SENATOR WAYNE O’BRIEN’S WIFE was standing in the front door of their Bethesda, Maryland, townhouse while she spoke to the two men in suits.
“We’re sorry to bother you, Mrs. O’Brien. We’re wondering if the senator is available.”
Mrs. O’Brien nodded and beckoned to her husband, who was helping the maid carry the dishes to the kitchen after dinner.
The senator greeted the two plainclothes detectives.
“We’re sorry to disturb you, Senator. But we have some information that we have to check out. It concerns some allegations about conduct in your home. We’re wondering if we might be able to come in and do a very limited search of the premises. We don’t have a warrant, so you’re entitled to deny our request, of course. And, if you wish us to come at another time…when your attorney can be present, we’ll be glad to accommodate you.”
O’Brien looked startled, and after a momentary pause he invited the two detectives into the library and closed the sliding oak-paneled doors behind him.
“Now, can you tell me what all this is about?”
The men displayed their IDs. “Senator, you have a private computer here in your residence?”
“Of course I do. Why do you ask?”
“We’re wondering if you might consent for us to check your computer. You have privacy rights—of course—and you need not agree to our inspection at this time. But you’re free to consent, and if so, it would just take us a few minutes to check your computer. We would like to see if we can clear you regarding our investigation.”
“Well…can you tell me what your investigation is about?” the senator asked.
“Unfortunately, we can’t. The decision is entirely yours.”
O’Brien momentarily entertained the thought of getting his private legal counsel on the line.
On the other hand, he knew he had nothing to hide—and he was well aware of the increased suspicion that usually accompanies a demand for legal counsel at the early stages of an investigation.
“All right,” the senator said. “But my consent is based on what you just told me—this is a limited search, and you just want to check out my computer, is that right?”
The detectives both nodded.
O’Brien walked over to an oak-paneled cabinet, opened the doors, and then swung out a retractable computer desk with his equipment.
“I’d like to stay in the room and watch while you check the computer,” he said.
The senior detective agreed, and then his partner sat down at the keyboard, booted up, and typed in a series of commands. Then he pulled out of his suitcoat a small USB/flashdrive and hooked it up. After two clicks on the mouse the screen-saver disappeared, and the monitor screen flashed an image.
The senator stepped closer to the monitor and stared at it in disbelief.
The image on the screen depicted a horrifying and violent sex act between an adult male and a small child. Both detectives turned and stared at the older man.
“I don’t know what you did—or what command you just gave my computer—but I have never seen this disgusting, vile, degrading image on my computer before. You have to believe me when I tell you that…” O’Brien said, his voice trembling with rage.
“Does anyone have access to the computer other than you?” one of the detectives asked.
O’Brien shook his head vigorously. “No—absolutely not. My wife never touches a computer. The only one in this house besides my wife and me is our maid. And I keep the door to my library locked. And my wife and I are the only ones who have the key. I do that because I keep a lot of my Senate papers and information here when I’m working at night.”
“Senator O’Brien,” the senior detective said, “I suggest you contact your attorney and speak to him about this matter. There could be a number of explanations. But we’re going to want to impound the computer and take it with us so we can let some of our cyber experts take a look at the hard drive. So call your attorney, and we’d like to—if we may—start analyzing the entire computer tomorrow in our lab.”
The senator nodded somberly.
There was a knock at the library door. He walked over and slid it open. His wife was in the front foyer with the maid.
“Wayne, I’m letting Juanita go for the night. Is that okay?”
O’Brien nodded and then quickly closed the door behind him. “Officers,” he said with passion in his voice, “my attorney is going to be in contact with you tomorrow. But I’m telling you right now—I am going to tell him I want this computer analyzed by you so we can get to the bottom of this. I am innocent—it is clear that somebody is trying to sabotage me. Either that or…well, or else there is some other explanation.”
“We prefer to impound this computer tonight. We will do no further testing or analysis on it without the consent of you or your lawyer.”
O’Brien agreed. After unplugging the computer and removing it from his library, the two detectives carted it out to the squad car on the street.
The senator and his wife watched from the front porch. O’Brien looked around the neighborhood nervously. He noticed one of his neighbors walking his dog directly past the front of his house as the officers loaded everything into the trunk of their car.
He and his wife quickly retreated into the sanctuary of their townhouse, closing and locking the door behind them.
The senator was still clutching the card from the senior detective in his right hand. He glanced down at it, and then at his wife. She had tears in her eyes, and was clasping her hands together. In her husband’s anguished face, she was looking for an explanation.
“This is a nightmare—an absolute nightmare,” he said.