for the weekend, and Amy didn’t read the papers. She knew, without the need to see, that the Star would tell her that Sunday was Day 14, and Monday would be Day 15. She had a thought. When she left the office on Sunday, she put a small handwritten note on the office door reading “Smile for the camera, Eric.” When she arrived Monday, the note was not there, and there were no numbers posted on the door. It was a small victory.

One of the gray and red shawls she liked so much that she bought the same exact thing for Janie, who loved it when Amy dropped it off first thing Monday morning. No one was around that early on a Monday, and Amy had a quiet conversation with Janie, telling her about the Labor Day connection between Howe and the Star reporter. She asked Janie for advice. Should she confront Howe? Talk to the Senator?

Janie offered perspective and a little hope. “You have to remember that Eric knows a lot of reporters. It’s his job. And he might have given you wrong information about his whereabouts on Labor Day because he wanted to test you and learn something about the investigation. He may have fed the information about the FBI’s role to the Star. He’s done worse things than that in the past in cahoots with reporters.”

Amy asked, “Could that be why the Star stories had no byline? The reporter didn’t want to be identified lest he be tied to Eric?”

Janie agreed that was possible. She asked Amy, “Do you trust me?” Amy said yes, but she didn’t know what was coming next. She was encouraged at the thought of an ally.

“I’m not going to tell you anything, but I may be able to shut down Eric.”

Amy smiled. “Are you going to kill him the way that you killed Frank Butcher? I might not object in this case, to be honest.”

Janie loved the thought. “It’s definitely an idea, but I can think of another way. Leave it to me. It may not work, but neither of us will be worse off if it fails. You don’t need to know any more.”

Amy stood up, thanked her, and left.

Back in her office, Amy’s morning began with a call from Dan Gold. He apologized for not keeping in touch, but he was working on another story. He hadn’t much progress on his suspect list, but he was able to report that Joan Lester had dropped off his list. She was out of town for the Labor Day weekend. “It’s not exactly news,” Dan admitted.

Amy remained conflicted about dealing with Gold. He did supply information about Senator Barrett that she didn’t have from other sources. Then again, she would have been happier in many ways not knowing that particular item, especially since it led to a dead end and an interview that she would have preferred to avoid. That wasn’t Gold’s fault, and she knew it.

She decided to offer the smallest degree of cooperation. “I can confirm what you learned about Joan Lester. She alibied out.”

Gold was encouraged. “Okay. That’s great. See, it didn’t hurt at all to share. Have you eliminated any other witnesses?”

Amy would not say. “Yes, but at this point I think I’ve said all I want to. I only feel comfortable confirming something that you already knew. No one on this end thought that she had a conflict with Butcher, let alone one that rose anywhere near murder.”

Gold remained positive. “All right. It’s a start, at least I hope so. I’m getting pressure here to write a story to the effect that there’s been no progress in the investigation. The badgering by the Star has taken its toll over here. I don’t want to do it, and I’ve held off my editor. I’m telling you this so that you won’t be terribly surprised if that story appears later this week.”

Amy put her toe deeper in the water. “Now everything here is still off the record, right?”

Dan agreed to her terms. “Yes. You have my personal assurance. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but it does to me.”

Amy said, “You can’t print anything I say, but you can tell your editor if it’ll hold off the no-progress story. We’ve made a lot of progress. We’ve eliminated dozens and dozens of suspects. Many who were in the building have been cleared. Or at least moved off the suspect list for procedural reasons, lack of motive, and the like. We’ve also been though many of Butcher’s investigatory files, identified people connected to investigations, and we’ve cleared many of them. We’ve done a lot of work, and we’ve made progress of a sort. We haven’t found the murderer, but we’ve narrowed the field a lot. Senator Barrett is not a suspect at this point. I’ll tell you that since you provided the original information.”

Dan knew that he had been told virtually nothing, but he wanted to sound positive. ‘That’s helpful. Personally, I’ve had no doubt that you’re working hard at this. I’ve worked on investigations just like this. You do a lot of digging, but you don’t have a story – or even an assurance that there will be a story at the end – until you find the smoking gun. No one cares how much time you’ve spent or how hard you’ve worked unless you get a story that can be printed. Or in your case, you get the murderer.”

Dan’s comments resonated with Amy. “That’s exactly right. There are no guarantees, and no one cares how much effort you put into it.”

“I can convey the sense of that to my editor when the time comes. It might keep him happy for a while. I can trade on inside information even if I don’t print it.”

“Thanks. I think we’re done for now. Bye.”

The next big item on Amy’s list was Kathy Weed, the Senate staffer that almost everyone warned her about. She was ready to do that interview. Rod was in the office reviewing files when Amy tried to set up a meeting with Kathy Weed. Amy called Weed and got pushback immediately after she identified herself to Weed.

“I know who you are. I read the papers. I don’t have to talk to you.”

Amy explained again that she was talking to those who were in the building on the day that Butcher was killed, and that the interview was routine.

Weed insisted on her rights as she saw them. “I’m a lawyer, and I know that I don’t have to talk to you.”

Amy tried a third time, adding that no other congressional staffer she had contacted declined to talk to her.

Weed stood firm. “I’m under no legal obligation to talk to you. I know what my rights are. I have the right to remain silent, and I don’t have to cooperate with goons from the FBI.”

Amy was getting exasperated but kept calm. “I’m not working for the FBI. I’m on the staff of the Senate Police, and I’ll be happy to show you my credentials.”

“Fine. You can probably produce credentials that you’re on the staff of the KGB too. I still don’t have to talk to you.”

Amy tried yet again. “I’m trying to talk to people who were in the building and who might be able to provide information about what happened on Labor Day. I’ve talked to Members and staff all over the Hill on that basis. You don’t have to talk to me, but it would be much easier for both….”

“Hah. Now you admit that I’m right. You admit that I don’t have to talk to you. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Amy remained patient. “If you like, I’ll be happy to tell you all of your rights if I could come to see you, but I never said that you have to talk to me. We don’t usually give Miranda warnings unless an investigation begins to focus on likely suspects.”

“So now you’re telling me I’m a suspect. You think that threats are going to get me to cooperate?”

Amy kept at it. “I didn’t say that you were a suspect, but you seem so intent on preserving your rights that I offered to tell you all your rights.”

“You think I don’t know my rights? I already told you that I’m a lawyer. I’ll have you know that was on law review at the John Marshall Law School.”

Amy tried to remain neutral. “Well now that we’ve established that you don’t have to talk to me, will you agree to talk anyway? You can have a lawyer with you if you want.”

Rod only heard one side of the conversation, but he was doing his best not to laugh out loud. Amy had to turn away so that she wasn’t looking at Rod for fear that she would start laughing herself.

Weed wanted a lawyer. “Of course, I know that, and if you think I would talk to you without my lawyer, you’re nuts.”

Amy pounced on that as a sign of progress. “When can you and your lawyer meet with me. I hoped to talk to you today. Can we schedule a meeting? I’ll be happy to meet you in your office or in your lawyer’s office.”

“I don’t know. Call me after lunch.”

Weed hung up the phone, and Amy sat there in shock.

“Welcome to Kathy Weed,” Rod said with a broad smile on his face. “Now you know why she’s so universally loved by all of her colleagues. If you could lock someone up for being bitchy, she’d get a life sentence. A jury would convict her in five minutes flat as long as she testified, and they saw and heard her.”

Amy needed Rod’s opinion. “An awful lot of people mentioned her as someone who might have killed Frank. What do you think?”

Rod shrugged. “I don’t know. She had this one-sided feud with Frank. She hated Frank, but he didn’t care about her one way or the other, and that probably made her even madder. Kathy thinks that she’s a kind of super-investigator. She didn’t like Frank because he was better at it than she was. Kathy makes a lot of noise, but she’s rarely produced a successful, right-between-the-eyes, front-page investigation. She was indignant about what Frank did to her documents program.”

Amy asked for more.

“Kathy developed a proposal for a small grant program for preservation of historical documents by local governments. It was the kind of thing that a staffer can sometimes do all alone. If no one objects, you can toss it in another bill, and it becomes law. Her committee has jurisdiction over the Archives, and the Archives ran the program.”

Amy was confused. “You told me that Frank didn’t care about legislation.”

Rod responded, “That’s right, but he would investigate a program established up by legislation, and that’s what happened here. Frank got wind of abuse of program funds by law enforcement agencies. They were taking preservation money and using it to destroy their records rather than preserve them. It wasn’t a big deal from Frank’s perspective, but it was a decent story. Page 25 or so. The Senator liked it because of the law enforcement angle and especially because the problems didn’t involve anyone in Pennsylvania. If it had been a Pennsylvania scandal, the investigation would have been handled differently, more quietly.”

Amy now understood. “Kathy didn’t like it that Frank was investigating her program?”

“That’s right, but it was even worse. Kathy had scheduled a hearing on the program, but Frank put out his story so that it hit the Post the morning of her hearing. He’d had a run in with Kathy previously over scheduling. After Frank scheduled a hearing on another program, Kathy learned about it and scheduled a similar hearing for a week earlier. It wasn’t a big deal. No grand expose or anything. Frank was bummed. He paid her back with the story about the documents program, and that evened the score for him.”

Amy figured it out. “Let me guess. Dan Gold wrote the story, right?”

“Bingo. You’re doing very nicely here.”

Amy had a new question. “Why was it not okay for Kathy to front run Frank, but it was okay for Frank to do something similar to Kathy?”

Rod sat back to explain. “That’s an interesting question. I wasn’t here for any of this, but I heard about it. Frank had a GAO report on the document preservation program, so it wasn’t like he trumped something up on the spot to undermine Kathy. It took a year to get the report. Once he had the report, he could have put it out when he wanted. GAO gives the requester an exclusive for 30 days. Frank was within his rights to do it when he chose. Still, one could fairly criticize Frank for what he did.”

Amy felt sympathy for Weed. “No wonder she was mad at him. She had cause. But this all happened a long time ago, so if she wanted to kill Frank, wouldn’t she have done it before?”

“Maybe. But maybe her opportunity came on Labor Day, and she took it. Beats me.”

“Well, I’ve got to talk to her. I’ll try again later. I’m going to run over to the House side to catch a death conference staffer I missed the first time. I’ll be back in an hour or two. It’s a wild goose chase, but I have to do it.”

Amy decided to stop at home on her way to the House side to grab notes she left there. Just as Amy entered the house, Sally was coming down the stairs with a male friend. The friend was still knotting his tie. All three of them froze in their tracks, and there was silence for a few seconds.

Sally recovered first. She raised her hand over her head and said, “Taxi!” in a soft, comic voice.

The two women broke up laughing, leaving the man standing there feeling even more uncomfortable.

Amy started to apologize. “I’m sorry…. I didn’t expect…. bad time….”

Sally was unfazed and continued down the stairs, smiling all the way. “Well, this is certainly awkward, but I think that we’ll all survive the experience. I didn’t expect you would be back at this time of day. Let me introduce you to Senator Barrett. Senator, this is….”

Barrett said, “Hello, Amy.”

Sally turned her head and looked at the Senator with an expression of total astonishment, but still with a smile on her face. “We’ve now moved well beyond awkward into a whole new dimension. I had no idea that the two of you were acquainted.” She then turned toward Amy, with a look that conveyed greater respect for her old friend.

Barrett started to explain, “I’ve known Amy for...”

Amy interrupted. “I interviewed the Senator as part of my investigation. He was in the Russell Building on Labor Day.”

Barrett followed her lead. “And Amy found no reason to think that I had anything to do with the murder. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is, Senator. I have no reason to believe that you’re a suspect, in the murder investigation at least. Anything else isn’t in my jurisdiction.”

Sally said, “Oh my, one thing he’s done…we’ve done… may be distressingly obvious at the moment.”

Amy apologized again for being there. “I left my notes here, and I’ve got an interview on the House side. This was sort of on the way. I never thought that you’d be home.”

Sally turned to Barrett. “Senator, Amy and I agreed to live here by our old dorm secrecy rule. Whatever is said or done in my house isn’t to be spoken about outside. We didn’t anticipate a third party to this understanding, but I think the rule is flexible enough to cover it. Don’t you agree, Amy?”

Amy said, “Your secrets are safe with me. I’m going to my room.”

The Senator mumbled his agreement as Amy left.

A few minutes later, Sally knocked on Amy’s door. “He’s gone. Now there’s got to be a good story here. Barrett said that he knew you years ago, and you looked more disconcerted about finding us here than I might have thought. It’s not the first time you’ve seen me with a guy. How well did you know Barrett before?”

“I knew him when he was a freshman in the House. I was a new agent at the time. We went out some. That’s all you need to know.”

Sally kept going. “And is he the guy who drove you out of Washington? What went on between the two of you?”

