New York City had always been an excellent springboard for the politically ambitious. With its high-profile melting pot of issues and conflict, the right person—with the right people and money backing them—could use the high profile “Big City” exposure to launch a career aimed directly at the big house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Dexter Reed had the look of one of those individuals. State house representative at thirty, Lieutenant Governor at thirty-six, and junior United States senator at a mere forty-one, he was definitely on the career fast track. At forty-five, he was in the process of retaining his seat, the polls showing him with a commanding lead, his popularity and public appeal never higher. Far from a working man’s blue-collar democrat, massive campaign contributions and oratorical prowess, combined with looks and breeding, continued to propel the political dynamo upward and onward.
The lean, fit, meticulously groomed senator propped his elbows on the antique oak desk in his huge office at the democratic campaign headquarters. While studying the picture of Patricia Swilling in the Monday newspaper, he was interrupted by a knock on his door. “Come in,” he barked.
Terry Morrell, the senator’s twenty-four-year-old, top aide, entered. “Senator, I need to speak with you,” he said nervously.
“Sure, Terry—come on in. Have a seat.”
Terry noticed the paper lying on the desk, opened to the story on the murder. “Good—I see that you’ve already read the paper.”
“Not entirely. Why?”
“The front page,” he said, picking up the paper, pointing at a picture. “That girl was at the fundraiser Friday night. It was just hours before she was murdered.”
The senator took the paper from Terry, studying the picture. He frowned, his forehead furrowing from the effort to place her. “I don’t know, son—I don’t remember her. Are you sure?”
“Positive, sir—you spoke with her out on the terrace. Remember?”
Smiling, he replied, “Terry, I spoke with hundreds of people that evening. I don’t remember most of their faces either. Hell, she could’ve run across the room naked and I’d have trouble placing her.”
Terry pressed the issue. “Police haven’t called to question anyone about her appearance there? It had to be one of the last places she was seen alive.”
“I haven’t heard a word. God, I hope the press doesn’t get wind of it. The last thing I need is to be connected with that kind of unpleasantness—even indirectly.” Terry frowned, rising to leave, but the senator stopped him. “Terry?”
“Yes, sir?”
“That conversation you claimed to have witnessed on the terrace…”
“What about it?”
“For the record, it never happened. No sense muddying the water—comprende?”
The heat rose in Terry’s cheeks. Through gritted teeth, he managed, “Yes sir, it never happened.”
Smiling, Reed said, “Good. Send Julie in, please. I have some letters to send out.” After Terry had closed the door behind him, Senator Dexter Reed again picked up the paper, studying the smiling face of Patricia Swilling.
◆ ◆ ◆
Terry answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello.”
“Hey buddy, it’s Joel. I just got the message that you called.”
“Thank God, man,” Terry replied, obviously relieved. “I really need to talk to you.”
“Damn, Terry, you sound worse than the last time you called. I hope this isn’t about what I think it is.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. I’m sure you read about the latest victim?”
“Yeah, I saw it this morning. Don’t tell me that you and Reed knew her too?”
“She was at the fundraiser the night she was murdered,” Terry answered quietly. “The asshole had her out on the terrace and made a pass at her.”
“Whoa—slow down,” Joel advised. “How do you know he made a pass at her?”
Terry took a deep breath, composing himself. “I saw her on the terrace with him. He said something and her face turned white as a sheet. Then she walked back into the room, looking like she was gonna be sick.”
“That doesn’t mean he made a pass at her.”
“You don’t know how that pervert operates, Joel—he made a pass at her alright. Any beautiful, breathing woman is fair game to the guy.” He paused. “Anyway, I stopped her and asked if she was okay.”
“What did she say?”
“I had to ask her twice. She had a blank expression on her face, like she couldn’t hear a word I was saying. Finally, she just grabbed her friend’s hand and ran out the door. I called out after her but she was out of there like a bat outta hell.”
“And that was the last you saw of her?” Joel asked, cautiously nervous about the reply.
“Not exactly,” Terry admitted sheepishly.
“Dammit, Terry, what the hell did you do?”
“Hey, what would you have done, man? I couldn’t let her go without making sure she got home safely. I just followed them home. First, she dropped the friend off, then she drove straight to her own apartment.”
