A Killing Sky (7 page)

Congressman Torrin Drummond looked haggard, most likely from lack of sleep. I caught glimpses of him on the phone as a secretary and an aide intermittently buzzed in and out of his office, triaging what appeared to be a blizzard of messages and calls.

I waited just outside the door in a conference room of his campaign headquarters. The building was an old double storefront in the Belmont section of town, just the kind of area where Drummond needed to drive home his slogan of “standing for the working people.” The walls were festooned with
REELECT DRUMMOND!
posters. His chief aide, Mel Dworkin, the chunky man with bulbous lips and blow-dried hair that Cassidy had described, sat across the table from me.

“Wow,” I said, “I hope it's not always this frantic.”

Dworkin was stone-faced. “Man's lost his daughter. Wouldn't
you
be frantic?”

I had to admit he had me there.

“So the congressman must be pretty close to his daughters, huh?”

He shot me a look like he was swatting away a pesky mosquito. “Why don't I let Representative Drummond talk to you about that?”

Our conversation so far had been less than productive. Since he worked for the congressman, I thought he might know something about the security detail out at the house. He claimed he didn't. Since he'd been with Drummond for a long time, I thought he might be able to give me some hints about his boss's extracurricular romantic activities. My subtle attempts at raising the subject had been received like flatulence at a press conference.

Dworkin allowed himself a small yawn. I noticed he was missing the top half of one finger on his right hand.

“Cartwright's disappearance is tragic,” he finally said, as if reading from a script. “It's something you can't plan for. We're still hoping for the best. Politics sort of takes a backseat.”

But even as he mouthed the words I could sense him calculating the prospects. The slightest trace of a smile crossed his mouth, disappearing almost as soon as it had materialized. He knew if they played their cards right with this thing, the sympathy vote would be huge.

A soft thud came from the direction of Drummond's office. The door swung open again, and this time the congressman himself stepped out. He was an imposing presence up close: about six-three with sharp-cut features, short black hair combed precisely across his forehead, white shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up, and dark eyes well practiced in expressing empathy. I could see the Stetson hanging on a peg in his office. He closed the door behind him and made a beeline toward me, his hand extended. His leather boots creaked as he walked.

“Mr. Pavlicek?”

“That's right.” I stood to meet his handshake and noticed Dworkin stood too, as if instant virtue had somehow been thrust upon us. The aide moved to close the door to the reception area as well.

Drummond's grip was firm but not too firm, and he held it a moment longer than was needed. “I want to thank you for your involvement in this situation… for helping Cassidy,” he said.

“I'm not sure there's too much to be thankful for yet,” I said, reminding myself I was talking to a potential rapist.

“Yes, but from what my ex-wife tells me, you've performed a valuable service, and I won't forget that.”

I wondered how many times he'd uttered that line. He sat down in a chair next to his aide's seat and motioned for us to follow suit.

“Please,” he said. “Sit down.”

Dworkin and I resumed our seats.

“The police come up with any more leads?” I asked.

“No, I'm afraid not.”

“We've asked that the congressman be immediately informed of any developments,” Dworkin intoned, a little louder than the situation warranted.

Drummond shook his head. He placed his hands on the table and stared at them for a moment. He seemed to be looking inside himself at something he could barely stand to see. There were no tears in his eyes. Only uncertainty. Feigned or real, it was impossible to tell. “Now what's this I hear about my other daughter hiring you and you not being willing to tell anyone where she is?”

The two men stared at me the way they might examine an ugly insect.

“I'm afraid you've been misinformed.”

“Oh? I was told that—”

“It's Cassidy who doesn't want anyone to know where she is. She's my client. I'm doing as she has asked.”

“I see.” The congressman digested this information for a few moments.

“Didn't your ex-wife tell you that?”

He shook his head. “Karen and I have generally limited communication these days.”

“The cops ain't too happy with you, Pavlicek,” Dworkin said. “You'd better watch where you step.”