Amy did not want to talk about it. “That’s what you don’t need to know. Our relationship ended…badly from my perspective. I rather doubt he much cared about me. He’s all yours, if you want him. I don’t mind a bit, although I think you can do better.”

Sally confessed to seeing Barrett for a few months. “Nothing heavy here. He’s a Senator, and that does make up for his other shortcomings. He’s the guy you heard with me on Wednesday. Barrett has a great reputation for chasing women all over town, and I finally let him catch me. He’s on Senate Finance, and it’s a useful connection. He’s not that great in bed, however. I doubt that this will continue for long. Your discovering us together may help me find an exit. It can be hard to dump a Senator.”

Amy felt better. “I’m glad that I can be of service. You mean he’s not your first Senator.”

“He’s my first one this year.” Sally laughed, but Amy was not as amused. Sally continued, “He was here on Labor Day too, if that matters. He came by in the early afternoon, and we spent the afternoon together. His wife was out of town for the weekend. For what it’s worth, he didn’t look like he came from murdering anyone. I don’t think I’m much of a character witness for him, however.” She said that with a big smile on her face.

Amy smiled. “Me neither. No offense. But I didn’t judge you in college, and I won’t judge you now. However, I did question your selection of men then, and I still do. Not that you care.”

Sally said, “If the truth be told, you were often a better judge of men than I was, and you’re not wrong today. I just use a different scale. As far as Barrett goes, it’s just business for me. I still want to know more about what happened to the two of you.”

“Well, not now. I’m late for my interview. Gotta go.”

Sally was on her way out the door too. “I have a meeting downtown in 30 minutes. It’s been an interesting day so far, and I still have an end-of-session meeting down at the main drug industry lobby. I rather doubt that it’ll produce a higher point for the day. For what it’s worth, Barrett isn’t your type. He’s not smart enough for you. All flash and no substance. There’s an old line used in this town that applies to Barrett. When a House member gets elected to the Senate, it is sometimes said that the movement of that member from House to Senate raises the average IQ of both bodies.”

Amy thought about that for a second and said, “I assume that’s something said only by House members.”

“Indeed.”

Amy’s interview with Weed took place later that same afternoon in a Permanent Subcommittee on Investigation hearing room. Amy entered the room, and Kathy Weed was there with Edward Fogel, her lawyer. Weed was tall and bony, dressed in an undistinguished skirt and knit top, plain face, unkempt hair turning gray. She was clearly not concerned about her appearance. The lawyer, on the other hand, looked like the part he was playing. Amy had spent enough time with criminal defense lawyers to recognize one. Fogel was better dressed than the Denver equivalents.

The meeting began with a fight over taping the interview. Weed wanted to record it, and Amy resisted. She had no idea what might happen to the tape. Eventually, Fogel quietly suggested that in his experience, it would be virtually unprecedented for a witness to record an interview. He said that his presence provided assurance that Kathy’s words would not be used against her unfairly. He was there to protect her. Weed finally relented, but she insisted she was within her rights.

Amy patiently explained that she was trying to talk to everyone who was in the building on Labor Day. She said that Weed should not infer that she was a suspect because Amy wanted to interview her.

Weed wouldn’t let her get started but began to cross-examine Amy about the criminal code. “Isn’t it true that you can prosecute me for anything I say? I know about section 1001 of the criminal code. If I make a false statement to an FBI agent – and I don’t have to be under oath at the time – I could go to jail. It could be anything. If you ask me how I am and I say ‘fine’, you could prosecute me because I didn’t tell you that I have a cold.”

Amy was astonished. “I’ve never tried to bring – and I’ve never even seen – an action under 1001. You would have to lie about a major material matter before any U.S. Attorney would even consider a 1001 prosecution. I’m only interested in Frank Butcher’s murder. I want to know about anything that you saw when you were here that day and what you might know about it or about the person who did it. That’s all.”

Weed kept harping on the possibility that a slip of the tongue could land her in jail. Finally, her lawyer spoke up. “Kathy, I’ve done criminal law for 20 years, and I’ve only seen one 1001 prosecution. I can tell you as your lawyer that there’s virtually no possibility that you’ll be prosecuted for anything you say today. If you’re sincerely worried, you can qualify your statements by saying “to the best of my recollection.”

Weed was still unhappy. “I don’t trust law enforcement people. They don’t know how to run an investigation to save their lives. Plus, they think they’re above the law. The Justice Department comes up here and lies under oath at hearings, and nothing happens to them. Three years ago, we had the Attorney General here and he…”

The lawyer interrupted. “Kathy, you don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want. We already went over that. But the simplest thing here is to just get it over with. You didn’t kill Frank Butcher so nothing else is going to matter much. Anyway, since she isn’t an FBI agent today, it isn’t even clear that 1001 applies. I don’t know that the law covers the Senate Police. And no one’s going to prosecute a Senate staffer over a technicality. How about if we all agree that everything you say today is qualified by ‘to the best of your recollection’? Can you agree to that, Agent Forest?”

Amy agreed. “I’ll consider anything Ms. Weed says as suitably qualified, if that helps.”

Weed relented. “Okay. I didn’t kill Frank Butcher. I hated the son of a bitch, and I’m not sorry that he’s dead. But I didn’t kill him.”

The lawyer intervened. “Kathy. I’m here to protect you. Why don’t you just answer questions? Statements like that don’t help.”

Amy asked Weed what she did in the building on Labor Day.

Weed was still being as uncooperative as possible. “That’s too broad a question and none of your business. My work here isn’t something you need to know about.”

Amy backpedaled slightly. “Okay, let me be more specific. When did you arrive that day?”

“I got here around ten a.m. and went straight to my office.”

“Were you there all day?”

“Yes, except that I did leave to go to the bathroom. I brought my own lunch.”

“When did you leave for the day?

“Around 3 pm.”

“Was there anyone else from your office who saw you?”

Weed thought for a second before she answered. “I was the only one from the committee staff who was in that day, at least as far as I know. I didn’t see any other committee staff.”

“Did you see Frank Butcher?”

“No. I didn’t see any other Senate staffers until I started to leave and was stopped at the door with others in the building.”

“When did you learn that he was dead?”

“When I left the building, there were police at the door. They told me what happened, asked questions, and let me leave.”

“Did you see anything else of relevance when you were here? Did you see anyone you knew in the hall on your way to or from your office?”

Weed said she did not.

“Did you see anyone you didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Did you see anything unusual or suspicious?”

Weed said no. “Frank’s office is on the fourth floor and I’m on the third floor. I have nothing to report.”

“You weren’t on the fourth floor at all on Labor Day?”

“Correct.”

Amy wasn’t satisfied. She thought that Weed was hiding something, but she didn’t what or why. Of all the interviews to date, this was the first time she had that feeling.

Amy tried another approach. “Can you tell me why you disliked Frank Butcher?”

The lawyer spoke up. “Kathy, I advise you to answer that question narrowly. Your history with Butcher isn’t relevant.”

Weed followed his prompt. “Okay. On advice of counsel, I decline to answer that question.”

Amy asked a different question. “Did you have a personal or professional disagreement with him?”

Kathy looked at the lawyer, who shrugged.

“It was professional.”

“Did you ever have a personal relationship with Frank Butcher?”

“Never.”

“You never had a meal with him, went to a movie, went on a date?”

“God, no. Never.”

Amy kept fishing. “Did you ever see him outside the office? Were you members of the same organization, community group, or the like.”

“No.”

“Did you ever live near each other?”

Kathy said not to the best of her knowledge. “I live in Virginia, and the paper said he lived in Maryland. I didn’t know where he lived before I read that.”

Amy tried again on the relationship between Butcher and Weed. “I understand that you had a disagreement with Butcher a few years ago over something specific. Can you tell me about it?”

The lawyer discouraged Kathy from answering on relevance grounds. But Amy pushed back. “I’m trying to learn more because it is possible that someone else had an interest in that same matter, and that other person could be relevant to the investigation. Can you answer my question with respect to others?”

The lawyer shrugged again.

Weed told her story. “I was holding a hearing on a program at the National Archives, and Butcher put out a story about that program on the morning of the hearing without telling me about it. It was a deliberate, obnoxious, obstructionist action. It forced me to cancel the hearing. A number of Senators, Senate staffers, and National Archives staffers were affected by the abrupt cancellation. I was the principal staffer for the hearing. I was the one most affected. It’s one of the reasons I hated Butcher.”

When Amy heard National Archives staffers” a bell went off in her head. Could that draw together a bunch of loose threads that were dogging her investigation?

Weed continued unprompted. “In fact, I was working on Archives issues on Labor Day. That’s why I came to work that day.”

“What are the other reasons you hated Butcher?”

Weed wasn’t interested in helping. “I already told you that I hated him. It’s no secret. I don’t see why all the details matter. It was all professional. Nothing personal, nothing recent. I say again that I didn’t kill Butcher. I didn’t have anything to do with his murder.”

Amy asked a narrow question. “Did you ever have a conflict with Butcher over an investigation? Did you ever compete with him by investigating the same program or agency?”

Weed was still unwilling. “I don’t see why that’s relevant. I don’t want to tell you about my current investigations. I had cause for disliking him already. I didn’t need any more.

Amy continued. “I’ll share with you the thought that one of the people that Butcher was investigating might have had a reason to kill him. That’s why I’m asking about investigatory work. I don’t care about your investigations unless they produce a suspect in my case.”

Weed made a face. “Well, duh! It took you all this time to figure out that possibility?”

Amy ignored the insult. “The point is that you may know of an investigation that overlapped with Butcher’s work, and that might point toward someone with a motive.”

Weed thought for a minute, trying to decide whether to answer. “We had a scheduling conflict years ago over a hearing on a DOJ program, but it wasn’t a big deal. It was a bad management sort of thing, and I ended up dropping it. I don’t remember much about it after all these years. I don’t think that it involved anything that rose to the level of murder at this late date. Otherwise, I don’t know of any overlap. There are plenty of fish in the investigative sea.”

Amy decided it was time to go back to pursue the National Archives matter that struck her as promising. She began to look back through her notes. “Was anyone at the Archives upset by the story that Butcher put out on the law enforcement records or by the hearing cancellation?”

Kathy dismissed the idea. “They didn’t like the story, but they were glad that we cancelled the hearing under the circumstances. No one at the Archives would’ve killed Butcher over that. The story was embarrassing, but it wasn’t that big a deal in the long run. Or even in the short run. It was forgotten immediately. A one-day wonder. There was no second day story.”

The next topic was George Thomas, the Archives employee who came with Bea Helvig to the House appropriations conference on Labor Day, the same guy identified at the poker game as a whistleblower wannabe. Kathy’s hunch was that there was a connection here. She was afraid to ask the question directly, so she decided to ease into it.

“Do you know a House staffer named Gary Lake?

“No. Never heard of him.”

“Do you know a House staffer named Mike Birmingham?” Amy used the names of the two House staffers from the poker game, just to get Weed in the pattern of responding.

“Same answer. Are they suspects? I never heard of them.” She wrote the two names on a piece of paper. Amy found it curious that Weed took notes.

Amy ignored her question. “Do you know George Thomas?”

Weed suddenly looked surprised. She put down the pen. She started mumbling. “Who? George who? Is he another House staffer? I don’t know many House staffers.”

Amy repeated the question. “Do you know George Thomas?” She spelled the last name.

Weed was visibly agitated. “There are a lot of George Thomases. Who do you mean?”

Amy remained matter of fact. “Do you know anyone named George Thomas? The one that I have in mind works at the Archives.”

Weed looked trapped and unhappy. After a 30 second delay, she finally said, “Yes.”

“How do you know him?”

Weed picked her words carefully. “The Archives is one of the agencies that I’m responsible for, and he works at the Archives. I know other people who work at the Archives. What’s the difference?”

Amy asked if she had seen him on Labor Day?

Weed rested her chin on her right hand, with her elbow on the table. She stared down, clearly unhappy. Amy waited. The lawyer didn’t know what to expect and almost intervened.

Weed finally said, “Yes.” The answer was quiet. “He came to my office that morning.”

Amy said, “I thought that you said that you didn’t see anyone when you were here.”

Weed exploded and turned to her lawyer. “You see that, Ed. That’s just what I’m talking about. I answered the questions that she asked, and now she’s accusing me of lying. Now you know why I worry about 1001. These FBI people don’t know how to ask questions, and suddenly it’s my fault for honestly answering stupid, badly framed questions. I told you they don’t know how to investigate.”

Fogel started to speak but Weed cut him off. “Shut up, Ed. She asked me if anyone in my office saw me. I said no. There was no one there from my office. George isn’t from my office. She asked me if I saw anyone in the hall when I was going to or from my office. I said no. George came and knocked on my door. I wasn’t going to or from my office when I saw him. I said that I didn’t see any other Senate staffers. George isn’t a Senate staffer. I answered the questions she asked, and now she’s accusing me of perjury. A lot of good you are, Ed. You’re supposed to be on my side here.”