Joel sighed audibly. “Then what did you do?”
“High-tailed it back to the fundraiser to make sure Reed was still there.”
“And was he?”
“Yeah—he was there until around midnight. I saw him leave with his driver.”
“What time was she killed?”
“Somewhere between two and three a.m.,” Terry answered, “according to the newspaper.”
“Terry, I agree that there’s a whole shitload of coincidence involved here,” Joel said, then paused several seconds. “But I just cannot buy that Reed is a serial killer. It’s way too far out there.”
“You don’t work with this slimeball every day,” Terry argued. “You don’t see the way he continually degrades and mistreats women. Hell, all I can tell you is that I saw him obviously upset Patricia Swilling. I had a gut feeling that she was at risk, then, bingo, she’s murdered that night.”
“Listen, buddy,” Joel spoke softly, attempting to calm his best friend, “you absolutely have to go to the police and tell them everything you know—and everything you suspect.”
“Tell them what?” Terry asked, laughing sarcastically. “The only thing I can tell them is that I thought that Reed made a pass at the girl. Then I’ll really crack them up by explaining that I followed her home because she had such a sweet, innocent face and I just didn’t want to see her become the next victim of the Butcher. Oh, and don’t let me forget the grand punch line… Officer, the serial killer you guys have been looking for is none other than the esteemed senator from New York—Dexter fucking Reed.”
“Okay, so they think you’re a nutcase,” Joel replied. “Anything is better than the hell you’re putting yourself through now. Besides, at the very least, the police need to know when you last saw the girl. Hell, that could turn out to be very important information.”
“Maybe it is time to get the cops involved,” Terry answered softly, pondering his best friend’s rational arguments. “I just know that I’ve gotta do something.”
Joel tried to break the tension, snorting a laugh. “They never went over this one at law school, did they?”
Terry could only muster a soft chuckle.
Joel added, “And to think I actually envied you when you landed that job. Who the hell would’ve thought it would turn out like this?”
“Trust me, dude, after just a few weeks with this douchebag, there’s not enough soap in a laundromat to get you clean.” He paused. “Anyway, thanks for the advice.”
“Do yourself a favor and use it.”
“I have to decide something by Wednesday, because we’re scheduled to fly back to DC.”
“Good luck,” Joel said sincerely.
“Thanks, buddy—I’ll talk to you later.” Terry hung up the phone, his mind heavy with the weight of the pending decision.
◆ ◆ ◆
Ellis Moore and Warren Burroughs were as odd a pairing as had ever been produced in the NYPD. Ellis ate too much, gambled excessively, smoked cigars, and bought his clothes right off the rack. Warren had the look of an FBI man; lean, fit, conservative, and almost vice-free.
Ellis approached police work by utilizing his instincts, sometimes ignoring what others accepted as fact. Warren was a detail man, excelling at the mundane, thriving on the tedious. While uncanny logic and gut instinct had earned Ellis the reputation as one of New York’s finest, Warren’s painstaking attention to detail had broken just as many cases.
The two men did have one very large thing in common; they loved each other like brothers, willing to give their life for the other, were the situation ever to arise. It was never spoken, but always understood. The odd couple split up that morning. Ellis left Warren at the office, while he made the short drive to Melanie Cofer’s residence.
The door to the upscale brownstone was answered on the first knock by a fifty-something, attractive, socially skilled woman. “Sergeant Moore, I presume?”
“Mrs. Cofer,” he said, nodding a greeting.
She motioned him in. “Melanie’s in the den. Please keep this brief.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he assured her. “I just need to ask her a few questions.”
“It still hasn’t sunk in,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “Patty was so young, so full of life.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you made any progress at all?”
“That’s why I’m here, ma’am. I’m hoping Melanie can help us.”
She escorted him into a large den, where Melanie Cofer sat huddled in the far corner like a scared little girl. It appeared as if she had been steadily crying for hours. “Melanie, dear, Sergeant Moore has some questions he needs to ask you. Are you up to it, sweetheart?”
“Okay,” the tiny blonde said hoarsely, nodding weakly.
“May I stay, Sergeant?” Mrs. Cofer asked.
