Capitol murder

Chapter Forty-two

The rest of the staff had gone home, and the office, which normally hummed with activity, was eerily quiet at 9:45, when Senator Carson told Brad that he felt he had a handle on the bill they had been discussing. They continued to debate a minor point as the senator followed Brad past the empty, darkened offices to Brad’s office so Brad could get some papers he needed to go over at home.

“Well, I think I finally get why you think that clause should be modified,” Carson said as Brad put on his coat. Brad started to answer when he heard a door open near the senator’s office. The lights were off at that end of the hall, but streetlamps cast dim rays of light through the windows in the senator’s office, allowing Brad to make out a silhouette in the hall.

“Don’t say anything and follow me quickly,” Brad whispered as he grabbed Carson’s elbow.

“What…?” Carson started to ask.

The intruder turned toward the sound.

Brad slapped a hand across the senator’s mouth and pointed toward the senator’s office. Then he pulled Carson after him. As they headed toward the reception area, Brad racked his brain for somewhere they could hide. He was opening the door to the hall when he remembered a place he’d been taken by one of the other legislative assistants as part of a tour of the Capitol during his first week on the job.

When the Senate was questioning nominees for director of the CIA, a seat on the Supreme Court, and other important positions that could only be filled with the consent of the Senate, the public hearings were held in the central hearing room in the Hart Office Building. His tour guide had taken Brad through an unmarked door in the Dirksen Building that led into a room where important witnesses who wanted to avoid the press could wait.

Brad sped down the corridor with the senator in tow. He stopped in front of the unmarked door and heard footsteps running down the hall in their direction. Brad prayed that the door was unlocked. He turned the knob, and the door opened into a darkened waiting room. Brad pulled the senator inside and closed the door as quietly as he could. Then he edged past chairs and a side table and led the senator down a hall to a door that opened into a massive, high-ceilinged room filled with chairs for spectators. Between those chairs and a dais were a table and chairs for the witnesses and their advisers. Behind the dais were comfortable high-backed chairs for the senators, and behind the those were chairs for staff. Along the walls were long tables for the press.

Brad raced past the press tables to the other end of the room. The walls were paneled with polished wood and looked solid. Brad stopped before one of the last panels and pushed. It swung inward into a concrete corridor. A stairway led up a floor to a landing where four doors faced a narrow hall. The first two were locked. Brad started to panic. Then the third door opened into a darkened room that resembled a smaller version of a skybox in a football stadium.

Brad pulled the senator inside and locked the door. Brad motioned the senator to sit on the floor.

“Do you have your cell phone with you?” Brad whispered. Carson nodded.

“Call for help.”

On the other side of the room was a large window through which the press could look down on the hearing room. Brad duckwalked across the floor, then rose up an inch and peeked through the window. A man was walking down the rows of chairs searching for them. When he reached the back of the room, he turned in a slow circle, pausing every few seconds to listen for movement. Then, without warning, he looked up at the windows in the press boxes and stared at Brad.

Brad wanted to duck out of sight, but he was paralyzed. Clarence Little smiled and started toward the entrance to the press boxes. He was halfway there when he froze and looked over his shoulder. Seconds later, he bolted out of the room through the door to the witness waiting area. A moment after Little disappeared, two members of the Capitol Police with their guns drawn burst into the room through the door the public used.

“He’s gone,” Brad said as he turned on the lights and stood in the window waving at the police.

“Who was following us?” Senator Carson asked.

“Clarence Little.”

“So he is after you.”

“Actually, he may have been looking for you.”

“Why would he be after me?”

“The press has been all over you about Dorothy Crispin’s murder. Well, I learned something they don’t know. Crispin was a law student, but she also worked for Executive Escorts, a high-end call girl operation that Jessica Koshani owned.”

Even in the dark, Brad could see the senator turn pale. “How do you know this?” he said.

“I can’t tell you, and please don’t pressure me, because I promised I wouldn’t reveal my source. What you need to know is that the man who murdered Crispin cut off her pinkie.”

“Oh, my God!”

“It’s beginning to look like Clarence Little killed Dorothy Crispin and Jessica Koshani. At first, I thought that Clarence saw me drive Jessica Koshani from the airport and killed her to send a message to me, but I never met Dorothy Crispin and both women have ties to you. If Clarence isn’t after me, then he’s probably after you. I think it’s time for you to talk to the FBI. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to, but your life may depend on the FBI knowing about your links to these victims.”