Fogel looked exasperated.

Amy ignored the criticism. “I’m not accusing anyone of perjury. We’ve gotten more of the facts on the table. That’s my goal here. I already knew that George Thomas was in the Rayburn Building that morning. He could easily have come to the Senate side.”

Weed interrupted. “Yeah, yeah. I know that you know that. Bea Helvig told you. I know that you went to see her. I know lots about your investigation. I know that you’re getting nowhere.”

The lawyer intervened at this point. “Kathy, we need to have a private conversation.”

Amy agreed to a break, saying that she had to make a phone call. They decided to reconvene in ten minutes. Amy went down to her office, called Walter Hicks, and asked him to have an agent pick up George Thomas immediately for questioning. Amy didn’t want Weed and Thomas to talk to get their stories straight. She gave instructions for the questioning. Hicks agreed, and Amy went back to the interview with Weed.

Amy began. “We were talking about George Thomas. What is your relationship with him?”

Weed answered carefully. “He works at an agency that I’m responsible for. I do legislation, oversight, and investigations of the National Archives. I work with him on those matters.”

Amy thought there was more. “Is there a personal relationship?”

Weed said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Amy pushed. “Yes, you do. Do you have a personal relationship with George Thomas? Do you see him outside the office? Do you have meals together? Have you been to his house? Has he been to yours? I can ask more graphic questions if I have to.”

With visible encouragement from her lawyer, Weed said, “Okay, yes, at least to some of those questions. I have a personal relationship with George. But I'm not answering any more questions about me and George. It’s none of your damn business what we do together. Nobody knows about the two of us.”

“When did Thomas arrive in your office on Labor Day?”

“Around noon, give or take.”

“What was the purpose of his visit?”

Weed didn’t want to answer. “That’s none of your business.”

“Did the two of you leave your office?”

Weed answered with dripping sarcasm. “We’re not still there. Obviously, we left the office sometime. We were in my office until George left sometime around 1 pm. I stayed until later.”

Amy asked where Thomas went when he left.

“How would I possibly know that? He said that he was going back to the House side to retrieve his car.”

“Did you see him later that day?”

“No.”

“What did you do when you left?”

Weed said she went home.

“Did you go anywhere else that day?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to Thomas later that day?”

Weed seemed calmer now. “Yes. I called him to discuss Butcher’s murder.”

The lawyer spoke. “Kathy, remember what we discussed. This is the time.”

Weed looked unhappy. “Okay. It’s none of her business. I don’t have any obligation to tell the FBI what kind of investigations I conduct.”

The lawyer persisted. “Kathy, would you please do it anyway. This is in your best interest.”

Amy had no idea what was coming next. A confession? A revelation about George Thomas? Another screed about the FBI? Purloined evidence? This was the first time in the entire investigation that she was truly hopeful for a break.

Weed said, “I’ve been conducting my own investigation of Butcher’s murder. I’m going to find who murdered that son-of-a-bitch, just to show everyone up. It would be the one of the greatest congressional investigations ever, and I would do it at his expense. The best part is that he would hate it if I was the one who fingered his murderer. Me, his greatest rival. And I’m getting close.”

That was not what Amy had hoped for, but Kathy’s stunning admission did clear up one mystery. She took a few seconds to regroup. While she did, she started on another question. “Who…”

Weed interrupted. “Don’t ask me about my investigation. You won’t tell me about what you’re doing, and you have no right to know about mine. I can investigate anything I want to, and it’s none of your business.”

Amy proceeded slowly. “Is George Thomas helping you with your investigation?”

Weed declined to answer.

Amy stuck with her question. “He’s not a Senate employee. You may or may not have a basis for claiming Senatorial privilege for your work, but he can’t make that claim. I’ll find out anyway, even if you don’t want to tell me.”

Weed still wouldn’t answer. “Don’t threaten me.”

Amy said calmly. “I have not made a threat. I’m asking for factual information. I told you that if you won’t respond, I’ll find out elsewhere, and I will. Answer my question or not as you please. Is George Thomas helping you with your investigation?”

Amy’s annoyance with Weed was rising closer to the surface. She was concerned that if this continued much long, she wouldn’t be able to hold back. She missed having a colleague with her so they could play good cop/bad cop. Amy was dying to be the bad cop.

Weed finally admitted that Thomas was helping.

Amy worried that there could be two or more other investigations underway, so she needed to find out just what Thomas did. “Did you send him out to interview Butcher’s neighbor?

“I didn’t send him anywhere. But, yes, he went to Butcher’s house and talked to his neighbor.”

Amy asked if he talked to John Murphy as well.

“Who?”

“Bea Helvig’s husband.”

Weed said that he did. She bragged, “And he learned a lot from both interviews.” Weed was smirking now. Amy had her doubts about the value of those interviews, but that wasn’t worth pursuing.

“Anybody else?”

“Not yet, and don’t bother asking me what we’re doing next. You run your investigation, and I’ll run mine.”

Amy thought she was well finished with Weed at this point. If George Thomas confirmed her story, then it seemed less likely that she was a legitimate suspect. The two of them could have conspired to murder Butcher, but that didn’t strike Amy as a realistic scenario. She still wondered why the two of them met in her office on Labor Day. She had her suspicions, but she didn’t want to ask.

“I think we’re done for now. I may have more questions later, and I’ll let you know.”

Weed wanted the last word. “I’m not making any promises to cooperate again. I expected you to threaten me about my investigative efforts.”

Amy stood and moved toward the door. She turned and said quietly, “I have no comment about your investigation. I didn’t make any threats. I asked you for the facts. I’ll suggest to you, however, that if you or George Thomas enters or attempts to enter Frank Butcher’s office, things may not go well for you. It’s still a crime scene. You can take that as friendly advice.”

Weed stood up. “You see that, Ed? I’m being threatened again. Let’s get out of here.”

Amy went back to her office and called Hicks. Thomas was being questioned at that moment, and Amy updated Hicks with more information from the Weed interview. He passed the information on to the agent doing the interview. Amy left her office, jumped in a cab, and went down to the FBI office to catch the end of the Thomas interview. It was almost over when she arrived. She watched Thomas through the one-way glass. He had a scraggly beard, wore a cheap, rumpled suit, and he looked like your average low-level bureaucrat. He was not what Amy had envisioned at all. Thomas was also six inches shorter than Weed and ten years younger. Not exactly D.C.’s couple of the year, Amy thought. She now understood Helvig’s description of him as a squirrely guy.

When the interview was complete, Amy and Hicks, together with the agent who interviewed Thomas, discussed what they learned. Generally, George Thomas told more or less the same story as Weed did. He was more explicit about his relationship with Weed, and that confirmed Amy’s hunch that the meeting in her office may have been a tryst.

Hicks was even more unhappy than Amy about the parallel investigation. They discussed whether it constituted obstruction of justice. Amy didn’t want to pursue that idea, at least unless something more serious happened. Going after Weed and Thomas would be a distraction that would get a lot of attention. She thought that the Star would make a front-page story about it. Hicks agreed without much of a struggle.

In the end, Amy and Hicks both concluded that it was possible but unlikely that Weed or Thomas had anything to do with Butcher’s murder. But both remained on the suspect list. Hicks promised further background work on Thomas, and he offered to have him followed for a day or two. However, the tail ultimately produced nothing of any interest, other than evidence that Thomas lived a dull life. Amy had already concluded that based on his relationship with Weed.

Amy was greatly relieved to have solved the mystery of the other investigation. It didn’t amount to much, but it was something. Hicks reminded her that as satisfying as that was, she didn’t get to go home until she found the murder. “There’s no credit for partial work,” he said. Amy knew that Hicks was right. And the small pleasure was partially counterbalanced by the disturbing image in her head of Weed and Thomas together.

Amy felt obliged to tell Milton and Parisi about the parallel investigation. She went back to the Hill, straight to Milton’s office, and Janie ushered her right in. They called Parisi and discussed it. After some back and forth, the decision was to ignore it. Milton volunteered to talk to Weed’s chairman, if necessary, but he admitted that he didn’t much like the guy and didn’t want to do it without a good reason. Amy said that her hunch was that neither Thomas nor Weed killed Butcher. No one disagreed.

Amy pondered whether to tell Bea Helvig about Thomas’s relationship with Weed. She figured that it would end Thomas’s congressional work, and that might be a way to get back at Weed for her obnoxiousness. But she had a hard time finding a substantive reason to share the information, and she decided not to do anything that might set off Weed. At least for the moment. There was no rush.

It had been another long day. Amy felt that real progress had been made, but she recognized that she was no closer to finding the murderer. Indeed, she probably eliminated one of the more likely suspects, something that was both good and bad at the same time.

Chapter 26: Frustration

Amy was at work early Tuesday. There was no story in the Star, only the usual front-page box identifying Tuesday as Day 16 and no taped note on the door. Did Janie work her magic, she wondered? Did Amy’s note do it?

Amy hadn’t slept well because of the disappointment of the investigation. She had now talked to all the people she and others identified as prime suspects. None of them seemed a likely murderer, but most could not be completely eliminated as suspects. A few alibied out. Working with the FBI, she had cleared dozens of Butcher’s investigative targets because they were out of town or had other alibis. Nearly all the people who had been in the building lacked a motive. She still had more of Butcher’s files to review, but she was back to the older files. It seemed improbable, but not impossible, that his murderer was the target of an investigation from five years ago or longer.      

She was double-checking her log of people and files to see if that she missed anything. It was one more tedious task, and it was likely to take the rest of the morning. She had enough work to do for a few more days, and then she knew that it would soon be time to broaden the investigation into areas that seemed even less likely to produce a result. She dreaded the prospect of a long, drawn-out investigation.

It was just before 9 a.m. when the rotary phone rang. Amy knew that it was Dan Gold.

Dan was still in a sharing mode. “I’ve eliminated another person from my suspect list. I talked to the GAO guy, and he seems to be entirely too wimpy to have killed Frank. I didn’t get a straight answer from him about where he was on Labor Day, but I dropped him anyway.”

Amy shared too. “We’ve eliminated him too. He had an alibi. I don’t remember the details now, but he’s no longer a suspect. I never got around to talking to him, but he’s off the list. I do have something that you asked me for. The name of the guy who works for MMB Insurance is Arthur Bennett. I spoke to him last week.”

Dan said he was the guy. “Did you learn anything?”

Amy was circumspect. “I can’t answer that. Except to say that he hasn’t been eliminated. He was in the building because of the insurance bill staff conference.”

Dan knew more. “Frank was interested in him, but he never gave me any details. He asked me to interview him about his insurance company’s investment activities.”

Amy was confused. “You did an interview for Frank? That seems… odd. Can I ask what was going on?”

Dan explained. “It does sound odd, but you don’t understand about how a staffer works with a reporter. A reporter can do things that a staffer can’t, and vice versa. A staffer can demand documents from an agency that the agency wouldn’t give a reporter or that it would take months or years to get under the Freedom of Information Act. Frank helped me get documents sometimes. He also helped me with stories, even when they had no connection to his work. In exchange, I used his stuff, quoted his boss, and returned the favor in various ways. Some of his investigations started with material I uncovered but couldn’t pursue. Frank did the rest and gave me the exclusive. On occasion, things worked the other way around. I would pursue something that Frank uncovered but couldn’t investigate for political or other reasons. In those cases, my story had no trail back to Frank or his boss.”

Amy was surprised at Gold’s willingness to talk about this. “It all seems so…. incestuous. I thought that the press kept its independence.”

“Well, that’s the cover story. I work with other staffers here and there on a similar basis, although Frank was the most useful staffer. This press/staff partnership, if you will, is a part of Washington that remains totally hidden. Only insiders understand how it works. Even most Members don’t have a clue, except that they are happy to see their names in the paper and don’t ask how it happens. Like so many other things in Washington, doing favors for friends is one way of investigating and reporting.”

Amy went back to Bennett. “What did Frank want you to find out from Arthur Bennett?”

Dan was unsure. “He played this one close to the vest. I don’t know what he was going after. We respected each other’s need for confidence, and we didn’t always push to learn why the other was pursuing something. We sort of flew in formation without any explicit agreement. But we both knew how it worked, and we were both free to refuse a request from the other for any reason. We’d done this for years, and there was a lot of trust. Frank wanted to know more in general about the operation of Bennett’s investment unit. I told Bennett that I was doing a general story about creative new insurance company investments. I made it sound like a puff piece so that he wouldn’t be so tight-lipped.”

Amy asked if Dan wrote a story.