“Yes, ma’am, if you’d like.” He turned his attention to Melanie. “Ms. Cofer, I need to ask you a few questions about the Friday evening you spent with Patricia.”
Tears formed in Melanie’s eyes. She bravely nodded.
“I understand that you and Patricia attended a fundraiser?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied softly.
“Senator Dexter Reed’s fundraiser?”
She nodded.
“Where did the two of you go after the event?”
“She took me straight home—and she said she was going straight home after that.”
“That was at what time?” he asked, jotting down notes as he listened.
“It was between nine and nine-fifteen,” she answered, her voice becoming more confident.
Ellis checked his notebook. “The fundraiser didn’t begin until eight o’clock. Why did the two of you leave so early?”
Melanie looked over at her mother. Ellis noticed Mrs. Cofer nod to her daughter, encouraging her to go on. His heart began beating faster, his instincts telling him he was about to hear something vitally important.
“We left early because Senator Reed made a disgusting pass at Patty.”
Ellis stopped writing, giving her his rapt attention. “Senator Dexter Reed of New York made a pass at Ms. Swilling?”
“Patty wanted to meet the senator. After dinner, she walked right up to him and introduced herself. She was brave that way.” Melanie took a tissue, dabbing at her wet eyes. “Anyway, they really seemed to hit it off. She was discussing politics with him. It wasn’t like she was kissing up to him either. She was really holding her own.”
“He then made a pass at her in your presence?” Ellis asked, trying to get the facts straight.
Melanie smirked. “No, he asked her out onto the terrace. He said that he needed some fresh air and the crowd was too loud. Obviously, he just wanted to get her alone so he could proposition her.”
“How long were they out there?”
“Oh, about fifteen or twenty minutes. I could see them clearly. They were laughing and obviously getting along well, until…”
“Until the alleged pass?”
Melanie nodded glumly. “Patty got real pale—I knew something was wrong. Then she just walked out. I’ll never forget the look on her face.” She looked at Ellis to see if he understood. “I once saw a picture of a lady who survived a plane crash—the camera caught her as she was stumbling from the wreckage…”
“Patricia had that look?” Ellis asked. “Like she was in shock?”
She nodded emphatically. “Yes sir—she had a look of shock on her face. That’s exactly what it was.”
Ellis rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to decide how to word his next question. “Ms. Cofer, did Patricia tell you exactly what the senator said to her?”
Melanie’s face turned beet red, her eyes staring at the tissue she was twisting nervously in her lap.
Ellis began to speak, but was beaten to the punch by Melanie’s mother. “Go ahead, darling—tell Sergeant Moore everything. Don’t be embarrassed.” Glancing at Ellis, she added, “I’m sure the detective has pretty much heard it all before.”
Ellis nodded appreciatively. “Oh, yes ma’am—nothing much surprises me anymore.” He turned to Melanie. “Take your time, Ms. Cofer. I need to know all the details. What did Senator Reed say to Patricia?”
She breathed deeply, continuing to stare at her lap. “There wasn’t much room for interpretation,” she said, forcing herself to look Ellis directly in the eye. “His exact words were, ‘Patricia, there are probably two hundred women in the other room who would gladly spend the night with me tonight.’” She looked down, clearly embarrassed.
“Tell him the rest,” her mother prodded.
“Patty told me that the senator then looked down at his crotch and rubbed it suggestively. She said it was obvious that he had an erection.” Melanie looked at her mother, shaking her head disgustedly. “She said he then looked her right in the eye and said, ‘Judging by the peter meter, you’re the lucky lady tonight.’”
The room became deathly quiet. Ellis wrote down the sophomoric quote, shaking his head at the actions of a respected senator of the United States. “So, then the two of you left?”
She nodded. “There was one other strange thing that happened, though.”
Ellis looked up from his notebook. “And what was that, Ms. Cofer?”
“There was this young guy,” she continued, “who followed the senator around all night. When Patty came back from the terrace, this guy stopped her and started talking to her.”
“What did he say to her?” Ellis queried, very interested in the unfolding story.
“He asked if she was okay. He wanted to know if he could help her.”
“And?”
“And she just ignored him, or maybe was just too out of it to answer him. Anyway, she just grabbed my arm and we left. There was something real weird about that guy though.”
