Philip Margolin - Capitol murder

Dana forced herself to think about Brad and Ginny to take her mind off subjects that were making her anxious. Dana had been a policewoman, and she was used to danger. Brad and Ginny were ordinary citizens who had become involved in nation-shaking scandals due to forces beyond their control. What she admired most about her friends was their normalcy. They both came from loving families and had been raised in middle-class comfort. Until the Farrington affair, their biggest problems had been grades, dating, what college or law school would admit them, and what job choice they should make.

Dana’s mother had walked out on the family when Dana was a sophomore in high school, and her father had died of a stroke while working on a carburetor in the garage he owned. Money was always tight in Dana’s family, and she’d worked in high school and paid her way through community college by waitressing. She thought she’d found her niche when she joined the police force, but she’d left the force after being kidnapped and tortured while working undercover.

Dana was exhausted, but she doubted she could get to sleep right away, so she turned the television to CNN. Two talking heads were discussing a story that she gathered had led off the evening news programs. From late afternoon until eleven, Dana had been working surveillance for an insurance company and had not watched any TV. The newscasters paused while they replayed a clip of a press conference that had been held by United States Senator Jack Carson.

“Senator,” one of the reporters shouted, “didn’t you think about coming back to Washington when you heard about the murder in your town house?”

“Our cabin is in a remote area in the mountains, and I go there to decompress. Cell phones don’t work up there, we don’t have a television or radio, and I’m miles from a store that carries newspapers. So I had no idea that Miss Koshani had been killed.” Carson broke eye contact with the camera. “I guess I picked the wrong time to go on vacation,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

“Why was the murder victim staying in your town house?”

“We’re getting into areas of national security here, so I can’t respond to that question. And now, if you’ll excuse me.”

When the clip of the press conference ended, Dana was frowning. Something didn’t feel right. Brad had told her that Koshani was going to be a witness before a committee on which Carson sat. He put her up at his town house. Why would he leave before she testified? Then she shrugged. Whatever the reason, it was none of her business.

D ana had gotten back to bed at three thirty. The phone rang at seven. Dana struggled out of a deep sleep and managed to find the receiver after the third ring.

“Cutler?” a familiar voice said.

Shit! Dana thought.

“Cutler, wake up,” Patrick Gorman barked.

Dana struggled into a sitting position. “You called at a great time, boss. I ran into Elvis last night pumping gas at a Shell station in Bethesda, and he said he’d tell me how he was abducted by aliens if I slept with him. This could be a big scoop. You want me to wake him up?”

“Have a little respect for the fine newspaper stories that make it possible for me to pay your exorbitant fees,” Gorman answered, trying his best to sound like a gruff, old-time editor from a responsible newspaper. Patrick Gorman was the publisher of Exposed, D.C.’s most outrageous supermarket tabloid, and he couldn’t care less that he made his money by printing stories that only the most gullible readers would believe. He had also made a few pennies by running exclusives based on Dana’s inside knowledge of President Christopher Farrington’s involvement in a serial murder case and the attempts by an ex-CIA bigwig to rig the result in a case before the United States Supreme Court.

“If you didn’t know I was screwing Elvis, why did you wake me up?”

“Have you heard that Senator Jack Carson has surfaced?”

“Yeah,” Dana said as she rubbed her eyes.

“He says he was exhausted and went on vacation in a remote mountain cabin in Oregon to, open quote, ‘recharge my batteries,’ close quote.”

“And you’re calling me because…?”

“I don’t believe a word of it, so I want you to fly to Oregon and check out his story.”

A few days in Oregon’s spectacular mountains, all expenses paid, sounded like a great cure for the blues.

“My usual rates?” she asked.

“Yeah, and I’ll have the corporate jet fly you there. I’m probably not the only newspaper editor with this idea. When can you leave?”

“When can you fuel the jet?”

A quick check of property records was all it took to locate the senator’s cabin. It was a few hours east of Portland and several miles up in the mountains on back roads, so Dana called ahead and rented a Range Rover with all-wheel drive. It was waiting for her when the jet touched down just before sunrise.

Dana was wearing jeans, hiking boots, a flannel shirt, a cable-knit sweater, and a parka, because snow and freezing temperatures were expected in the mountains. She was also carrying a selection of concealed weapons, even though she wasn’t expecting trouble. Ever since her kidnapping, Dana never went anywhere unarmed, and her precautions had paid off on several occasions.

Dana threw her duffel bag in the backseat of the Rover, set the GPS, and drove out of Portland toward the wilderness. The sun was up by the time she left the airport, and the sky was clear even though the temperature was hovering around 32 degrees. The ride down the interstate was boring, and she had time to think about Jake and how much she missed him.

The scenery was spectacular once Dana got off the interstate, and it proved enough of a distraction to take her mind off of her troubles. Suddenly Dana was surrounded by a forest still bright green because of all the Douglas firs scattered among the leafless deciduous trees. Runoff from the mountains created unexpected waterfalls. Every once in a while, the road would curve and Dana would be treated to a brief glimpse of a towering snowcapped mountain through a break in the foothills. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the mountain would vanish at the next turn in the road, like the object of a spectacular magic trick.

The elevation increased as she drove through the pass that took her over the Cascades, and a light rain turned to snow. In no time, the state highway looked as though it had been dusted with powdered sugar. Dana drove through a one-street town with a cafe, a general store, and a garage with a sign announcing that this was the last place to gas up for fifty miles. Fifteen minutes later, the GPS told her to make a left onto a narrow road that curved up into the mountains. The road was paved for a few miles, but the snow was falling fast and there were only a few spots where the asphalt could be seen beneath the accumulating flakes.

Trees towered over the road on both sides, and the canopy and thick storm clouds made midday seem like dusk. Dana was glad she wasn’t claustrophobic. A slight dip signaled the end of the pavement and the beginning of a one-lane dirt road. The temperature was dropping as the elevation increased, and the thermometer on the dash put the weather outside in the high twenties. The Rover skidded twice, but Dana got it under control before any damage was done. The snow in the forest covered the bases of the tree trunks, and it was clear that it had been snowing at this altitude for a while.

The GPS spoke again seven miles after Dana turned off the highway. She had to squint through the windshield to see the road because the pelting snow was fighting the wipers to a draw. If it weren’t for the GPS telling her to turn, Dana would have missed the slight gap through the trees on her right. A quarter mile later, a log cabin appeared.