Dan did not. “If anyone ever asked about something like that, I said that I wrote a story but that my editor killed it. Reporters always blame an unnamed editor for anything that a source doesn’t like. If someone was mad that I didn’t quote him or his boss, I’d say that their quote was the first one in the story, but my editor cut it out. Most people fall for that. That’s something of a reporter’s trade secret, although some staffers figure it out eventually.”

Amy was discouraged again. “You don’t know why Frank was investigating MMB?”

“I didn’t. I don’t know if he thought that the company was investing in something improper, if money was being used for political purposes, if there was a hook to an agency’s activities, or what. I could think of a dozen different stories that could come out of insurance investment practices. Frank talked to Bennett a couple of times, but he said that he had to be cautious lest he tip Bennett off.”

Amy got excited. “Wait there. Frank talked to Bennett?”

“He told me that he did, and he reported on his conversations. He gave me areas where he wanted me to push harder for information. It was something about investment objectives. If I could find my notes, I could probably tell you more. But I kept this kind of ‘off the record’ investigation separately from my official reporting notes. I thought I might need deniability here. I don’t know where the notes are. As you can imagine, I have a ton of notes to manage.”

Amy knew what to do next. “That is extremely helpful. I’ll follow it up. You are positive about this, right?”

Dan was, but he wanted more from Amy. “I’ve been very open with you here…”

“And you want something in return.”

“Of course I do, but that isn’t where I’m headed at the moment. I’ve told you a lot about how the press and the Hill really interact. This type of information isn’t widely known because it isn’t in the interest of reporters or staffers to disclose it. I told you that I’d respect your confidence, and I want you to respect mine as well. I don’t want this inside stuff shared. I want you to understand that.”

Amy agreed. “I have no reason to share it with anyone. And I’m grateful for it all.”

“Now if you want to provide me with something in exchange, that’s fine too.” Amy could hear him laughing.

Amy offered Dan hope as she rung off. “I hear you. No promises, but I acknowledge the debt. Gotta go. Bye.”

Amy doubled checked her notes, and her memory was right. Bennett said he never met Frank. Knowing that Bennett lied to her was something new to go on. It was the first thing that even approached a break in the case, and Amy was pumped over the new lead. But she knew that there was more than a reasonable chance that nothing would come of it. But catching a suspect lying had promise, the most promise yet. She needed to re-interview Arthur Bennett.

Amy debated whether to bring Bennett in for questioning, but she decided to have another informal interview. She worried that formal questioning at an FBI facility would encourage him to get a lawyer. He certainly wouldn’t have any trouble getting one, and it would probably be a first-class white-collar criminal lawyer paid for by MMB. She called Bennett to ask for a meeting that afternoon, but he put her off. He said that he was hassled at the moment and had meetings scheduled all day. He said he could be available the next day at 10 a.m. He sounded distracted in a major way, fumbling over his responses, but Amy thought she still detected a sense of cooperation from him. She agreed to go back to his house as he suggested.

An hour later, Rod knocked on the door and entered. He had the look of a man in a hurry, so Amy put off offering him an update on the case and let him talk.

Rod wanted Amy’s help. “I’ve got thirty minutes to clear a bill for the full committee.”

Amy didn’t like the request. “I don’t know anything about legislation, and I’m not here to be legislative staff.”

Rod explained, “The full committee wants to bring up a bill next week that will regulate law enforcement access to medical records. They get cranky if we don’t let them know in advance if we have any objections. We try to resolve differences out of the public eye. If we don’t, then we find our bills get blindsided or don’t get scheduled at all, so we try our best to cooperate. This is the full committee Chairman’s bill, and we don’t want to piss him off without a good reason. We don’t usually bother the Senator with small fry like this, and the decision on this bill got bounced down the food chain to me. You know something about this subject, and I want your views.”

Amy was still reluctant. “But I can’t speak for the FBI here. Why don’t you call the legislative office there?”

Rod kept the pressure on her. “I need to make a choice here, and I only have a few minutes to make it. I’d like to make a more informed choice in the time that I have. It would be nice to consult with experts, advocacy groups, hospitals, and others, but I can’t. The FBI would take a week to get back to me. You’re the only resource I can call on right now. I may or may not accept what you can tell me, but I want to hear it. I want you to help me make a better judgment than I could otherwise on my own. You know something about this, more than I do.”

Amy frowned and thought for a minute. Rod had been so cooperative that she couldn’t say no, but she still felt used. “Okay. How can I help?”

Rod explained, “The bill seeks to establish a standard for law enforcement access to medical records. The proposal sets out rules for what law enforcement has to do before it can ask for a medical record from a doctor or hospital. What do you do when you want these kinds of records today?”

Amy was quite familiar with these requests. “We just ask for them. Sometimes we get a lot of resistance on privacy grounds or because they claim that the records are privileged. We can put pressure on them, by threatening to use a subpoena or to do to a wider investigation. That usually works. If not, we have to go to a prosecutor and ask for a grand jury subpoena. That’s a pain and a delay, but we can usually get what we need one way or another.”

Rod asked a harder question. “Do you lie or misrepresent when you’re trying to get records?”

Amy wasn’t sure how to respond. “Typically, when we ask for records, the people we ask don’t know what the law is. They often don’t even know what the policy of their own organization is. We give suspects Miranda warnings, but when we’re dealing with someone who isn’t a suspect, we don’t have to tell them anything. We try to get what we need in the fastest and easiest way.”

Rod smiled. “That was a nice semi-responsive answer. I won’t push you further about lying because it isn’t relevant here. Is there a standard that you need to meet to start an investigation?”

Amy said there was. “The FBI has rules for opening an investigation, and we follow the rules. We have to get clearance through channels. That isn’t hard to do, but it’s a formal process. Sometimes, my boss will send a request back and ask for more specificity.”

“What about other law enforcement agencies?”

“At the state or local level, just about anything goes. Local cops can put a lot of pressure on hospitals to turn over records. Here’s an example. An emergency room calls the cops to help when there’s a fight or an unruly patient. If that ER doesn’t help the local cops when asked, then the cops may not show up so quickly next time when the ER calls. A lot of things happen under the table, so to speak.”

Rod kept going. “Okay, I can see that as a way to get a limited amount of information. What if you need 3000 records to look for fraud in billing?”

Amy said that was different. “When we need a lot of records, it’s not the same as asking someone to peek in a file and give you a patient’s address or phone number or next of kin. We have to make a more formal request, and a hospital invariably brings out its lawyers. When federal funds are involved, they don’t have much of a choice, and we usually get what we need even if it takes a meeting or two. Getting a lot of records is a major administrative hassle on both sides, and we have to work that out.”

“That helps. So, the bill proposes a standard that any law enforcement agency would have to meet before asking for medical records from a health care provider. The agency can get access to medical records without a court order if it meets a three-part test. First, the records must be relevant to a legitimate law enforcement investigation. Second, the request must be limited in scope to information that is reasonably practicable in light of the purpose of the investigation. Third, the purpose cannot be met with de-identified information. Do those requirements give you any heartburn?”

Amy grew unhappier with commenting on the substance. “I’m uncomfortable here. Who am I speaking for? The FBI? Local law enforcement? Medicare fraud investigators?”

Rod wanted Amy’s personal view. “You know something about getting medical records in the real world, and I don’t. Do you hate the standard? Is it impractical? Will it allow fraudsters to go free? Does it protect privacy enough? I need you to give me your reaction. Your personal opinion is valuable.”

“I know that the FBI would oppose the bill, either on general principles or maybe with a lot of specific objections. But for Medicare, we have rules and contractual provisions that help us. Other law enforcement agencies have different needs and would hate it even more. Most police don’t have the authority to issue subpoenas on their own. They can get grand jury subpoenas in most jurisdictions, but that can take time and be hard to do. The locals will hate this more.”

Rod pushed toward a conclusion. “You think this is a bad bill?”

“Law enforcement would say that.”

“But what do you think? Would it make investigations unreasonably harder? Does it fairly balance all the interests involved? Could you not meet the standards? Would you have to dump cases that should be prosecuted?”

Amy was back to being unhappy. “I’m stuck here right in the middle. I don’t speak for the FBI. I’m working with you, and I don’t want to be unreasonable or jeopardize our relationship. But you’re putting me on the spot, asking me for something that I don’t know enough about. I’m not authorized to give opinions on bills. I’m not a policy expert. I just happen to in the neighborhood running a murder investigation.”

Rod pushed again. “Look, Amy. This is how decisions get made sometimes on Capitol Hill. Someone makes a choice based on what someone knows or who they know. In the office of every Senator on the Judiciary Committee, someone is making the same decision I’m making. In some offices, a legislative assistant with health or law enforcement responsibilities will make the choice. Most LAs know less than you. Or a secretary may ignore the Committee’s request, and the decision there is made by default. Or the key staffer who knows something may be out today. Somebody else will decide to support it solely to avoid making the Chairman mad, even if they hate the substance. Someone else will call an old friend from a local police department and get his advice. Someone with the right contacts may ask the ACLU. Decisions are made here using all kinds of sources and methods, good or bad, relevant or irrelevant, substantive or procedural. I’m trying to make an informed legislative judgment within the constraints that exist.”

Amy made a face. “I appreciate that, but the process doesn’t sound very… admirable.”

Rod tried not to laugh at her. “Welcome to Washington, Amy. The hope is that if elected officials and their staffs make judgments using any criteria they want, then maybe bad judgments will balance out and the result will be decent. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. That’s all you get. We’re a bunch of people with varying skills and limited knowledge making decisions about matters that can have broad effects on the way that people live, work, and function. We sometimes make lousy choices. I want you to help me make a better choice.”

“Okay. The FBI legislative office would kill me, but…”

Rod interrupted. “Do I have to say that this is all off the record? I’m not going to call the FBI and tell them what you said or that I even asked. You’re a source, and I’ll protect you as a source. How about that?”

“All right. Here’s what I think. For federal investigators, the change won’t make much of a difference. We already have a process, and that process does prevent most unjustified requests for medical records. When it’s a lot of records, it works well. The hospitals have a chance to assert their own interests. A motivated individual agent who needs medical information, like the local cops, will usually find a way to avoid rules and your new standard. You didn’t say anything about a request being in writing so there may be no trail of a disclosure at all.” Rod made a note about that.

Amy wasn’t done yet. “But as a medical fraud investigator, I can live with what you described. I think I’m most unhappy about the idea of using de-identified records. A medical record is a group of a zillion pieces of paper, and each piece has a patient name and number on it. Producing a clean record is either impossible or it would be expensive. I would want more flexibility here. Otherwise, the hospital lawyers will procedure me to death. Who decides if the standards have been met?”

Rod made another note. “That’s a good question. I don’t know that the bill says. Anything else?”

“Yeah, local police would be a lot more unhappy here than the feds. We do more medical fraud, but they do murders, and rapes, and robberies that result in injuries. Medical records are prime sources for information needed to decide on the charges to bring and make those cases. Is it assault or aggravated assault? You need to know the type of injuries to decide.”

Rod thought for a minute. “But if that’s the case, they will have no trouble meeting the standard. They have a clear need for a limited amount of data for a legitimate investigation, and the information has to be identifiable. Meeting the standard is a piece of cake. Am I wrong?”

Amy didn’t exactly disagree. “No, but that isn’t always the point. If there’s a formal standard, then any request is more likely to come under more scrutiny in the hospital. Someone will call in the lawyers, and everything will take a lot of time.”

Rod said, “So what you’re telling me is that the cops don’t want to be held accountable to any standard, even a reasonable one. Is that right?”

Amy did not buy Rod’s conclusion. “I don’t think that anyone in law enforcement will agree with that characterization, not officially anyway. But we want to have things both ways, just like everyone else. We want others to meet our standards, but we don’t want anyone to question what we do. Now let me ask a question. Does this proposal cover access to records maintained by doctors and hospitals only?”

“As far as I know.”

Amy said, “Well, you know that health insurance companies have a lot of health records as a result of their claims-paying activities. So does Medicare. Sometimes, a fraud investigation will begin with a call from the insurance company that is suspicious of activity by a health care provider. The company will share its information, and we’ll decide whether to open a case. Sometimes, we work jointly with them because fraud’s illegal, and it costs the insurer money. Our interests overlap.”

Rod got the point. “But if we don’t cover insurance companies, then there’s a significant loophole?”

Amy didn’t agree. “I think so, but insurance companies only get limited information and then only after the fact. If a local cop is investigating a rape, the hospital will have all the information the cop needs today. The insurance company may or may not get all the information, and it may not get it for a week or a month. A health care fraud case is different. The insurer will be more likely to have useful stuff in quantity and better organized than the hospital. Time isn’t so critical for fraud as it is for an assault or rape. When we’ve got an identifiable victim, that person wants action right away. When the victim is the taxpayer, there’s no equivalent pressure, except when the statute of limitations is about to expire.”