“Weird? What was weird about him?”
“It was the expression on his face,” she answered, frowning. “I had the feeling that he was afraid or worried about something.” Her eyes once again watered. “I didn’t really think much about it at the time, but now, I honestly believe that he was really very concerned about her.” She bent her head, crying softly.
“You think he was concerned for her safety?” Ellis said, intrigued.
“I can’t help thinking that he knew or thought something was going to happen to her,” she replied, nodding.
Ellis finished writing in his notebook, taking the time to console the fragile young woman. He mused that the official tally for this animal stood at four, but psychologically, the number was much higher.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Judging by the peter meter?” Sydney asked, snorting a bemused laugh, unable to believe the juvenile quote.
“According to the little lady, that’s what the honorable senator from New York said. Don’t he sound like a real charmer? What the hell is this world coming to?”
Sydney tapped a pencil on the corner of his desk, staring at his stocky sergeant. “So we have a senator who’s a pervert. If we arrested all the perverted senators with a penchant for young girls, we’d probably never get a bill passed. What else did she have for us?”
“She gave me a description of a young guy—possibly someone who worked for Reed—who evidently seemed overly concerned for Patricia’s welfare after the incident with the senator.”
“How so?”
“She said this fellow had a weird look on his face, like he was worried about Patricia’s safety,” Ellis replied.
“Hell, it could just be paranoia on her part—or maybe an overactive imagination,” Sydney suggested.
Ellis shook his head negatively. “That’s not the way I read her. I think it’s worth looking into.”
“Did you guys find any connection with the other two victims?”
“Warren’s checking those out now. I’m gonna work with him this afternoon on it.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think it’s about time for us to start thinking about paying the good senator a little visit?”
Sydney ran his finger across his lower lip. “It’s Monday, so he’s probably back in DC.”
Ellis shook his head. “I called his office this afternoon, pretending to be a reporter. I asked when the senator would be returning to the Capital, and was told that he wouldn’t be leaving town until Wednesday morning.”
“Our tax dollars at work. Your basic four-day weekend,” Sydney said, chuckling.
“Nice work if you can get it.”
Sydney’s brow furrowed as he contemplated their next move. “I’ll tell you what, let’s give ourselves until tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get lucky on one of the other girls. If not, we still might go see the man with the golden pecker.”
Ellis smiled wryly. “I’ll let you know if we come up with something.” He opened Sydney’s door.
“A peter meter,” Sydney mused aloud.
“Yep, an A number one, gen-u-wine peter meter,” Ellis replied, shaking his head in wonder.
◆ ◆ ◆
Warren “Bulldog” Burroughs had spent the morning trying to find some connection between Miriam Clay, Teresa Chandler, the democratic party, and Senator Dexter Reed.
He had not been given the fitting nickname lightly, his tenacity legendary throughout the five boroughs, not just with the 108th homicide division. Sydney liked to joke that Warren made Joe Friday look like “a lazy, good for nothing bum.” The luxury it afforded him was that, if Warren said he checked something out and found nothing there, then ninety-nine times out of a hundred, nothing was there.
Ellis walked up on his diligent partner, who was hard at work at his desk. After bringing him up to date on the Cofer interview, Ellis sought to ascertain any progress that had been made in connecting the remaining two women. “Any luck with Clay or Chandler?”
“Not yet,” Warren answered, “but I’m meeting with Martha Clay, Miriam’s mother, this afternoon.”
“You questioned her pretty extensively just after the murder, right?”
“Yeah, but maybe this democratic stuff will trigger something. You never know.”
“Want some company? I’ve never met the lady.”
Warren looked at his watch. “Sure, I’m not supposed to go over there until three o’clock though. That’s nearly two hours from now.”
“That leaves us just enough time to sneak over to Walt’s Dog House in Queens,” Ellis said, grinning mischievously.
“No way, buddy,” Warren exclaimed. “The Lieutenant said I was in charge of getting you under two hundred pounds. That raw sewage on a bun that Walt serves would go straight to your beltline.” He appraised Ellis’ protruding gut. “Which reminds me—how much did you tip the scales at this morning?”
Ellis scowled, mumbling something incoherent.