“Yes,” Drummond said. “Wouldn't Cassidy be able to help with the investigation?”

“The investigation is ongoing,” I said.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dworkin's brow furrowed, and his syrupy voice suddenly switched to a snarl.

“It means I have some more questions for you, gentlemen. Starting with why the congressman has been having his daughters followed.” The use of the plural, to include Cartwright, was a guess, but I figured it was a safe bet. Drummond, however, showed little reaction to the question.

“Look, Pavlicek,” his chief of staff said, “I've hired guys like you before. This is serious business. Why don't you just bow out and let the police do their job?”

Drummond held up a hand to quiet him. “That's all right, Mel. I'm sure we all have the same thing in mind here: finding out what's happened to Cartwright.” He focused his laserlike vision on me. There was an almost eerie serenity about his manner, which I didn't understand. “I believe you used to be a detective up in New York, Mr. Pavlicek—isn't that right?”

Here we go, I thought. This guy doesn't miss a trick. Probably has more than one ace tucked away in his underwear.

“That's right,” I said.

“Didn't you get into some difficulty—a shooting or something, wasn't it?”

“That was resolved long ago, Congressman.”

“The Department of Criminal Justice must know about that, then, don't they?” He was referring to the Virginia department responsible for regulating all private investigators and private security compliance agents in the commonwealth. If he thought he could somehow intimidate me, he was mistaken, but I sensed he might be up to something more.

“Absolutely,” I said.

He pressed his lips together. “Mmmm,” he said.

“Besides”—I thought I might as well play tit for tat—”don't we all have things we might have done in our past, things we might regret?”

“Hmmm.” Louder this time. He smiled. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Mel?” he said without turning toward his chief. “I'd like to talk to Mr. Pavlicek alone.”

Dworkin hesitated. He glared at me for a moment. Then he pushed away from the table, stood up without saying another word, and left the room.

“I know what you're thinking,” Drummond said after he'd gone. “But people like Mel can be very useful. … He's very loyal and honest to a tee. Anyone offered you anything to drink, by the way? Soda, coffee?”

“I'm fine.”

“All right. Now … to answer your earlier question. It was a question, wasn't it? Not an accusation.”

“I have no basis to make any accusations at the moment. Only questions.”

“Of course. I like you, Pavlicek. You see through things and get right to the point. That's a valuable trait.”

“So is not giving a damn.”

He smiled. “Everyone gives a damn about something, don't they?”

I said nothing.

“But back to your question. I assume you're referring to the unfortunate encounter you had with my employee on the downtown mall.”

“That's correct.”

“The explanation's quite simple. I've been worried about my daughters for some time, especially Cartwright. I'm in the midst of an important campaign, as you know. I decided, once they returned to Virginia from overseas, to have some of my people discreetly keep an eye on them for their own protection.”

“Sounds more like spying to me. Why not just assign them each a bodyguard?”

He chuckled. “You don't know my girls, Mr. Pavlicek. They've both got minds of their own.”

He was right. I didn't really know them, especially the missing twin. “Was Cartwright being followed the other night when she disappeared?” I asked.

“No, unfortunately. We didn't realize she was leaving the house.” If it were a lie, he told it with such apparent conviction that the line between fiction and reality became blurred.

“Too bad. I suppose we wouldn't be here if you had.”

He nodded. “The police seem to be suspicious of this swimmer from the university.”

“That's where she told her sister she was going.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I never was in favor of Cartwright dating that young man. He comes from California—did you know that? A fish out of water, if you ask me. You talked to him, didn't you, Pavlicek?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What did you think?”

“I think the kid may just be telling the truth,” I said.

Drummond flattened his hands against one another and bounced his fingers off his chin. “Which leaves us with practically nothing.”

“What about the bloody fingerprints? Have they confirmed that they're Cartwright's?” Maybe I could pry some information out of him.

He visibly cringed. “Yes. I believe they have. They're also running DNA tests with samples from her sister and hair from one of her brushes.”