Rod was finally satisfied. “All right. Insurance access questions are coming up in the insurance privacy bill that’s already in conference. I’m almost out of time for this bill. I’m going to tell the committee that we don’t object to bringing the bill up. But I’ll lay down a marker for next year.”

Amy was now confused. “I don’t get it. You seem to be saying that this bill isn’t going to pass and will come back next year. Why did you pressure me to answer?”

Rod gave an honest answer. “It’s September of an even numbered year. Congress will adjourn within a month. This bill will get out of committee because the Chairman – his staff, if we’re being truthful– wants it out. There’s no hope it’ll reach the floor. There’s no floor time for non-essential bills so close to an election. There isn’t a House companion. This bill will go no further.”

Amy was perturbed. “So, you twisted my arm, but now you say that it didn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

Rod laughed. “If I told you, you never would’ve given me an answer at all. I just did what you said you did when you want records from someone. I didn’t tell you everything, and I used the fastest and easiest way to get what I needed. I wanted to take advantage… Let me rephrase that. I wanted to draw on your expertise to learn something, and I did. Next year, I may not have the same opportunity. If I call you on the phone in Denver next year, could I prevail upon you to talk to me about a legislative matter?”

Amy was uncertain. “I don’t know whether to feel used or flattered. I don’t like it when someone tries to take advantage of the fact that I’m an FBI agent. I’ve been burned before by someone in Washington, and that makes me wary. But honestly, I don’t think that you asked me for anything out of line. I may be overly sensitive. And I don’t know what I’ll do if you ask again next year. We’ll both have to wait and find out.”

Rod got up to go. “Well, I’ve got to make a call. I’m grateful for your help. I learned something that will be useful later. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but we use whatever resources we have to make better informed decisions.” Rod left before Amy could say anything about the new lead.

Amy returned to the Bennett inconsistency and grew jumpy, nervous, hopeful, anxious about it. She pulled her notes from the first Bennett interview and reviewed them in great detail. She was hopeful and excited as she walked home, and she decided to stop at one of the bars on Pennsylvania Avenue for a beer. She hadn’t drunk anything other than tea since she got to Washington, but she wanted a distraction for a while. She knew that Sally wouldn’t be home until late that night. She sat at the bar, and a few guys came nosing around. She was mildly pleased at that, but she sent them away. She started chatting with a young female House staffer who sat next to her waiting for her date to appear. Amy knew enough now to engage in a Capitol Hill insider conversation, so she asked what the staffer had heard about adjournment. The staffer shared a series of rumors, which got cut short when the guy arrived.

Amy had another beer. She wondered whether she would last until adjournment. She wondered when she would get back to Denver and if she wanted to go back.

She left the bar and walked home. The case ran through her head all night, and she played and replayed tomorrow’s interview over and over.

Chapter 27: Bennett Again

Amy drove to Arthur Bennett’s house in Shirlington Wednesday morning and arrived promptly at 10 a.m. It was a bright, cool day. She got there early and sat in Sally’s Mustang for a few minutes. She paid more attention to the small group of houses around the parking area. There were houses on three side of the parking lot, with ten houses altogether, three, three, and four. The lot was mostly empty, and Amy assumed that most people were at work. Amy knew that Shirlington was a great place for commuters because it was so close to D.C., but the houses were quite small. From the outside, Bennett’s house was indistinguishable from the others, except that most of the other houses had plants and bushes in the small unfenced front yards. Bennett had a well-manicured lawn but nothing else.

She rang the bell, but there was no answer. She rang again. Nothing. She could hear the bell ringing inside the house, so she knew it worked. She knocked on the door. As she did, the door opened slightly. It clearly wasn’t locked or latched. Amy grew nervous. She looked behind the house, but she didn’t see Bennett there or anything unusual. She returned to the front door and, for one of the few times in her career, she reached for her gun and took off the safety. She took off her shawl and put it in her purse so it wouldn’t get in the way.

She knocked again. She pushed the door open slowly, holding the gun at the ready. She called for Bennett, but there was no response. She could see a set of stairs going up to the second floor in front of her. As she swung the door further open, she could see into the living room to the left. It looked like any living room. She stepped inside the house and called out again.

She walked into the living room and saw Bennett lying on the sofa. To Amy’s semi-trained eye, he looked to be dead. One touch confirmed it. Bennett was cold, dead under any conceivable standard. She didn’t notice wounds or blood anywhere. Amy then noticed vials on the floor, along with six pieces of paper with handwriting. Amy didn’t pause. She continued through the house, inspecting each room and each closet, her gun drawn the entire time. When she was satisfied that the house was empty, she put the gun back on safety but kept it within reach. She then put on gloves so that she wouldn’t contaminate what might be a crime scene.

Amy worked hard to stay calm and focused. She’d never been in a comparable situation, and she was tempted to call Hicks for immediate backup. She decided to wait on that. She was hopeful that the case was over, but she wouldn’t know until she read what she guessed was a suicide note. She returned to the living room and closed the front door. She examined the vials, which held several prescription drugs. The vials were empty.

She picked up the pages and began to read. The first line said, “I killed Frank Butcher in his office on Labor Day.” Amy sat in a chair and smiled. She found the murderer. She solved the case. She did it. It was then she noticed that Arthur Bennett’s body on the sofa was wearing red socks. Not ruby slippers, but close enough, she thought. She sat for another minute, pleased that it was over and that she found Frank Butcher’s murderer.

She read the rest of the suicide note. It was a confession, an explanation, and virtually a directive. Arthur Bennett had an accomplice, and Arthur Bennett wanted his accomplice caught and prosecuted. The note was an investigator’s dream.

Butcher’s murder was fallout from Bennett’s investment activities. The note detailed everything. Bennett invested several million dollars from MMB’s private equity fund in a software company run by Stefan Flaherty. The company was a front, with no employees and no products. Flaherty ran it only for the purpose of providing reports to MMB. The plan was for the company to declare failure and go bankrupt as soon as it had received all the funds it could from MMB. Bennett had authority to invest up to ten million dollars in a venture before the investment required an audit and major review from the MMB’s full investment committee. The investment had nearly reached that threshold.

Bennett and Flaherty divided the money, but Flaherty wanted more. He’d lost his share gambling, and he still owed bookies to cover his losses. Flaherty was a desperate man, so he told Bennett to find a way to provide more money. He threatened to expose Bennett to MMB. Bennett gave him more, but Flaherty was a bottomless pit. To make things worse, Frank Butcher learned something about the operation of MMB’s private equity investments and was pressing Bennett for information. He had no idea what Butcher knew or his source. But he knew Butcher’s reputation, and he didn’t take him lightly.

Bennett felt overwhelmed by the pressure from two sides. The note said that Flaherty conspired with Bennett in the murder of Butcher. At least, Flaherty encouraged Bennett to kill him to stop the investigation. Amy couldn’t quite tell from the note whether Flaherty was truly involved in the murder or if a distraught, vindictive, and suicidal Bennett wanted to implicate his partner in yet another crime. Nothing in the note suggested that Flaherty was in the Russell Building. But killing Butcher removed the pressure. At least it did until Amy called for a second interview.

The note went on to say that Flaherty visited Bennett the night before, demanding more money. The visit ended badly, and Flaherty left making threats. Bennett knew that if the FBI pursued his activities with MMB, it would lead to an audit. He felt surrounded and likely to end up in jail for one or both of his crimes. He couldn’t face that, and suicide was his only way out. He wanted to fix it so that Flaherty was caught. The note identified Flaherty’s hotel in Washington, travel plans, home address, telephone number, and other information.

Amy finished reading. She got up and doubled-checked that the front door was locked. She looked over the body and saw no signs of a struggle or of anything else that suggested it wasn’t a suicide. She then read the note over again with more care. It seemed remarkably calm, coherent, and useful. Bennett had done everything but provide a photograph of Flaherty. He said that Flaherty was 33 years old, five feet ten inches tall, blonde hair, and with eyes that looked “like a weasel.”

Amy put the note down and sat to think. The first priority was clear. Put out an alert for Flaherty. After that, the right thing to do was not at all clear. Had Amy been still working as an FBI agent, she would’ve turned the decision over to her boss. But she had no boss. She was running her own investigation using her own procedures and her own instincts. She had no relevant instructions from the two people nominally supervising her for what to do at this stage. She knew that asking them would not produce a clear path forward or a result that she wanted.

The easy way out was to call for the forensic folks to come to Bennett’s house and then to notify both Parisi and Milton. She could let events flow from there, under the control of others. She wouldn’t have to decide anything. It would be so simple. It wasn’t clear to her, however, that doing so would be the right thing to do for finding Flaherty, and she saw other options.

She also understood that she was in possession of a hot piece of news. She wondered if she should be the one to control its release. She knew that she only came to re-interview Arthur Bennett because of information that she got from Dan Gold. She liked Gold. He was a pleasant, seemingly trustworthy reporter, and Amy felt indebted. She wanted to give him the story.

Two weeks in Washington, and Amy felt the tug of conflicting obligations and the absence of clear directions.

She recognized that she was in the middle of her own conflict. How to comply with your instructions while doing what you personally wanted to do? The instructions did not cover the current circumstances, and everything was up to her now. It was her investigation, her rules. She solved the case. Would anyone ever question her for anything she did?

Amy recalled that Sally told her that people gave information to the press all the time. She wondered how all those people in Washington make their choices. Do they know what to do? Do they agonize over their options? Do they do something and shrug? She felt an absence of any clear rules to follow. No precedents, as Bea Helvig might say.

Amy also remembered what Rod had said to her the day before about making choices under time pressure. It would be nice to take a while to decide and to consult with others, but those weren’t options available to her. She didn’t have anyone to help her. She knew she couldn’t ask for advice, although she briefly considered calling Rod. She had to decide on her own, she had to make her best choice, and she had to decide now.

Amy was now in Capitol Hill staffer mode, trying to do the right thing, be consistent with her instructions, under changed circumstances, and without meaningful recourse to her supervisors. Everything up to this point had been right out of the textbook. There weren’t any truly hard choices before, but now it was her call how to proceed, how to share the news with those entitled to know and maybe with those not so entitled.

Then she had an idea. Amy remembered that Rod told her how he sometimes found another way. She realized how she could make use of the information she gleaned during the investigation and that there was a chance she could produce the result that she wanted without her fingerprints on it. If it worked, she would be happy with the outcome. If not, then she had tried, at least in her own way. Whether it worked or not, she felt confident could live with herself and go home honorably. She wondered briefly if Washington had corrupted her standards so quickly, but she put that thought out of her head and proceeded.

Amy found the telephone in the kitchen and called Walter Hicks. She explained the basics to Hicks, who wanted to send a squadron to her immediately. Amy resisted. “I don’t know where Flaherty is. He could be in the neighborhood watching. He might return here today. We don’t know. You need to look for him first at the hotel that Bennett listed, at his home, and anywhere else he might be. He could be traveling back to Chicago, where he lives. You need to do all of that quietly. We don’t have any reason to think that he’s violent, but if he hears that Bennett’s dead, he’ll flee.” Hicks agreed with that part of Amy’s plan. That opened the door for the rest of Amy’s plan.

Amy continued, “I’ll stay here and see if there are any developments on this end. Flaherty could return here, for all we know. I can wait until you get me word on Flaherty. If we get to the end of the day and you don’t have Flaherty in custody, then we can regroup, and you can relieve me. I can hold out here for a few hours. But if you send a bunch of agents and lab people here, the news will get out, and Flaherty will disappear.” Hicks realized that Amy was right and agreed to do what Amy said. “But if anything happens there, call me immediately, and I’ll flood the area with agents.”

Amy agreed to that. “I’m not too worried. I can protect myself here. Bennett isn’t exactly much of a threat. Will you let Parisi know what is going on? I need to notify Senator Milton about the progress.”

Hicks didn’t like that. “I guess that you have to do that, but I don’t know that I trust people in Milton’s office not to leak the story before we’re ready. It seems to be an unnecessary risk.”

Amy was definitive. “I don’t have a choice. If I tell Parisi, I must tell Milton. That’s the only instruction I have that still seems operational. If I make the point about the need for secrecy, the Senator, of all people, will understand.” Hicks acknowledged that it was Amy’s decision. He also congratulated her enthusiastically for closing the case.

Amy then called Janie. She was the key to Amy’s plan. Amy remembered something Janie said when they first met. “I have more responsibility than anyone knows,” she said. Amy knew that Janie was a lot more than a plain vanilla appointments secretary.

Janie couldn’t account for the Senator. “There aren’t any votes until this afternoon, so I don’t know when I’ll see him. He could be home or anywhere. He hides out from his staff sometime, and we never find him when he doesn’t want to be found. Do you want me to give him a message?”