“Excuse me—how much?”
Ellis whispered, “Two thirty-four, dammit.”
Warren spoke loudly, making certain the entire squad room heard him. “Two hundred and thirty-four pounds. Two months away from the lieutenants exam—thirty-four pounds overweight. And you want to eat at Walt’s freaking Dog House.” The squad room erupted in laughter. “You rutting damn hog!”
Ellis appeared hurt. “Dammit, Warren—it wasn’t like I was gonna put chili, or slaw, or cheese,” Ellis said, licking his lips hungrily, “or anything fattening on the little fellas.”
Warren shook his head, grabbing his suit jacket. “Just haul your extra-large butt across the street with me.”
Ellis grabbed onto Warren’s desk. “Not rabbit food, Warren. God, please don’t make me eat no lettuce or cabbage today. Please!”
“You sniveling, rotund sack of decayed animal fat,” Warren said, grabbing his large partner, pulling him away from the desk. “Another few weeks, no one will recognize you. When I’m through with you, you’ll be one lean, mean, detecting machine.”
He then pretended to pull a screaming Ellis through the precinct doors, as the detectives and clerks in the squad room shook their heads, laughter thundering through the room.
Sydney stuck his head out his office door. “What the hell is all that shouting about?”
Gert called to him from the front desk, “Sergeants’ Moore and Burroughs were discussing their lunch plans.”
“Who won, Gert?” Sydney asked, smiling broadly.
“Sergeant Burroughs won. Walt’s Dog House lost,” she replied, laughing.
“Alright,” Sydney said, clapping his hands. “Way to go, Warren!”
◆ ◆ ◆
Martha Clay answered the door on the second knock. Ellis, who proudly considered himself a “people person,” took an immediate dislike to the woman, mainly because of her unfriendly countenance. “I thought you said three o’clock,” she scowled.
Warren checked his watch, noting that it was three minutes after. “Yes ma’am, sorry we’re late,” he said blandly. “This is my partner, Sergeant Ellis Moore.”
“Pleased to meet—” Ellis managed before she interrupted.
“I hope to hell you came here to tell me that you caught the bastard.”
“No ma’am. We came—” Warren tried to answer.
“Figures,” she interrupted sarcastically.
Warren reminded himself that he was talking with a grieving mother. Ellis, already testy over a less than satisfying lunch, had less self-control. “Mrs. Clay, have you got a specific problem with the way we’re handing this case?”
“My daughter was murdered almost two months ago and what do you guys have to show for it? Nothing. Not one damned thing.”
Ellis fumed, pointing to his eyes. “These bags under my eyes for one thing.” Pointing at Warren, he added, “Now my partner here, he doesn’t spend but twelve or thirteen hours a day trying to catch the guy. Of course, all you have to do is take one look at me to see that I just sit around all day, eating doughnuts.” Warren held his breath, glaring at Ellis.
She squinted her eyes at the feisty detective. Several seconds passed before her scowl suddenly turned to a wry smile. “You do look like you could do some damage to a doughnut.”
Warren grinned, barely able to suppress himself.
“You think maybe we could come inside?” Ellis added gruffly. “We wouldn’t mind sitting in a chair for this.”
She was clearly beginning to enjoy herself. “Where are my manners?” she asked with grandiose insincerity. “Won’t you gentlemen please come in.”
They walked in, sitting on the den sofa. Warren opened his small spiral notebook. “Mrs. Clay, we are looking into a possible new angle on these homicides.”
“And what would that be?”
“Did Miriam have any connection with the democratic party—any connection whatsoever?”
She snorted sarcastically. “What in the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“We’ve established a possible link with two of the other victims and the demo—”
“Sounds to me like you guys are pissing into the wind. Democratic party? Have you guys decided that some nut is going around killing all the democrats? That means this lunatic might kill a few million people in this city alone,” she finished, laughing at her own humor.
“You know, Mrs. Clay, you got a real bad habit of interrupting,” Ellis noted.
“Yeah?” she answered defiantly.
“Yeah, and it’s a real unattractive personality flaw, if you ask me.”
She smiled at the burly detective, warming to him. “Well, guess what?—Nobody fucking asked you.” She turned to Warren, pointing at Ellis. “Is he always this touchy?”
