I watched the digitally recorded conversation three times, shocked by what Lansing had told her, incredulous that he’d followed us, angry at myself for not noticing his car.
His claims seemed outrageous.
But also, though I hated to admit it, perhaps not so outrageous after all.
Actually, if what he was saying was true, it would explain a lot, including how Vice President Fischer knew him and had heard about the custody case, why Christie never told me the identity of Tessa’s father or informed him that he had a daughter-and also why I hadn’t been able to find out more about Paul Lansing’s past.
Of course, I would need to confirm everything, but the more I thought about it, the more I found myself anticipating that his story was going to check out.
Momentarily, I had a disturbing thought, and I was ashamed at myself for even thinking it, but as an investigator I couldn’t help it: Tessa’s father was in this hotel six years ago when the shooter tried to assassinate the vice president… Because of his involvement he would likely know about the two rooms on the eighth floor… He was here this week at the time of this crime spree.. . The use of the two rooms pointed to a connection between the crimes
…
Could he possibly No, it couldn’t be.
Unlike the man we’d caught on tape pushing Mollie into the hotel, Lansing was over six feet tall and broad shouldered, didn’t favor either leg, wasn’t left-handed.
Regardless, one thing remained certain: I was going to take a closer look into Paul Lansing’s past as soon as we got home.
Another passage.
Another tunnel.
“If he tries to contact you again,” I told Tessa, “don’t talk with him or respond to his emails. And let me know right away.”
“I will.”
After a stretch of silence I felt the need to veer the conversation away from Lansing. “Good job, by the way, on getting this video. You’d make a great FBI agent.”
She was quiet but seemed pleased by my comment.
“Do you know how to read lips?” I asked her.
She seemed taken aback by my question and shook her head.
“Good.” I pulled out my cell.
“What are you doing?”
I cranked the door open. “Two quick calls. I’ll be right back.”
After telling Missy Schuel about Lansing’s claims and assuring her that I would send her a copy of the video when I got home, I spoke briefly with Lien-hua, and she informed me that the congressman had been contacted and was on his way to make a positive ID.
When I told her about Lansing and the Secret Service angle, she offered to do a little poking around to confirm that he really had been an agent. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’ll take care of it. Listen, it’s possible the killers didn’t just leave Mollie’s body there to confuse us. It’s possible they meant to come back for her.”
“I already thought of that. With so many responding officers here and all the news coverage, it’s probably too late, but I did convince Margaret to get us three undercover agents to surveil the entrances and exits in case.”
“As always, you continue to impress me, Agent Jiang.”
“Thank you.” A pause. “In all seriousness, Pat, nice work on this.”
“Thanks. Give me a shout later.”
“I will.”
I hung up.
And took Tessa home.
Four unzipped suitcases lay at Margaret’s feet.
Seeing the contents reminded her of the time a killer had left the torso of one of his victims in the trunk of her car. Just to taunt her.
A tight iciness coursed through her.
Not a good memory.
Congressman Fischer had insisted on making the ID here rather than at the ME’s autopsy room, and finally Margaret had agreed. He’d asked for all four suitcases to be opened, and now he was staring into the smallest one, at his daughter’s face. And when Margaret did as well, she noticed that Mollie’s eyes were still open.
She felt a splinter of anger. As a show of respect, it’s standard procedure for the Evidence Response Team to close the victim’s eyes before any family members arrive. She glared at Agent Natasha Farraday, the ERT member who should have taken care of this, but obviously had not, then knelt and gently closed Mollie’s eyes herself.
The congressman nodded to Margaret in appreciation for the gesture. Then, after a long unsteady moment, he looked into one of the suitcases on the left, pointed to a birthmark on Mollie’s left arm. “It’s her,” he whispered. “There’s no doubt.”
Despite his apparent certainty, Margaret wanted conclusive DNA testing done before she released any information to the public.
It took Agent Farraday a few moments to do the on-site test. As she did, Margaret couldn’t stop thinking about that body in the trunk of her Lexus in North Carolina “It’s her,” Agent Farraday announced. “It’s Mollie.”
The third confirmed victim since Tuesday night. Still no clear suspects, no persons of interest in the case.
Margaret cleared the room so that the congressman could have some time alone with his daughter, then after a few minutes, he exited and his entourage shuffled him out of the hotel.
As she watched Fischer walk away, she thought again of his brother’s connection to this hotel, and to the attempt on his life by the pro-death penalty activist.
Cheyenne had asked her to see if Vice President Fischer’s speech had anything to do with primate metacognition, and she’d found that it had not: it was about the Constitution as a living document and what implications our changing views on the 5th Amendment’s rights to life and liberty might have on social issues today.
The right to life.
To liberty.
Knowing the congressman’s stand on these issues might help the task force identify potential groups that might be politically motivated to harm his family, and perhaps provide a link to the assassination attempt six years ago.
A look at the clock on her cell phone told her it was almost 5:30.
You’ve been working for eleven hours straight, Margaret. Go home.
But she doubted she could step completely away from the case. Tonight after dinner she would take a closer look at Congressman Fischer’s voting record and what might be at stake in this case.
She left to pick up her things from her office and head home to feed Lewis.