Amy said that she found Frank Butcher’s murderer and impressed on Janie the need for secrecy. Janie wanted to know more, but she was clearly thrilled for Amy that the case was over. She had to know who did it. Amy told her and added that the FBI was actively seeking the murder’s accomplice. Information about the identity of the murderer was totally embargoed, as was the discovery of the identity of the murderer. Amy underscored the need to tell no one other than the Senator. She repeated that twice. Janie understood and agreed. Amy said that she conveyed the same information to FBI Director Parisi, including the basic motive and the address of the home where she was camped out for the time being. Giving Janie the address in Shirlington was the key to Amy’s plan.

There was nothing to do for a while but wait. Amy turned up the air conditioning, but she stayed in the kitchen rather than sit in the room with Bennett’s body. While she waited, she reread the note several times. She looked around the house, finding nothing of much interest and nothing related to the murder or the fraud.

Amy didn’t know if her scheme would work, but she planned what she would say to the next visitor. An hour and a half later, there was a knock at the door.

Amy had her gun in her hand as she looked out through the peephole. The man at the door looked to be about forty, six feet tall, well-trimmed beard, wearing a blazer with a loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. The beard meant that he wasn’t an FBI agent. In any event, Amy wasn’t expecting an agent. From Bennett’s description of Flaherty in the note, she knew it wasn’t him. The caller had a notebook in his hand.

She opened the door slightly and said, “Dan?”

Dan Gold looked surprised. “Amy? I’m Dan Gold, and you sound like you were expecting me.” Amy put away her gun.

Amy stepped outside and closed the door behind her, making sure that it remained unlocked. “Maybe I was. I want you to agree to my terms if we’re going to talk.”

Dan was willing, but he came with knowledge. “I already know something about what is going on here. Or has gone on. I know who lives here. Make that who lived here. I have my sources, you know.”

Amy knew. “Nothing you already know matters. I’ll let you in and give you a story, but it’s entirely on my terms. Anything you already know is covered by my terms as well. You can take what you have right now without confirmation and leave. Or you can get the whole story from me. The terms are simple. You can only use what I say you can use, and you can only write the story when I tell you it’s okay. And if I think of a new condition later, that counts too. Take it or leave it.”

Dan smiled but didn’t struggle. “Well, I don’t have much of a choice. Of course, I agree. Are you going to invite me in?”

Amy opened the door, and the two of them entered. Dan asked, “How did you know it was me. We’ve never met. Did you dig up a picture somewhere?”

Amy said, “Nope, no picture. You were the only person I was expecting here, and you look more or less like a reporter. I could tell at a glance by the beard that you weren’t an FBI agent, and you don’t look like a door-to-door salesman. The notebook in your hand was another clue. In any event, I know who your source is.” Dan ignored that last comment.

Amy closed the door and ushered Dan into the kitchen. Dan saw the body as he walked by the living room. When they reached the kitchen, Amy gave Dan a seat on a stool, and she sat on the other stool.

Amy then proceeded to explain Bennett’s suicide, his insurance fraud, and his accomplice. Gold took copious notes. Amy told Gold the gist of the suicide note, but she refused to show him the note itself. She explained the need for secrecy until the FBI found and arrested Flaherty. They spoke about the details for more than an hour, until Gold ran out of questions.

Dan then asked, “Am I a hostage here until someone locates Flaherty?”

Amy said he was. “More or less. I won’t shoot you if you try to leave, but you agreed to my terms. You can’t report on Bennett until I say that you can. When’s your deadline?”

Dan wasn’t worried. “For this story, I can have a late deadline. The story itself will be easy to write. We now know who murdered Frank and why. The suicide and the note make it even better. Unless a war breaks out tonight, I can promise you a large headline in tomorrow morning’s Post. That is, if you let me out of here.”

Amy offered no guarantees. “We’re at the mercy of the agents conducting the search for Flaherty. He could be in town, in Chicago, on the way to Chicago, or anywhere else. There’s a chance he could show up here.”

Dan didn’t look the least bit disturbed by the possibility. “If that happens, I trust that you can protect us both. I have to say that it might make a better story if Flaherty came, and I could write about the arrest.”

Amy had a thought. “I have a new condition for you. Your story can’t say that you were here or that you talked to me. You can cite a Capitol Hill source close to the investigation for your facts, but that’s as close as you can come. You can report on Bennett’s suicide, but you can’t report on the method.”

Dan didn’t understand. “If you catch Flaherty, what difference does this detail make? The Butcher case is over, I assume, and the fraud case against Flaherty won’t depend on the suicide method.”

Amy explained, “We always withhold or obscure details because you never know. In any event, it’s another condition, and you’ve agreed to it.”

“I did, and I’ll honor it. I do have one more area of inquiry. I promise that I won’t write this part of the story either. How was it that you were expecting me?”

Amy said, “I know who your source is. Janie Thompson.”

Dan looked noncommittal. “That’s an interesting theory, but I won’t confirm or deny it. Want to tell me why you think she leaked anything to me?”

Amy did. “I identified her as your source when you had the second list of people who were in the Russell Building. That’s the supplemental list that I got Chief Alton to compile. There were only four copies of it. I had one and didn’t give it to you. Alton had one, and he had no reason to give it to anyone. His interest in life is retiring with another pension. Getting caught leaking anything would jeopardize his plans. He had no reason to help you. The third copy was for the FBI, but I left it for the messenger to pick up in the evening, and it was still there the next day. No one at the FBI could have given it to you. That left Janie or the Senator, and the Senator had left for the day. You had it the next morning when you called me, and the Senator hadn’t arrived yet.”

Dan had a hard time refuting her logic, but he wouldn’t admit it. “That doesn’t sound entirely conclusive to me.”

Amy offered another fact, “Plus, I know that Janie was a college classmate of your wife.”

Dan wouldn’t confirm anything. “I concede that you’ve put together an interesting circumstantial case. I’m not saying you’re right. Maybe there was a copy of the list that you didn’t know about. Regardless, you have to understand that I protect my sources. If you had a photograph of me receiving the list from her hands, I wouldn’t confirm it. If my ship sinks because of a leak, I’ll go down with the ship. And I’ll do it for you too.”

Amy didn’t press too hard because she knew she was right. “I admit that I couldn’t prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. But I could easily make a case in a civil trial. It’s a lower standard of proof. The fact that you showed up here is further evidence. There’re probably only three people who have this address today, and I know to a moral certainty that Walter Hicks from the FBI didn’t give you the information. I’m assuming that you didn’t get it from Bennett’s accomplice.”

“Still circumstantial. I admit nothing.” Dan was smiling.

“Suit yourself. I don’t have plans to tell anyone about you and Janie. But I figured out your source in Senator Milton’s office in the two weeks I was in Washington. It may not be that great a secret.”

Dan thought about that for a minute. “Maybe, but you had special access. And you’re clearly a sharp investigator. You solved the murder of Frank Butcher. You deserve major congratulations for that.”

Amy knew she was lucky. “With a little help from Arthur Bennett. Actually, with a lot of help from Arthur Bennett. And from you. It was your information that Butcher had talked to Bennett that brought me here to re-interview him today. That’s why I gave Janie the information that led you here. I didn’t have to give her the address, but I figured that you’d want to know more than the bare facts. That’s why I was expecting you. Besides, Bennett isn’t much company, and I could be here for a while longer.” They both laughed at that comment. “I’m glad that you came because I didn’t look forward to sitting alone all day in a house with a dead body.”

They chatted off and on while they waited. Amy liked Dan in person, and Dan was ecstatic with his scoop. He outlined his story and tried various elements on Amy. Around four o’clock, the phone rang. Amy answered it cautiously. It was Hicks. Flaherty had been arrested getting off the plane in Chicago. He was sending a team to the Bennett house.

Amy told Dan the news and freed him to write the story. She also suggested that he leave quickly before others arrived who might try to detain him. He thanked Amy profusely for her help, and he ran for his car. He left just two minutes before the FBI cars pulled up. He counted twelve cars, an ambulance, and a couple of evidence vans as he drove down the street.

As the neighbors began arriving home around 5:30 p.m., the inquiries started. Local police and a local reporter eventually showed up. They joined a Washington Post stringer who arrived shortly after Dan Gold left. Because Amy suggested that everyone keep tight-lipped until she was able to inform the Senator personally, the story didn’t get out until later in the evening. She didn’t tell anyone that she already briefed the Senator by telephone at 5 p.m.

Only one local television figured out the Butcher angle and reported on the 11 o’clock news that there had been a break in the case but without any of the real facts. The rest of the city woke up to the Washington Post story reporting on end of the Butcher case. The eight-column headline stating, Insurance Executive Murdered Hill Staffer. Every insurance industry trade association in Washington hated that headline. A few insurance people were upset at the death of George Bennett, but most cared more about the headline’s consequences for the industry.

The Washington Star had nothing. Early editions of the Star had a Day 18 box on the front page, but the box was gone from later editions that day. Amy took the copy of the early edition that was delivered to Sally’s house as a souvenir.

Chapter 28: The Last Mystery

Amy couldn’t believe that she made it to the airport with an hour to spare. It had been one of the most interesting days of her life, and here she was relaxing at the gate at 3 pm, waiting for a flight to Denver. She was glad to be going home, but she had a tinge of regret.

The day began for Amy at 7 a.m. in a Judiciary Subcommittee hearing room. That was the plan established by Milton’s staff at the end of the previous day when the events wound down with the arrest of Bennett’s co-conspirator and the removal of Bennett’s body. Everyone recognized the need to plan the press conference, prepare written materials, and prep the speakers. Milton’s staffers were ordered to be at their desks early to handle the expected onslaught of calls. The phones in the Senator’s personal office rang off the hook when Janie arrived at 6 a.m., and a core staff remained in the personal office all morning to tell people about the press conference.

By 7:15 am, there were more than twenty people in the hearing room, including Eric Howe, all of Milton’s senior staff, three interns, six FBI personnel, including Walter Hicks, Amy, Rod, and others. Howe ran the planning. Chief Alton showed up uninvited, but he was told to go back to his office in case there were any press calls. “Just tell them about the press conference. Say nothing else.” Alton agreed and left.

No one in the room showed any surprise at the eight-column Washington Post headline announcing the identification and suicide of Frank Butcher’s murderer. It drew no comments or objections from those assembled. No one thought twice about the fact that the story got out. Dan Gold’s piece set out the basics, but there were more details for the Senator and FBI Director to release at the press conference. They needed to divide up the spoils of the announcement.

The story in the Post was certain to drive a huge crowd of reporters and television cameras to the press conference. They debated briefly using the much larger Russell Caucus Room instead of the main Judiciary room, but Eric decided that a big crowd in a small room was better than the reverse. Early on in the proceedings, Eric caught Amy’s eye and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her success. Amy nodded gracefully in return. She solved the case and made her point. That was enough of a triumph for her. She didn’t care about Howe’s opinion.

The only thing easily agreed upon was that there would be a joint press conference held by Senator Milton and the FBI Director at 3 pm. The fight over who would say what went on among staff for more than an hour. Eric naturally insisted that the Senator make the opening statement, with a supporting statement from the FBI Director. The FBI staff insisted that it was the FBI that was responsible for solving the crime and that Parisi should made the first announcement. After all, it was a crime that was solved, and the FBI solves crimes. The Senate team pointed out that Amy was a Senate staffer when she conducted the investigation, but the FBI pointed to all the support that the Bureau had provided. Besides, they agreed to the Senate location for the press conference, and it was the FBI turn to get a preference. The debate went back and forth among the staff. It wasn’t resolved until the Senator showed up around 8:30 am and called Parisi, who instantly overruled his staff and conceded the spotlight. “You run for reelection,” he said to Milton, “I don’t. There’s enough glory to go around. Success has a thousand fathers, as they say.”

Eric asked Ed Glass, the subcommittee staff director, if he could come up with numbers about the savings that resulted from Frank Butcher’s investigations. That would not only highlight the value of Frank Butcher, but it would underscore the Senator’s reputation as an investigator and his value to taxpayers. No one had ever tried to add up the savings from investigations before. Ed said that it could take all day just to assemble a list of investigations, let alone identify and price the results. Milton wondered if GAO could help, at least with the investigations that Butcher sent to GAO. There was considerable doubt that GAO could respond to any request in less than a month. Milton thought otherwise, and he asked Janie to get the Comptroller General on the phone. The personal touch made all the difference, and the Comptroller General promised something by noon. What GAO came up with wasn’t especially good, but it had numbers and was usable. No one was likely to quibble over it anyway.

At that point, Amy went over the specifics of the investigation so that everyone had the same, accurate story. Walter Hicks from the FBI provided information on the FBI’s role, and Rod added an occasional detail. Milton sat through the entire discussion, asking questions throughout. There were several loose ends of no great importance now. Amy never figured out what Frank did on Friday afternoons. It seemed to have no relevance to his murder. Also, Amy was unable to explain how Frank Butcher uncovered the MMB investment fraud scheme that Bennett ran. She said that Butcher’s notes were so sparse that it was impossible for anyone else to understand them.