“He hasn’t had any red meat in over a week.”
“I don’t guess you two see me sitting right here in front of you?” Ellis groused.
“Getting back to the question, Mrs. Clay,” Warren continued, his pen poised over the note pad.
“Oh, yes, the democratic party,” she said, shaking her head. “Nope, as far as I know, Miriam never declared a preference.”
“She had no affiliation with pro-abortion, environmental groups, animal rights…” Ellis queried.
Her stern expression softened for the first time. “I wasn’t as close to Miriam the last couple of years as I could’ve been. I know I don’t remember anything about the democratic party though.”
“What about at college—did she mention anything about her activities at Penn State?” Warren asked.
“All I ever got from her about college was ‘send more money.’ She was a straight A student though. That, I do know.”
“You and Mr. Clay are divorced, correct?” Ellis asked bluntly.
She glared at him. “What make you so sure we’re divorced? Maybe he died.”
Without blinking, he answered, “Call it a hunch. Where does he live?”
“Buffalo,” she sneered.
“Is there a chance Miriam could have confided something to him?”
“That no good sonofabitch left us fourteen years ago. Miriam probably saw him three, maybe four times since. I doubt that jerk could even tell you when her birthday was.”
“Could we have his name and phone number, just for the heck of it?” Ellis asked.
“Joseph Clay. I don’t know his phone number.”
They rose to leave. “Please contact one of us if you were to think of something that might help us,” Warren said.
She opened the door for them. “Count on it. And next time you guys come over, I’ll make sure I have a batch of doughnuts. Might improve your partner’s disposition.”
“Make it chili dogs and cheeseburgers and I’ll kiss you on the lips,” Ellis responded without missing a beat. He walked off, leaving Warren with the amused woman.
After mumbling his goodbyes to Mrs. Clay, Warren caught up with his stout partner. Ellis had already climbed into the car.
He started the engine, staring at a silent Ellis.
“What?” Ellis asked innocently.
“You never cease to amaze me,” Warren said, shaking his head in wonder.
“How’s that?”
“If I would have said any of the things you just said to that woman, my ass would be in front of a review board. Especially since she just happens to be the mother of a murdered girl.”
Ellis frowned at the animated detective. “That woman had a personality defect long before she lost her daughter. Hell, you can’t just let people walk all over you.”
Warren shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “As usual, you got away with it. I even think the old biddy took a liking to you.”
“Yeah, because she is probably used to scaring people half to death. She’s like any bully—you just gotta call her bluff.”
“Her ex-husband must have turned tail and run then,” Warren noted with a chuckle.
“I like him already,” Ellis smirked.
Warren studied his best friend for several seconds. “You alright, buddy? You seem to be wound pretty tightly these days.”
Ellis rubbed his chubby jaw roughly. He turned toward Warren, an intensity in his eyes that surprised his partner. “Girls are dying, man. Girls just a couple of years older than my girl, Janine. You, me and Sydney are the ones responsible for stopping this nut.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Every week, every month that we don’t catch this guy, the body count goes up. We have got to stop this motherfucker. This shit has got to cease.”
“I know, man—it’s an awesome responsibility. We just gotta keep doing the things we’ve been trained to do. He’s gonna make a mistake. You know we’re due to catch a break.”
Ellis pressed on, oblivious to Warren’s pep talk. “We don’t get an official reprimand, or lose a weeks’ pay for not catching him. Hell no, our punishment is that another girl dies. She’s working, playing, living, then we don’t close the net around him and…” His voice trailed off as he stared ahead.
Warren eased the car into gear. “Then let’s catch the bastard.”
“Starting where?”
“Let’s go back to the station and try the father,” Warren suggested.
“That’s as good a place as any, I guess. I know one thing for damn sure. If I were ever married to that battle axe back there—and I managed to get myself free of her—I would sure as hell move farther away that Buffalo.”
“Now that’s the Ellis Moore I know and idolize,” Warren said, punching his partner’s arm playfully.
Ellis reached for his belt buckle, laughing heartily. “Idolize? Then why don’t you just bow down, buddy, and kiss my big black ass.” He continued laughing. “Asshole.”
