It was crowded this morning. Yet another congressional meeting on something earth shattering like baseball players using steroids. People starving all over the world, dying on battlefields, hacked to death by their neighbors, and the most pressing thing the leaders of the free world could think of was a bunch of big-headed, small-balled athletes using steroids. Who cared? Not Emma, although her male colleagues had insisted it mattered. She was just glad Congressman Coffer wasn’t on any of the relevant committees. She didn’t think she could have kept a straight face, or kept her mouth shut.
She desperately grabbed a cup of coffee on her way to her desk, and managed not to spill it while juggling her bag with the laptop and Lacey’s memorial book inside. She’d left the box in her room at Duncan’s. It was too bulky for even her giant purse.
She’d barely managed to take a few sips of precious caffeine and skim over the relevant files for the morning’s meeting, when the Congressman’s door opened and her colleagues jumped up to head into the office. Emma followed more slowly, marveling that only a few days ago, she would have been every bit as pumped up as the others about tomorrow’s hearing. But this morning it was nothing but a distraction. What she wanted to do was sit down with her computer and follow up her new idea about how to identify the women from Victor’s parties.
It was past noon when she had the chance, however. The meeting had run long, and then there’d been a pile of constituent requests for her to wade through. Most had been shuffled to other staff members right away, but a few had been of a more serious nature and she’d had to deal with them herself.
But finally the office was nearly empty, with everyone off to lunch somewhere. Washington took its lunches very seriously, seeing them as one more opportunity to court votes or raise money or sometimes just to have a couple of martinis and stop the shaking for an hour or two. Emma grabbed a leftover muffin from the morning. It was cranberry, the runt of the litter, crushed and disreputable looking, which was probably the only reason it was still there. She took it and yet another cup of coffee back to her desk, pulled up the list of women’s initials from Victor’s files and began going through Lacey’s mourner’s book looking for names. She was initially surprised at the number of people who had signed the book. She’d been in such a fog, and she’d had no idea that many people had come. Some had simply signed their names, but most had written at least a few words of condolence, and a very few had done more than that. It was an effort not to get lost in their remembrances as she read the words of people she didn’t know, but who had known Lacey and would miss her. It reminded her of why she was reading the book at all, so she wiped away her tears and began searching the pages more methodically.
She was bent over trying to decipher some of the handwriting when a door opened and Guy Coffer’s surprised voice said, “Emma?”
Emma jumped, nearly choking on a piece of muffin. She grabbed her coffee and took a long sip, thankful it had sat there long enough to be only warm.
“Congressman,” she managed finally, coughing.
Coffer gave her a worried look, his hand outstretched, as if he was thinking about patting her on the back. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Emma took another sip of coffee and waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” she said, setting the cup down. She spun her chair around, bracing a hand on her desk and surreptitiously hitting the hot key on her laptop which would shut down her files.
“I didn’t realize you were here,” she said cautiously.
Coffer gave her his handsome politician’s grin. “I walked through earlier. You were hard at work.”
Emma was slightly alarmed by the idea that he could have passed by without her noticing. Then she glanced around and felt a new kind of worry. The phones were ringing almost constantly, as usual, and she could hear people in the outer office, but other than that she and Coffer were alone. If Sharon walked in right now, she’d stroke out, and maybe fire Emma. Shit.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Was there something—”
“Don’t apologize. You’re entitled to lunch just like the rest of us. I came out to get a cup of coffee.”
“It’s pretty low. Let me make some fresh.” Emma closed the cover on her laptop and jumped up, hurrying over to the coffeemaker on the side cabinet. There was a bigger setup out front, but venturing to the outer office sometimes meant being ambushed by someone wanting something, so the analysts working in this part of the office tended to use this one. Everyone was supposed to do their part to keep the pot full, but as always, there were those who shirked the duty, thinking it beneath them. Emma wasn’t one of those. She valued her coffee too much.
“What are you working on?” Coffer asked, glancing at the mourner’s book which lay open on Emma’s desk.