Amy explained that the break in the case came when she caught Arthur Bennett in a lie. That prompted a request for a second interview and Bennett’s suicide. She made no mention of the tip from Dan Gold. She knew that Gold wouldn’t want that made public. Amy admitted that there wasn’t enough evidence to tie Bennett to the murder other than his suicide note. One of the FBI technicians volunteered that there was no doubt that the note was authentic, and that Bennett killed himself. The Butcher murder was a closed case as far as the Bureau was concerned.

After the basics of the private equity fraud were detailed, the Senator said, “That sounds a lot like the plot of the movie The Producers. Get people to invest in a venture sure to fail, and it’s easy to pocket their investment.”

With that comment, the Senator’s interns in the back of the room quietly began to sing “Springtime for Hitler” from the movie. Someone tried to stop them, but Amy jumped up visibly excited. “That’s it. That’s the explanation. Butcher had a script of the movie in his office. We didn’t understand why. He must have seen the connection.” She sent Rod down to Butcher’s office to retrieve the MMB file. “I think I can solve one other small mystery.”

Rod returned with the file. Amy showed everyone the notes that said “Bennett = 0” and “SFH”. He said, “We couldn’t make any sense of this before, but now it’s clear. Arthur Bennett was the Zero Mostel character in the movie. What was his name?”

An intern piped up, “Max Bialystock.” And then “Bialystock and Bloooom, Bialystock and Bloooom.”

“That’s enough from the peanut gallery,” said the Senator, laughing. The interns kept still, for fear that they would be evicted from a meeting that would turn out to be the highlight of their internships.

Amy continued. “Arthur Bennett was Bialystock. He planned the investment scheme and funded it through the insurance company. No need for little old ladies, like in the movie. We thought that SFH stood for single family home, but we never made any sense of that. It must have stood for Springtime for Hitler. I can’t believe that we figured that out.”

Howe loved it. “That’s a stupendous angle. The page of Butcher’s notes will make a great prop, and it was the Senator who deciphered it. I think that’s the lede for the press release: Senator Milton deciphers key evidence in the investigation. Let’s play up The Producers angle and play down Springtime for Hitler. Senator, can we now expose your role in overseeing the investigation?”

Milton agreed. “I don’t see why not. The story’s going to get out anyway so we might as well do it ourselves. Play up my credentials as an AUSA. I don’t want anyone to think that I didn’t have experience with murder investigations. Janie, call Aurora Metzger in the Philly U.S. Attorney Office for details. She knows – sorry people – where all the bodies are buried. She was my secretary back in the day, and she’s still around after all these years. She can provide details on a few of the murder cases that I closed. Tell Aurora that I’ll stop by and take her to lunch next time I’m home. You can set that up too.”

Walter Hicks, the leader of the FBI team, spoke up quietly. “Excuse me, Senator, but…”

Milton interrupted him. “And emphasize in the release the equal part played by Charlie Parisi in overseeing the investigation and the tremendous support provided by his agents. The investigation would not have been successful without their efforts. Let’s give the Bureau plenty of credit. Is that what you were going to say, Walter?”

“Yes, Senator, but not as well as you did. Thank you.”

Howe raised the suicide note. “I’d like to withhold the suicide note. I don’t mind summarizing it in the release, but I would like Butcher’s note to be the only prop that we put out. We can connect that to the Senator in two ways. If we put out the suicide note too, it’ll get too much attention. It’s almost like a plot summary. Anybody have a different view? If not, how about if we say that the FBI is withholding the suicide note? Walter, is that okay with you?”

Hicks was agreeable. “We withhold stuff from the public all the time during an investigation. You can say that it’s still being processed in the FBI Lab. It’s even true. We can release it if anyone cares in a couple of days. That will put pressure on Flaherty to plead, not that we need much help to convict him.”

Howe asked the Senator how he wanted to use Amy at the press conference. But before Milton could speak, Amy spoke up quietly. “I don’t plan to be at the press conference. I’m headed back to Denver on an afternoon plane.”

Milton protested. “No. I want to introduce you right after Charlie and I do the opening statements. You’re the one who did all the work and solved the case. I want you to play a big role here. I want to make you famous. You’re the cleanup hitter here.” Milton was smiling at Amy.

Amy shook her head and looked determined. “I’m sorry, Senator. I asked for one thing at the start of this investigation, and you and the Director both agreed. I said that I don’t want to stay in D.C. a minute longer than necessary. I would’ve left first thing this morning, but I knew that you needed me today. Once the press conference starts, my presence is no longer necessary.”

The Senator protested, “This is your chance for a moment in the sun, Amy. You deserve the credit here, and I want to give it to you. At least, after I steal some of it for myself. And you too, Rod. You worked hard on this investigation.”

Everyone, including Rod, waited, and watched Amy. She didn’t look the least bit tempted by the offer. “I want to go home, and that’s what I intend to do. I’ll be here until after lunch, and then I’ll catch the afternoon plane to Denver. I already have a reservation.”

Milton asked Amy to step outside for a minute. The two of them left the room and went into the hall to speak privately.

Milton leaned against the wall with one arm and spoke in a quiet voice. “I want you here. This is a major opportunity for you personally. Whole careers have been made on less than this press conference. You deserve to get credit for what you did. Plus, now that the investigation is over, we can have that dinner that I couldn’t talk you into before. I’d like that. I’ll leave you out of the press conference if you want. You don’t even have to be there. Stay to have dinner with me tonight.”

Amy was clearly conflicted, and she took a minute to answer. “This is difficult for me. I’ve been successful in a tough job in Denver. It took most of my colleagues a long time to get used to a woman agent, and not everyone tolerates the idea even now. No one out there was aware that I know the Director, and now they all know. Plus, I got this plum assignment. If I get any more attention from this investigation, it’ll be impossible for me to survive in that office. Everyone will hate me. Charlie called this morning and offered me two weeks off, and I turned it down for the same reason.”

Milton didn’t give up. “Transfer somewhere else. Come back to Washington. You clearly know how to function in this environment. You did so well here.”

“I hate Washington. With all due respect, Senator.”

The Senator shifted his tone to be more relaxed and more personal. He reached out and put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Call me Ben, will you?”

Amy couldn’t agree to stay. “This is just awful.” She laughed at herself and smiled over the word awful. “No, no, I mean, I’m pleased, I’m flattered, I’m tempted. But…”

Milton had another offer. “Okay, if you don’t like that, I’ve got another idea. You may be aware that I have a vacancy on my investigative staff.” The Senator smiled widely here. “Why don’t you come and work for me? Play in the majors for a change. Your investigative skills will work as well in the Senate as in the FBI. I don’t know what happened between you and that asshole Barrett, but I promise to treat you a lot better than he did.”

Amy paused a long time. “I can’t. I just can’t. I’ll end up stuck between conflicting obligations again. I hate that. I hate that a lot. There are things that I like about Washington, and you’re one of them…. Ben.” She barely managed to say “Ben.”

Milton wasn’t finished. “How about if I make you the next chief of the Senate Police. Alton will be gone on his own terms in less than a year, and you can be his deputy in the meantime? Or if you don’t want to work for me, I’ll get you a good job in another Senate office. Or GAO. Local law enforcement. The private sector. I have lots of people who would be happy to do me favors, and I’d be doing them a favor by putting you on their payroll.”

Amy was nearly in tears. She slumped against the wall. She shook her head and whispered, “I just can’t do any of it. I won’t be able to live with myself. I’m sorry.”

Milton saw he was beaten. He backed away slightly with his hands signaling acceptance. “Well, I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but this was the chance.”

Amy stepped from the wall, pulled herself together, and stood up as straight as she could manage. “It’s okay. Thank you, anyway. I do appreciate it all, and in another time or place, I might have a different answer. Besides, you already have a replacement for Frank. Rod wants the job.”

Milton said, “And he’ll get it, but I’ve got room for you too. Remember, you can always change your mind, even after you get home. Give me a call any time, and I will find a way.”

They stepped back into the room, and everyone stopped talking to see what resulted. The Senator announced, “I couldn’t talk her into it. She’s right that we agreed she could leave when she found the killer, and I couldn’t change her mind. Rod? You’re not leaving for Denver, are you?”

“No, Senator. I’m just staff. I don’t want any attention. Besides, Amy solved the case, not me. I did, however, win the office pool. I said Amy would solve the case, and she did. That’s more than enough glory for me.”      

Howe looked around the room. “We’ve got a plan. Is there anything else we need to do at this meeting? If not, let’s reassemble at, shall we say, 12:30? I’ll have a draft release and press package. That will leave us time for editing and copying. Amy, we’ll need you here until we put the press release to bed. It’s only a 20-minute ride to the airport, so you’ll make your plane easily.” Howe didn’t say it, but he was happy that Amy was leaving.

The rest of the day went according to the script, and Amy was free at 1:15 p.m. As she left the hearing room, she ran into Janie Thompson outside the door. Amy did not think it was a coincidence.

The two women hugged. “I have bad news for you, Janie. You’re not a suspect anymore. I hope that isn’t too disappointing.”

Janie smiled. “Well, all good things have to come to an end. I’m glad that you found Frank’s killer, and I’m glad that I got to know you. If you ever come back to town, tell me and maybe we’ll have time to eat lunch together. And go shawl shopping.”

At that moment, each noticed that they were both wearing the same gray and red shawl that Amy had bought at Eastern Market the previous weekend. They both giggled and hugged again.

Amy said, “I’d like that. And I’m grateful to you for all your help. You made things much easier. Thanks.”

Amy thought they were finished, but Janie didn’t leave. Amy said, “You look like you have something else on your mind.”

Janie spoke in a hushed tone. “I think that you’re a good investigator and that you may have learned something about me that no one else here knows. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Amy motioned Janie over to a corner, where they couldn’t be overheard. “I can tell you what I told everyone I interviewed. I was only interested in finding Frank Butcher’s murderer. Nothing else matters. Nothing else falls within my jurisdiction. I don’t care who’s sleeping with who, and I don’t care who’s leaking information to the press.”

Janie said, “There’s only one other person here who knows about my connection to Dan, and it’s…”

Amy finished her sentence. “Senator Milton. You can tell me if I’m wrong, but I assume that you give Dan information at the Senator’s direction and maybe on your own. No one would suspect you because you’re ‘just’ a scheduler. And the Senator can honestly deny that he gave anything to a reporter, at least if he needs to deny it. Everyone profits from this game.”

Janie was genuinely surprised. “That’s right. I do have quite a lot of discretion, and I can act on my own when I think it’s appropriate. I was quite specific when I told Dan where you were yesterday. He agreed that nothing could be made public without talking to you and getting your approval. I don’t have any personal interest other than serving the Senator first and helping out the husband of an old friend if I can. No one else on the Senator’s staff even knows about me and Dan. When Dan comes to the office, we’re formal with each other.”

Amy told her not to worry. “Your secret’s safe with me. I figured out your role when I learned that Dan had a copy of Chief Alton’s list of people in the building. The one that Dan got had to come from you. In any event, whatever you did worked out fine, and it helped me too, in a way. Dan agreed to my terms yesterday, and he stuck to them. I have no complaints.”

“Thanks, Amy. I hope that our paths will cross again.”

“Me too. Goodbye.”

There was another person waiting in the hall for Amy. Kathy Weed came over to her and announced, “You haven’t caught Frank Butcher’s murderer. Arthur Bennett didn’t do it. The suicide note is a fake. I don’t know if the real murderer planted it, or the FBI did. You needed to close the investigation and so you jumped on this poor guy’s suicide. Or murder. Could be either one.”

Amy was truly astonished. She did a double take to see if Weed was serious, but there was nothing in that steely face that suggested anything else.

Weed continued, “I haven’t closed my investigation. I don’t care what you and the FBI think. I don’t care what the Post reported. Butcher’s murderer is still out there, and I’m getting closer. I’m going to show who’s the better investigator here.”

A wide variety of responses went through Amy’s head, bewilderment, scorn, disbelief, cynicism, pity, and laughter. After a few seconds, she looked at Weed said neutrally, “Good luck.” Amy then turned around and walked down the hall.

Amy had already packed her stuff, and she went back to Sally’s house, where a car provided by Walter Hicks awaited her. The driver took her bags as she left a note for Sally, promising to call her later in the week.

Sitting in the airport lounge, Amy finally read Dan Gold’s entire story. It went exactly as they discussed. Gold didn’t print any of the details about the role played by the Senator and the Director. The story consisted of the basic facts of the murder, the motivation, and the suicide. He managed to put in something about Bennett’s accomplice, as well.

