“I started in 1994. He’d just left the military, and wed Gretchen Dasnai. She was his hometown honey from high school. They’d known each other for years, had been dating since they were in their late teens. They got busy having a baby—that’s Peter Junior, the one who died—and got Peter Senior settled in her father’s law practice. He went to night school while he paralegaled for the firm. When he graduated and passed the bar, they brought him on as an associate. By 2000 he was a partner, and he made his first Congressional run in 2002. The rest I think you know.”
“So he’s been time-sharing his life with Indiana and D.C. ever since. Thirteen years. Unlucky thirteen.”
“His son died in 2011, and that’s when he did the big turnaround on his stance toward military funding.”
“Did they have the vote today on the appropriations bill?”
“They did. It didn’t pass.”
“Just like Glenn Temple expected. Who is he in all of this? He was a bit autocratic when I met him, and crass to boot. Seemed more upset about the fact they’d lose the votes on the bill than his boss’s death.”
“Ah, see, now that’s where things get interesting. Temple is a hometown boy, as well. He’s known the congressman as long as his wife, maybe more. They went to elementary school together.”
Fletcher whistled. “There could be some animosity there. Always playing second fiddle, that kind of thing. And Mrs. Leighton mentioned that it was odd that Temple had helped the congressman with his inhaler. That was supposed to be the security detail’s job.”
Inez shrugged. “Who knows? That’s all I have right now.”
“That’s one hell of a good start, kiddo. Now go get me some more. Don’t forget the finances.”
She glowed with the praise, and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be back to you with anything else I can dig up. The boys have been working the financials, I’ll get their report to you as soon as it’s finalized.”
She practically skipped off to her desk and settled behind her computer, her fingers a blur as she continued her research.
Okay. One step taken.
*
Morgan Thompsen waltzed into the JTTF at half-past ten with two seriously bleary-eyed women in tow. Thompsen looked great, like she’d been sleeping in cotton wool for the past ten hours, not up all night roaming the streets. Age, Fletcher decided. That, and good genes. It certainly wasn’t clean living.
Inez got them situated in the conference room and passed around steaming mugs of coffee. The working girls, introduced as Alexis and Rosie, slumped in their seats, not happy to be there.
Tough. This was more important than their comfort.
Thompsen set her mug on the table. “Okay, ladies. Tell us what you know about Congressman Leighton.”
Alexis glanced at Rosie. “You mean Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, right?”
“Seriously?” Fletcher asked. “That’s what you call him?”
“That’s what he calls himself. He’s a nutter, but normally harmless. Likes shows, doubles, triples, club sandwich, but sometimes all-nut threesies, too. He’s generally up for anything, if you catch my drift.”
“Does he prefer men or women?”
Rosie shrugged. “Always thought he was caught between the pointers and the setters, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh, my God, he liked doing it with dogs?” Inez was almost apoplectic, and Thompsen leaned over to her and explained.
“He was bisexual, but didn’t seem to know which he preferred, men or women. And he liked multiple partners at once.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, that sounds...adventurous.” Inez was embarrassed by her outburst, but gamely trying to recover. Fletcher bit his lip to stop himself laughing; despite her nonchalant tone, the poor girl’s eyes were wide as saucers. She was trying to act blasé, but the more the hookers explained “Peter Peter’s” proclivities, the pinker her face became. Oh, to be young and innocent again.
And when the hookers realized they had a captive audience, they went all out, even offering to act out a few of the concepts for their inexperienced companion.
Thompsen was openly laughing now, and Fletcher cut them off with a smile. Inez hastily closed her mouth and composed herself, still bright pink.
“Okay, okay. No more playing,” Fletcher said. “I’m going to show you some photographs, and I want you to tell me which one is Peter Peter.”
He’d made up a six-pack of pictures, a small card with photos of six men on it. The congressman’s face was third from the left. He slid the composite to Alexis, and she stared at it a minute and shook her head. “Rose, you see him?”
Rosie looked and shook her head, as well. “No. He’s not any of them. But remember that one, on the bottom right, Lexie? He wanted us to rob the liquor store for him.”
Normally, that would be of interest to all involved, but Fletcher needed to stay focused.
“You’re sure you don’t recognize him.”
“No, sir,” the girls said in tandem.
Fletcher glanced at Thompsen, who was nodding. Fletch’s hunch was right on: someone was claiming to be the congressman, but it wasn’t him.
“Tell me what he looks like.”
Alexis scratched her left ear. “He’s slim build. Short hair, parted on the side. Puts that smelly cream in it so it will lay down. Handsome, but seems like he could pop his top anytime. He really seems like a congressman, you know? His attitude. Like he’s really important.”