Warren joined in, laughing long and hard. It felt good to cut up with his friend and partner. But, inside, he felt a numbness, realizing with sudden clarity the toll that the case was taking on himself and his fellow detectives. He, too, heard the continual ticking of a clock that existed only in his head.
◆ ◆ ◆
Ellis checked in at the front desk as he always did. Gert had a message for him from his wife, probably concerning a grocery store run, he mused. He stuck the memo in his coat pocket, making small talk with the matronly desk sergeant.
Five minutes later, he strode over to Warren’s desk, pessimistic about the phone call Warren was in the process of making. He was surprised to note the hopeful look on his partner’s usually stoic face, speaking animatedly into the phone. Warren, catching his curious stare, immediately gave him the “thumbs up” sign and raised his eyebrows expressively.
Ellis sat down, listening intently.
“Uh huh, yes sir, I will. You’ve been very helpful and I appreciate it. Yes sir, I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone, then faced his eager partner. “Bingo,” he stated enthusiastically.
“What—the father had something for us?”
“You remember how Mrs. Clay thought her daughter may have talked to Joseph Clay a total of three or four times over the years?”
Ellis nodded. “She said the father had no interest in Miriam—and vice versa.”
“Well, according to Mr. Clay, Miriam had been calling him two or three times a week, for years. He said she didn’t tell her mother because she knew the old gal would flip.”
“Smart girl,” Ellis noted.
“Judging from what the guy said, he and Miriam were much closer than the mother and daughter.”
“What exactly did the man say?” Ellis asked anxiously.
“When I told him that his ex-wife stated that Miriam had no political inclination, the guy busted out laughing. He suggested that Miriam’s mother had no idea what was going on in her daughter’s life.” Warren referred to his notes. “Mrs. Clay was, in his words, ‘a self-absorbed bitch.’”
“Cut to the chase—was she connected?”
“Clay said that Miriam was a journalism major,” Warren responded flatly, “and had recently started working for the campus newspaper. He said she even contributed a few articles this past semester.”
“Did she perhaps express her liberal views via these articles?” Ellis asked, his interest definitely peaked.
“That she did, old buddy,” Warren answered, smiling. “Clay even had a copy of the last one she wrote before the summer break.” He looked up dramatically at his impatient partner. “Miriam Clay’s final article was about every individual’s right and responsibility to get involved. She wrote that she planned on following her own advice during her summer break…”
“By getting involved with the New York democratic machinery?”
Warren smiled, then leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. “Not bad for a phone call, huh?”
Ellis nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “And the plot thickens.”
◆ ◆ ◆
Sydney leaned back, staring at his two best detectives. “So where is this headed, fellas?”
Ellis shifted his weight in one of Sydney’s straight back, uncomfortable office chairs. Warren stood by the closed door.
“The only tie-in is the democratic party,” Ellis answered. “And the only direct negative confrontation was with Senator Reed.”
“But we can only connect Patricia Swilling with Reed,” Sydney interjected.
“So far,” Ellis said.
“I think we need to pay Reed a visit,” Warren piped in.
Ellis tilted his head at his partner. “And do what? Tell him he’s a suspect in the Swilling murder? How the hell are we going to play it?”
Sydney shook his head emphatically. “We would need to be extremely diplomatic with the guy. We would have to bring the alleged pass to his attention, then gauge his reaction.”
“I just can’t get a hard on for the senator being involved at all,” Ellis stated. “Now this young guy Melanie Cofer described as acting weird, I’d like to know a little more about.”
Sydney looked at his watch. “It’s after five now. Reed is scheduled to leave town Wednesday, which gives us all day tomorrow to see him. Which one of you characters wants to accompany me in the morning for an impromptu visit to the senator?”
“Why don’t you and Ellis go over there,” Warren said, “because I plan on spending tomorrow morning on Teresa Chandler anyway. I think our democratic party trail just might end with our topless dancer.”
“I don’t know about you, Ellis,” Sydney said, “but I’ve never met a genuine United States senator before.”
“Especially one with his very own peter meter,” Ellis replied, chuckling.
Sydney shook his head, snorting a laugh. “It’ll be very interesting to finally meet the man responsible for that highly sophisticated pick up line.”