Emma forced herself to stay calm, waiting until she’d filled the coffeemaker and flipped the switch, before turning to face him. “That’s the condolence book from Lacey’s funeral,” she told him, letting her real emotions flavor her words. “So many friends came to say good-bye to Lacey, people I didn’t even know.” She paused, glancing out the window, noticing the winter’s accumulation of dirt on the glass.
“Were you and Lacey very close?” he asked, and his eyes were so sad that Emma stared at him for a moment before nodding.
“Lacey was like a sister to me. The only family I had.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Emma knew Coffer was a skilled politician, but he seemed so sincere that she couldn’t help giving him a reassuring smile. “Everyone tells me it will get better with time. I’m not sure I believe that, but—”
“They’re right, you know,” he interrupted intently. “The day I learned my brother had died overseas was the worst day of my life. One moment he was here, and the next he was gone. The pain of losing him . . . it’s still there, but not as much as it used to be. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but I think it’s the way our minds cope with such a terrible loss. Otherwise, we’d go mad.”
Emma didn’t know what to say. She was quite literally overwhelmed by his kindness. “Thank you,” she managed. “That was very kind.”
Coffer ducked his head, smiling. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. If that coffee’s ready—”
“Of course,” Emma said, thankful for the break. Things had gotten a little too intense there for a moment. She fixed a cup for him, two sugars the way everyone knew he liked it. Just like everyone knew Sharon always made it with a sugar substitute instead.
“Thanks,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Finish your . . .” He glanced around her at the remains of her muffin. “Muffin?” he said, then smiled and strolled back to his office.
Emma practically fell back into her chair, her nerves still jumping at the shock of having Coffer walk up on her like that. Sure, her desk was in the distant corner and when she was working, her back was to his office, but even so . . . She shook her head. She might make a great investigator—no, she was a great investigator. Give her a problem, she worked it like a dog with a bone. It was what made her a terrific legislative analyst, too. But apparently, she wasn’t cut out for sneaking around. Shaking her head, she opened her computer and went back to work, making a point of angling her chair so her back wasn’t entirely to the room. She didn’t want any more surprise visitors.
She was actually down to the last few pages of condolences. She’d been so certain it would be the definitive data source, that all of the women would somehow magically appear within its pages. But so far, she had only one possible name, and that one was doubtful. Victor’s files had listed a V.S. as one of his women, but the only matching entry in the book was a V. Slayton. No name, just the initial, and the handwriting gave her no clue as to whether it was a man or a woman. Discouraged, she turned to the last page and saw the name Tammy Dietrich. And Victor had a T.D. on his list. Her stomach tightened with excitement. Maybe she’d been right all along and this was the break she’d been looking for.
A cluster of voices sounded in the outer office, announcing the return of at least some of her colleagues. She closed the mourner’s book, her fingers rubbing the soft cover thoughtfully. Ever since they’d found Lacey’s body, she’d had this feeling that there was a big clock ticking away the seconds and very soon it would be too late. The powerful men involved were already working to cover their asses so thoroughly that no one would ever see those pale, white globes again. She wrinkled her nose at the image her own thoughts conjured up, but it was a halfhearted reaction. Because the truth of that thought was undeniable. They needed some progress on this investigation before the men responsible erased every hint of their involvement. Emma only needed to ID one of Victor’s women, someone who’d been there, who could name names.
She didn’t give herself any time to change her mind. She grabbed her notes, shoved her laptop into her purse and left the office before anyone who mattered was there to notice. She wanted to follow up on Tammy Dietrich and the V.S. person, too, and was pretty sure she knew someone who could help her.
She rushed out into the chilly afternoon of the Capitol parking lot, tugging her coat closed. Last year, it had been warm by this time of year. People had even complained about the mall’s famous cherry blossoms peaking too soon. Not this year. She gave the gray sky a wary glance. It couldn’t actually snow anymore, could it?
She unlocked her car and slipped inside gratefully, turning the heater on full blast. While she waited for the car’s interior to warm up, she called Lacey’s old office, breathing a sigh of relief when the voice that answered was one she knew well.
“Betty,” Emma said. “It’s Emma Duquet.”
“Emma,” Betty Napoli responded, her smoker’s voice warm with sympathy. “How are you, hon?”
