Chapter 42
“Stephen, are the cards coded?” Sandra asked. He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Is there some kind of identifying information on each card, like a bar code, that would register whose card was being used?”
Stephen shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. You’d have to check with the building’s security office.”
Maya grabbed her phone. “Do you have a number I can call? Maybe someone can look up whose cards were used to gain entry to your building that night.”
“Suzanne?” Stephen called out.
She appeared in the doorway to the office in seconds. “What do you need?”
“Do we have a phone number for the security office at my condo?”
“No, but I can get it.”
“Good, give it to Maya when you find it.”
“Right away.” Suzanne turned to dash out before stopping and spinning back around. “Oh, by the way, the car service just called. The driver’s stuck in traffic and is going to be a few minutes late picking you up.”
Stephen looked puzzled. “Wait. What? I didn’t call the car service.”
“I was confused too because I didn’t see anything on your schedule, but I figured maybe it was a last-minute thing and Preston had set it up.”
“I don’t arrange for car services,” Preston huffed. “That’s not my job anymore.”
Stephen sighed, annoyed. “Suzanne, get that number for Maya. I will call the car service myself and see what’s going on.”
Suzanne dashed out with Maya on her tail.
Sandra and Preston watched curiously as Stephen picked up his phone and scrolled through his contact information, finding the service he normally used, then speed-dialed the dispatcher.
“Hello, Norm, this is Stephen Wallage . . . I’m fine; how are you? How’re the kids?” He paused. “Dartmouth, really? Excellent school. Good for her. I know, they grow up so fast. Listen, Norm, I think there might be a little mix-up. Somebody from your company just called to let me know my driver is going to be late, but the thing is, I didn’t order a car today . . . I see, where are they supposed to be picking me up? Oh . . . And where to? The airport? . . . When? . . . Do you have the flight information?” Stephen scribbled something down on a notepad. “Birmingham.”
Sandra perked up.
Birmingham, Alabama.
Deborah Crowley’s hometown.
She had probably used Stephen’s car service account when they were together countless times and had absent-mindedly just called the service to take her to the airport, not thinking they might assume the car was for Stephen just leaving from her place. He had been using the company for years. Sandra was even friendly with Norm the dispatcher. Everyone was well aware of what was going on in Stephen’s personal life just from driving him around the DC area nearly every day.
But Deborah had told Sandra at the White House reception that she was going to be in town for another week.
Why was she skipping out early?
Stephen lowered the phone and glanced up at Sandra. “The car’s for—”
“Deborah, I know. Tell Norm we want two pickups. Have them come here to your office first, then go to Deborah’s townhouse in Georgetown.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“Please, just do it.”
Stephen pressed the phone to his ear again. “Change of plans, Norm . . .”
Sandra rushed out of Stephen’s office to where Maya was on her own phone, looking frustrated.
“I’m on hold,” Maya sighed.
“Text or call me the minute you find out anything. I need to go out!” Sandra cried as she ran out of the office and down the marbled hallways, heels clicking.
Outside, she waited at the curb until she spotted a black sedan approaching. When it pulled up next to her, the driver started to get out, but she waved at him to stay put and hopped in the back.
She recognized the driver immediately as Parv, a young Indian man from Mumbai, who had moved to the States after marrying his longtime American girlfriend, whom he met when she visited his home country with some college girlfriends one summer.
“Mrs. Wallage!” Parv exclaimed.
Sandra could see his eyes bulging through the rearview mirror. “Hello, Parv. I know you were expecting to see Stephen.”
“Yes, I just assumed . . .”
Sandra could see sweat beads forming on Parv’s forehead in the mirror. She knew exactly why he was suddenly so nervous. Senator Wallage’s wife was in his backseat and his second stop was to pick up the Senator’s girlfriend. He was barreling toward a supremely awkward situation.
“Mrs. Wallage, it’s always lovely to see you, but I think I should tell you, I’m not sure how to say this—”
“It’s perfectly fine, Parv. I know you’re driving Deborah Crowley to the airport. We’re friends. I’m just riding along to see her off.”
He nodded with relief and beamed brightly. “Oh, good, that’s good, very good.”
Of course, she refrained from mentioning that Deborah Crowley had no idea that Sandra was going to be in the car she had ordered to take her to the airport.
Parv chattered on about married life and how he and his newlywed wife were expecting a baby, which was cause for much celebration by his large family back in Mumbai. Finally, after some more heavy traffic getting out of DC, they finally pulled up to the townhouse where Deborah Crowley stood on the curb with two large suitcases and a carry-on. Parv jumped out and loaded her luggage into the trunk. She could hear them exchanging pleasantries, but Parv never thought to mention Sandra because he just assumed Deborah already knew to expect her. When he opened the back door and Deborah slid in, he was taken aback by Deborah’s startled gasp at the sight of Sandra sitting there waiting to greet her.
It took her a moment to collect herself. “Sandra, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t let you leave town without saying goodbye.”
Parv, who now sensed something was amiss, warily shut the door and circled around to the driver’s side and got in the front seat. He didn’t start the car right away because he was too distracted eavesdropping.
Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on here?”
“As far as I can tell, you’re on your way home to Birmingham to work at a small law firm, just as you explained to me. Except you’re suddenly leaving a week earlier than planned.”
“Yes, well, I changed my mind. I’m entitled to do that, aren’t I?” Deborah sniffed. She checked the expensive-looking silver watch on her right wrist. “Parv, we better go; otherwise I’m going to miss my flight.”
Parv shot up in his seat, embarrassed. “Right! Yes, sorry, Ms. Crowley!”
He squealed away from the curb and they sped down the tree-lined street toward the expressway.
Sandra glanced down at her phone.
There was nothing from Maya.
She was probably still on hold waiting for someone to deal with her. Sandra knew time was extremely limited. If Maya did not get back to her before they reached Ronald Reagan International Airport, then Sandra would lose her one opportunity to confront Deborah about whether she used her key card to enter Stephen’s building on the night in question.
Deborah stared out the window at the passing cherry blossoms, lost in thought.
Sandra leaned across the seat closer to Deborah. “I need to ask, do you still have the key card to the back entrance of Stephen’s condo?”
Deborah slowly turned, agitated. “Maybe. I don’t know. Why?”
“But you didn’t give it to anyone?”
“Of course not. Stephen was very adamant about that. The condo association is very strict about their rules.”
Sandra’s eyes flicked back to her phone.
Still nothing from Maya.
They were already swerving across lanes to take the Reagan National Airport exit off the George Washington Parkway. Sandra was running out of time.
She couldn’t wait any longer for Maya to confirm it.
She had to bluff.
“I just got a text from Maya. She talked to the security office at Stephen’s building. They just reported that your key card, the one Stephen gave you, was used to enter the back entrance of the building on the night Tess Rankin overdosed.”
Deborah’s mask of indignation held for a few more moments. “What? That’s impossible . . .”
But her denial lacked conviction. Like a child caught stealing a pack of gum at the supermarket but still swearing innocence even though everyone could see it in his sticky little hand.
“If you did not give anyone else your card, like you just claimed, then who else could it have been?”
Sandra could see Parv’s wide eyes watching through the rearview mirror, riveted. When she looked back at Deborah, who was now shrinking in her seat, that mask of indignation she had so valiantly tried to keep in place was melting away, fast.
Defeated, she said, her voice cracking, “Yes, I was there that night.”