The paper even ran a sidebar by one of the Post’s political writers discussing the effect of the murder on legislation. The speculation was that the insurance industry might not be able to maintain its strong opposition to the insurance privacy bill. Members might not care to be seen carrying water for the industry when one of the industry’s lobbyists was caught murdering a congressional staffer. Especially not right before an election.

As Amy read the paper, a woman came and sat near her. She looked to be about 50. She noticed that Amy was reading the headline story. The woman smiled and said, “Wasn’t that Butcher murder something? I'm glad that they caught the guy who did it. Did you follow the case?”

Amy tried not to laugh out loud. “Some. Why were you so interested?”

“I met him once. My father was crushed when he learned that Frank was dead.”

Amy had to hear the story. “How did your father know him?”

The woman explained, “My father’s retired. I’ve pushed him for years to live with me or move to a nursing home. He’s adamant that he wants to stay in his own home. He can’t cook for himself, but Meals-on-Wheels helps a lot. In fact, it’s the only reason that he can manage on his own. I travel too much to be able to help him all the time. Plus, he lives in Maryland, and I live in Virginia. It’s too far for me to go there every day. Meal-on-Wheels helps out three days a week. That makes a big difference.”

“And Butcher?”

“He delivered the meals one day a week. My father was a soundman for radio and television for 40 years. He dates back way before television, and he’s been here in D.C. his whole life. He’s heard every major political figure of the last 40 years. Frank Butcher was a great impressionist. He and my father had this game. Frank would knock on the door and do a voice. My father had to guess who it was before Frank would come in.”

The woman continued, “I was there one day when Frank came. He knocks. My father wouldn’t let me answer the door. My father slowly goes toward the door using his walker. He asks, ‘who’s there?’ A voice starts making a speech about organized crime and the Mafia. My father thinks for a second and says, ‘Come in, Senator Kefauver.’ The door opens, and it’s Frank Butcher with the food and a big smile.”

Amy asked, “Who’s Kefauver? I vaguely recognize the name. He obviously was a Senator.”

“That’s right. He also ran for Vice President in 1956 with Adlai Stevenson. Kefauver was famous in the 1950s, but hardly anyone remembers him anymore. My father remembered him well. He covered his organized crime hearings in the early 1950s. They were among the earliest televised hearings. Frank could do voices of dozens of famous obscure politicians and entertainers, and my father could recognize them. They were a unique pair. Who could possibly do Estes Kefauver impressions? Only Frank Butcher, and only my father would recognize him.

“My father looked forward to Frank’s visit. The day I was there, Frank did Harry Truman, FDR, Tom Dewey, Will Rogers. He even did Alice Roosevelt Longworth, not that I know what she sounded like. He was wonderful. He talked to my father about the old days for a while, and then he left for his next delivery. My father loved it. He still gets his meals, but it isn’t the same for him. Frank was the highlight of his week.”

Amy had a thought. “I’ll bet you a nickel that Frank delivered meals on Friday afternoons.”

The woman looked slightly puzzled and surprised. “Yeah. He came every Friday around 4 pm. How did you know?”

Amy smiled, “Oh, call it a lucky guess. After all, I had one chance in seven of being right.”

The two women chatted for a few more minutes about their travels and the weather, and then they said goodbye and boarded the plane.

Amy’s seat was in the next to last row. She settled in, buckled her seat belt, leaned back. She thought about the events of the last few weeks. She was, surprising to herself, pleased that she came to Washington. It was a different type of investigation, and she knew that she had done well. She also knew that she lucked out courtesy of Arthur Bennett’s suicide. If there ever were a Pulitzer Prize for suicide notes, she’d nominate Bennett for the award. Still, she knew that many investigations end with a similar stroke of luck, an accident, an unexpected confession, or another surprising turn of events. You take answers however they come. There are no style points in investigations. Dumb luck can be the best investigative technique. She made a mental note to call Rod and tell him about Meals-on-Wheels. Who would have thought that mean, nasty, vindictive Frank Butcher did that?

For all the cross currents she encountered, Amy thought that Washington wasn’t so bad this time. But she knew that it was no different than before, still a hotbed of conflicts and overlapping pressures. Washington never changes. Perhaps, she handled it better this time. Maybe she wasn’t so naïve.

Had she been too hasty in turning down the Senator’s offer? That’s something she thought about a lot on the ride home and for a long time thereafter.

She had the rest of the flight and the evening to consider her return to the Denver office. She couldn’t guess whether her colleagues would be jealous, resentful, or indifferent about her work in Washington. She didn’t know whether all her cases had been reassigned or even whether she cared. Whatever was to come when she got back home, Amy was confident that she could deal with it.

For now, she had enough of Washington, its compromises, its pressures, its newspapers, its conflicts, its leaks, its temptations, and its relationships. Amy was glad to be going home. She felt fully satisfied that her return to Washington was a success, that she achieved the outcome she wanted without leaving any fingerprints, that she avoided being badly used, and that she left town on her own terms.

Epilogue

Senator Milton would say that it’s the bottom of the ninth, there are three outs, and the game isn’t tied. The story’s over. You know who murdered Frank Butcher, and you know who leaked the news to the Washington Post. Why am I still here?

First things first. Did you figure out who did it? No, not who committed the murder. There wasn’t much evidence on that score before Amy found out that Bennett lied to her. Did you realize who was leaking details to the Post before Amy confronted Dan Gold at Bennett’s house? The name of the leaker was the real Capitol Hill mystery. Leakers are rarely identified, but Amy got it quickly. She was a professional investigator, after all. You had all the information that allowed her to identify the leaker, but I doubt you recognized it. You probably just focused on the murder.

I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear enough about the real mystery here. I did tell you right off the bat that this wasn’t an ordinary murder mystery. The subtitle of the story said that this is a story about Capitol Hill. I told you in the prologue that who leaked the story was a major question. Maybe you didn’t just notice all that. Take another look and see if I’m right. I wasn’t fully transparent at the start because I was afraid that if I told you too much up front, you wouldn’t keep reading. In the end, however, because I’m your staff, I accept any blame. Still, I bet you’ve read a lot of mystery stories, and you are chagrined to learn that you didn’t even recognize what the major mystery here was.

Regardless, I thought that you might like to know what happened later.

The definition of death bill didn’t make it. Despite a lot of sincere effort by people on all sides, it proved to be impossible to overcome the political, moral, and religious differences. It was a major blow to Dr. Norman Nelson, who had successfully guided his Commission to a compromise, but the compromise didn’t fly politically. The death bill was proclaimed dead for that Congress and for the foreseeable future. Write your own joke if you like.

The insurance privacy bill came closer, but…

Okay. I know that you don’t care about legislation. People rarely want to hear about legislation. You want to know what happened to the people in this story. I think you’re focused on the wrong thing. The enduring contribution of the Congress is legislation. Washington offers politics, investigations, scandals, and bluster, but it’s the legislation that makes a difference. Hear me out, just for a paragraph.

I’m the first to admit that legislation doesn’t always work as intended. Agency regulations, courts, and other factors whittle away at the goals enshrined in public laws. The goals themselves are not always right or clear. But laws sometimes make a difference to how people live, work, and prosper. Social Security and Medicare changed people’s lives dramatically for the better. The Fair Credit Reporting Act was a minor bill on a legislative scale, but it gave people privacy rights and protections against the misuse of their credit histories. It made a difference. Other laws helped people go to college, buy homes, and eat safe food. People take a lot for granted about what the Congress accomplishes. Part of the cost of those accomplishments is the political nonsense that is part of Washington. It’s a package deal. You can’t ask a bunch of high-powered, ambitious people to make decisions and set priorities and then expect the result to be pretty or apolitical. It never was, and it never will be.

I doubt that I’ve convinced you. Okay, you may agree with me about legislation, but you still don’t care about the details. You elect people to do all that stuff for you. You don’t want to take responsibility for the people you elect. I already told you that legislation is another ordinary societal function, and now you’re agreeing with me just to get to the gossip.

I’m bound to do your bidding here, so I’ll tell you what you want to know.

Amy Forest continued as an FBI agent in Denver for many years. She refused all press interviews, and, after a while, the requests dried up. I do not have a storybook ending here, if that’s what you hoped for, at least, not that storybook ending. She eventually married someone she met at a civil liberties conference where she was the law enforcement speaker. Years later, she became the first woman to head an FBI field office. She did return to D.C. occasionally on other special assignments, however.

Senator Milton served several more terms, always elected overwhelmingly and with only token opposition. A year after the Butcher murder investigation ended, he remarried, someone from Philadelphia. The marriage was a success, and his new wife managed to wrest some control of the Senator’s life from his staff. Milton never ran for President, although many urged him to do so. He also appeared regularly on lists of possible Vice Presidents. He wasn’t interested in any higher office. He retired after serving off and on as the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. He left on his own motion, at about the right time, just as his physical abilities and discipline waned. He was the author of many important pieces of legislation, but we’ve already established that you don’t care about legislation.

Chief Alton survived to retirement and moved back home to West Virginia. He was replaced by a younger police officer who made the Senate police a more professional organization, with the assistance and support of Senator Milton.

Sally Sutton continued as a well-paid pharmaceutical lobbyist and retired comfortably at a relatively early age. She never married.

Janie Thompson worked for the Senator until she retired at the age of 60. She moved back to her hometown of Altoona, Pennsylvania, and married a high school classmate shortly thereafter. A woman with a federal pension is a major attraction in upstate Pennsylvania.

Charles Parisi finished out his term as FBI Director with good reviews from people on both sides of the aisle as well as from law enforcement and civil liberties groups. He went back to teaching law and writing. He eventually wrote an autobiography that barely mentioned the Butcher investigation.

John Murphy never got indicted. Bea Helvig eventually managed to extricate him from her basement, got a divorce, and remarried. She finished her career at the National Archives. For its part, the National Archives eventually got free of the General Services Administration and became an independent agency. But a series of shortsighted, ethically challenged, or frightened leaders failed to make any use of the agency’s independence or traded it for a handful of beans.

Dan Gold continued as a reporter for the Washington Post until he got an offer that he couldn’t refuse from the New York Times. He eventually went to work for a presidential candidate and followed him into the White House as Press Secretary.

Kathy Weed lost her staff job during a chairmanship change at her committee. No one showed much interest in protecting her, and she ended up in a dull bureaucratic job in a cabinet department. For years, she told anyone who would listen how the FBI botched the Butcher investigation and that she was on the verge of identifying the real killer.

Senator Barrett was reelected once to the Senate, but he got caught up in a scandal involving women from his own staff. He was pressured by members of his own party into resigning and disappeared from the public eye.

The rest of Milton’s staff did what staff does. A few stayed around the Hill for years. Many went back home and started other lives. One or two got involved in local politics and were elected to state office. Some went to work for the Executive Branch. Several became Washington lawyers or lobbyists. For many of them, working on the Hill was the highlight of their careers. For others, it was just another job, a steppingstone to something else. Eric Howe ran the press office at a major trade association for several decades.

The Philadelphia Phillies ended decades of frustration by winning the World Series for the first time in franchise history in 1980. Senator Milton was scheduled to throw out the first pitch at the seventh game. The Phillies won the series in six games.

As for me, I stayed on the Hill for most of my career. I did get Frank Butcher’s job, but honestly, I wasn’t as good at it as he was. I produced useful investigations, but I never cracked the front page. I’m not sure you have to be as ruthless as Frank was to succeed as an investigator, but I didn’t have what it takes to meet the standard that Frank set. The Senator never complained. Maybe he was just as happy about it since his reputation was already secure and because I rarely asked him to take center stage. But I knew the difference, and I decided that I had to give way to someone who could do a better job.

I was much happier doing policy and legislation. After two years as chief investigator, I took a senior legislative job on the House side. I needed a break from the Senate. The House is a much different place, more focused, less frenetic, more orderly. The most interesting thing I learned from the House perspective was that for majority staff in the House, the other party is the opposition, but the Senate is the enemy. The perpetual internal war between House and Senate committee staffs is a whole other story and one completely hidden from public view.

I returned to the Senate as Chief of Staff to the Senate Judiciary Committee when Senator Milton assumed the Chair. It was an unbelievably demanding job, and I loved it. Luckily, by then my children were older and didn’t miss me. My wife was a brick throughout. I could not have succeeded otherwise.

When Milton retired, a law firm threw a lot of money at me to work there, but I hated it. I felt like I was a slave to a time sheet, and I never got comfortable as a partner. And I didn’t like taking direction from clients and doing their bidding, rather than running the show from behind the scenes. I left after two years and did volunteer work on criminal justice matters for public interest organizations. I did not make Meals-on-Wheels deliveries.

I returned to my preferred role as staff in writing this book. I hope that I served you well.

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