Insatiable Appetites

55

Sergeant Avery Morris was at his desk in the homicide bureau of the DCPD when a television set in the corner of the room caught his eye — something about a shooting at the Capitol. A couple of other people moved to where they could see the TV better, and somebody turned up the volume.

Morris came over and watched long enough to hear that the minority leader of the House of Representatives had been found dead in the House chamber cloakroom with a handgun nearby. He whistled at his partner. “Jimmy, let’s get out of here.”

Jimmy Clark came over. “For this?” he asked, nodding toward the TV. “That’s at the Capitol — not our jurisdiction. Let the Capitol Police and the FBI handle it.”

“I’m just curious,” Morris said. “You cover here, I’ll be back in an hour or two.” He went down to the garage and got into their unmarked car. At the Capitol he flashed his badge to get into the garage, then took the elevator up a floor and walked to the office of the Capitol Police.

Morris had had occasion to visit the Capitol on business, and he had always made a point of treating the cops there as equals, not as security guards. He asked to see Howard Atkins, the chief, and was shown in immediately.

“Hello, Avery,” Atkins said, standing up to receive him and pumping his hand. “Take a seat. Coffee?”

“Thanks, I will.”

Atkins buzzed somebody and a uniformed cop came in with two paper cups on a tray.

“You hear our news?” Atkins asked.

“On TV. I came over because I have an interest. Can you describe the scene for me?”

“The minority leader ate his gun,” Atkins said. “I haven’t been able to draw any other conclusion. Of course, we’re still talking to his family and staff. We hope to find something in his background that would explain this.”

“I have a feeling you won’t find anything that would explain it,” Morris said.

“Tell me why.”

“You hear about the guy in the men’s room at the Four Seasons restaurant?”

“Yeah, sure. You think there’s a connection?”

“Maybe. What kind of gun was involved?”

“An old Walther PPK, vintage World War Two.”

“The one at the Four Seasons was a Colt .45, vintage Korea.”

“So, two old guns?”

“Right, and I’ll bet your Walther didn’t have any prints on it or the cartridges except the minority leader’s.”

“Good guess, Avery,” Atkins said.

“Tell me, Howard, did any of your people look at the trash cans in the area?”

“I’ll find out.” Atkins left the room for a moment, then came back. “My people didn’t go into the trash. You want to do that with us?”

“If you don’t mind, Howard.”

The two men left the office together. “What are you looking for?” Atkins asked.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

Two young cops did the work while the two older men watched. They found it in the third wastebasket. Morris pointed. “That’s what I’m looking for.” He put on some latex gloves. “If I’m right, it won’t have any labels or laundry marks. Somebody washed and ironed it at home.” He took the handkerchief from the young man and unfolded it. “Identical to one I found in a wastebasket at the Four Seasons.”

Somebody produced an evidence bag and put the handkerchief into it.

“So,” Atkins said as they walked back to his office. “Is this somehow going to break our case?”

“I don’t think so,” Morris said. “What it tells us is that these two apparent suicides are connected. The two men did know each other. Creed Harker was a Republican lobbyist, I’ve seen his picture in the papers with the minority leader.”

“That’s very interesting,” Atkins said.

“The two guns interest me, too. Harker was a collector, but I think when we look into it, the .45 won’t be something from his collection.”

“It sounds like what we need is a suspect with some more of those handkerchiefs in his dresser drawer.”

“Or a gun collection with a couple of missing guns.”

“Did your people find anyone of interest to talk to?”

“A couple of dozen people, but all credentialed for the House. We’ve got a tight security system here.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Tell you what we’re going to do, Avery,” Atkins said. “We’re going to start all over and question everybody near the scene again.”

“I won’t get in your way, but I’d like to hear what you find out.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

The two men shook hands, and Morris went back to the garage and got his car. All the way back to the station he racked his brain. Nothing new came to him.