“To see if someone else's blood might be in the mix as well.”

“I suppose,” he said.

“Have the police questioned anyone else?” I asked.

“They told me they're talking to anyone who may have seen anything unusual around that parking garage the night before last. Some other students, too. Friends of Cartwright's and this Haynes.” His tone made the swimmer sound like a disease. “And Karen and I spent almost an hour and a half answering questions for them up there this morning. Of course, Cassidy was the last one to see her …” He dropped his hands and shook his head as if to clear it. “I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm only running on caffeine and nerves here.”

If it were an act, it was one of the best I'd ever seen.

I let him go on.

“I've made some mistakes in my time, Pavlicek. Bad ones that everybody knows about. They destroyed my family and came close to destroying my career. But I don't know why my daughter would disappear like this … or what's happened to her. I just pray to God that she's okay.”

“Cassidy says you and Cartwright had an argument the night she disappeared.”

He blew out a sigh. “We did. Look, I know I may've done serious damage to my daughters—psychologically, I mean—with some of my actions. Not to mention Karen. It's something I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life.” He crossed his arms and stared blankly at the wall. At least he didn't bite his lip. If he had, I might've stood up and hit him in the face.

“Are you saying your daughter is in need of counseling?” I said.

“Oh, she's had counseling. She and Cassidy have always had nothing but the best. In fact, we've all had counseling, for all the good it did. And it doesn't really surprise me that Cassidy hired you. She doesn't trust me.”

“Seems to me you haven't given her much reason to.”

He looked at me in silence. Through the conference room door came the sound of a phone ringing. Someone picked it up. Drummond abruptly stood and went to the door and opened it. He leaned through, speaking to someone on the other side. Then he turned back to me.

“Why don't you come into my office, Mr. Pavlicek, where we can speak more privately?”

I nodded. I rose from my chair and followed him into his inner sanctum. A secretary was just exiting through another door, closing it behind her, as we entered.

Even in this temporary campaign setting, Drummond's office was appointed with an oversized cherry desk, a high-backed leather chair in matching burgundy, photographs of the famous and powerful. Not exactly working class in here. A testament, I guess, to what old money can buy. Drummond was a senior member of the House of Representatives. I wondered what his office up in Washington was like.

The congressman sat down behind the desk and bade me sit in one of the armchairs opposite. A power move designed to compensate for whatever he was about to tell me, I assumed. He leaned back in his chair for a few seconds, folding his hands across his lap, turning slightly to survey one of the pictures across the room before pulling his chair up and leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk.

“Suppose,” he began. “Suppose I told you a family secret.”

“I suppose I'd listen.”

“You'd keep it private?”

“Unless it involved a crime.”

“Fair enough.” He smoothed the hair on the back of his head. “As you may know, the twins’ mother and I were medical residents at the same time, here in Richmond.”

“Right.”

“I met Karen at a party with a bunch of other surgical interns. Those were wild times. The twins were, uh, to say the least… something of a surprise.”

“I follow.”

“We decided to go ahead and get married as soon as we found out. Karen's mom, who was living at the time, offered to help out with the children.”

“Okay. But what does any of this have to do with Cartwright's disappearance?” I still used the milder term instead of “abduction” or “murder,” which I was afraid might send the man over the edge.

Drummond sighed and crossed his arms, sitting back again.

“Nothing, I hope,” he said. “It's just that Cartwright has recently developed what I'm afraid is this unhealthy obsession with the past. And, um … especially since the events of the last couple of years—”

One thing I knew about Drummond. It wasn't like him to stumble over words.

“You mean since the scandal and the divorce.”

“Yes. Since the divorce, and especially while she was away in Japan—she seems to have decided she needed to put everything about me under the microscope.”

“Maybe she's trying to figure out what would make you betray her mother,” I said.

He grunted in disgust and shook his head. “I suppose … I suppose you may be right.”