Stuart Woods: Insatiable Appetites

He found a book about the Capitol building, and inside it, a plan of the House wing. He noted that Evan’s office was quite near the House floor. The route from one to the other was simple.

Elton field-stripped the weapon, and cleaned it, as he had the .45, then he wrapped it in a handkerchief and slipped it into his coat pocket, thinking hard. He glanced back at the TV set; the House was adjourning. It was a wild chance, but as long as he was in the building and armed, why not?

Elton found a roll of tape in his son’s desk and walked to the rear door of the office, which opened into a hallway. He opened the door, pressed back the spring-loaded bolt, and taped it into place. He looked both ways up and down the hall, then let himself out and pulled the door closed behind him. He reckoned he had a walk of less than a minute. His VIP GUEST pass got him deference from everyone who might have questioned his presence. After all, he was an ordinary-looking elderly man in a tailor-made suit — not the sort to attract interest.

As he reached the House chamber the doors opened and people began to stream into the hallway, the session having ended. He stood by the door and looked inside; he saw the minority leader standing in the aisle, talking with some people, then the man left the others and walked toward the main doors.

“Excuse me, Mr. Speaker,” Elton said to him.

The man’s eyes went to the pass, then to his visitor’s face. “Yes? Can I help you, sir?”

“I am Elton Hills, the father of Congressman Evan Hills.” He watched the man’s expression change from solicitous to stone cold. “I have no time for you,” he said.

“I have a message for you from my son. He asked me to deliver it in person. Is there somewhere we could be alone for a moment?”

The man looked annoyed. “This way,” he said, leading Elton through the doors and making a turn. They appeared to be in the House cloakroom. The man led him to a curtained alcove and pulled the velvet drapes shut. “Now,” he said, “what is it?”

Elton gave him a little push that caused him to fall into a chair.

“Now, see here, Mr. Hills.”

Then Elton had the gun in the man’s mouth. “This is my son’s message,” he said, and pulled the trigger. The pistol was not as noisy as the .45 had been. Elton quickly wiped the weapon and saw that the man’s fingerprints and blood were put on it, then he turned and walked back to the main doors and left with the last of the congressmen leaving the session.

Elton dropped the handkerchief into the first wastebasket he saw, then he walked back to his son’s office, not hurrying, and, after ascertaining that no one was watching, entered through the taped door. He stripped off the tape and closed it behind him, then he unlocked the front door of the office and went and sat at his son’s desk. He could hear alarms going off somewhere. He went into his son’s private powder room, washed his hands thoroughly and made sure there was no trace of blood on him, then he went back to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Bruce Willard’s cell number.

“Hello?”

“Bruce, it’s Elton. I’m back home in Pennsylvania, and I just wanted to thank you again for your kindness to me last evening.”

“Elton, have you heard what happened at the hotel while we were there?”

“No, what happened?”

“A man named Creed Harker shot himself in the men’s room, about the time you were there.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Elton said.

“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Bruce asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I just wanted to thank you again. Oh, here comes my lunch. I’ll talk to you soon.” He hung up and sat down at his son’s desk. He was still sitting there when Miss Tozer returned to the office.

“I’m sorry to have left you alone for so long, but we had an incident in the members’ cloakroom that’s had us pretty busy for the past hour.”

“Not at all. I’ve enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere here,” Elton replied.

“The halls are clear now. May I walk you back to the garage?”

“Thank you, yes.” They returned to where Manolo sat in the Bentley, waiting. He gave her back the badge. “Thank you so much for your kindness, Miss Tozer,” Elton said.

“I’m so happy to have been able to meet you,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Your son was a wonderful man.”

“I know,” he said. Manolo opened the door, and he got into the rear seat. “Let’s go home,” he said, and relaxed into his seat.

His last thought before he dozed off was that, perhaps, he should have strolled over to the Senate and shot Henry Carson, too.

As he got out of the car in his driveway at home, he spoke for a moment with Manolo. “If anyone should ask, we got home about three hours ago,” he said.

“As you wish, Mr. Hills,” Manolo replied.

Late in the afternoon, Stone stepped into the office where Anna Fontana was working. “I read the first volume with great interest,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s going quite well, I think.”

“I think I mentioned that Carla is coming up for the weekend.”

“Yes, you did. I’m seeing her for lunch tomorrow.”

“Well, she just called from a cab, and she should be here in half an hour or so. Would you like to have a drink with us before you go back to Brooklyn?”

“Why, yes, that’s very kind of you.”

“If you’re finished for the day, I’ll walk you upstairs to my study.”

She gave him her work papers for the day, and he locked them in his safe, then went upstairs with Anna, settled her on the sofa in his study, where she asked for a martini.

“Runs in the family, I guess,” Stone said, pouring one and handing it to her.

“Quite a lot runs in the family,” she said. “More than you know.”

Stone poured himself a Knob Creek on the rocks and took a chair opposite her. “Oh?”

“I’ve had a peek forward in the journals,” she said, “and I’m afraid they will cover a period when Eduardo’s life and mine overlapped.”

“Afraid?”

“It’s a subject that I’ve been avoiding for many years.”

“How did you meet?”

“In an Italian grocery store downtown,” she replied. “I went there once a week to stock up on sausages, cheese, and other things the supermarkets didn’t carry. We had both been offered a taste of some bresaola in the aisle, and we compared notes. He was charming, well-spoken, and beautifully dressed. I suppose it helped that he was older than I, since I had always been attracted to older men.”

“And what came of this meeting?” Stone asked.

“Carla,” she said.

That stopped Stone in his tracks. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I was married, of course, and we had a perfunctory sex life, but it was quite something else with Eduardo.”

“So, Carla’s father could have been either of the two men?”

“It seemed so. I told Eduardo of my dilemma and asked his advice. I had been considering an abortion, which, at that time, was illegal but available if you knew someone. He talked me out of the abortion and said that he would be quite happy to have another child, if I would, and that he would take on a father’s responsibilities. My husband and I had been childless up until then, and I had wanted a child, but he had not. I went home and told him I wanted a divorce. He moved out the next morning, and he agreed to a Mexican divorce, since it would save him a lot of money on legal fees. When Carla was born, Eduardo was there, and when he saw her he knew Carla was his, no doubt, and from that moment on, he saw that we had a comfortable life and that Carla was well educated.”