Deadly Politics Read online

  That’s why they’d texted me. Even the detective’s pet doesn’t get the inside track on something like this without the cops asking a favor in return.

  My teeth closed over my lower lip as I reached for the memories.

  “I’m not sure?” I didn’t intend for that to be a question, but the inflection was there all the same.

  “I need you to try hard, because it could be important.” He put a hand under my elbow and steered me back toward the capitol. “Really important.”

  I looked up at him as we waited for the light at the crosswalk. “What are you not saying?” I asked.

  His lips disappeared into a thin white line. The light changed. Kyle shook his head. “Just see what you can come up with. Please.”

  “I want it first.” I quickened my steps to keep up with his long stride. “If I’m helping with your investigation, nobody gets the story before we do.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He stopped on the corner and turned for a back entrance, waving me to the press corral on the lawn. “This is bigger than a headline, Nichelle. Bigger than the collar, too. Call me if you remember something.”

  Halfway back up the hill, I stopped when I realized what I hadn’t asked him: Why couldn’t they ID Lakshmi’s body?

  Aaron’s press briefing was the most useless speech I’d ever seen him offer: an unresponsive person had been transported to St. Vincent’s, and RPD was working closely with other interested agencies to get the matter resolved.

  That was it. He didn’t even try double-talk for lengthening effect. And his refusal to take questions before he disappeared back into the building put the entire Richmond media scene on high alert.

  I dropped my pen and notebook back into my bag, turning to find Charlie Lewis’s blue eyes fixed on me. They narrowed as she tipped her head to one side.

  Behind her, Kessler watched us both. Thankfully, they were more than a football field away, so I waved and jogged toward my car, my fingers itching for a keyboard.

  A dead (at least former) call girl in the governor’s office? The political stakes hovered in the stratosphere. I couldn’t print her identity without finding it elsewhere, of course, but once Aaron was back in his office, I could work on him. ID or no, a body in the capitol complete with cops crawling all over would eclipse everything else happening today.

  Thanks to my history with Lakshmi and Kyle’s trust, I had a jump on everyone else. But Charlie knew just as many people as I did. She’d have it before long. If I wanted to stay ahead of her, the clock was ticking. As always.

  I tapped my foot through the elevator ride to the newsroom, nearly mowing down a photographer and two copy editors in my rush to Trudy’s office. I slipped inside, then kicked the door shut behind me and leaned against it as she spun her chair around. She eyed my flushed cheeks and quick breathing, lifting her penciled-in eyebrows.

  “You can’t be that excited about covering a speech.”

  “Close. But no,” I said. “Listen, I read every story you ran after the Grayson thing, but I know better than anyone that not everything we know always makes it into the paper. I need to know what else you had on him.”

  She tipped the chair back. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Twitter alert Ryan just posted about a body in the statehouse, would it?”

  I nodded, crossing to the chair in front of her desk and dropping into it.

  “Interesting. Care to fill me in?”

  “The offest, blankest record ever,” Kyle had said.

  “I can’t.” I sighed. “You asked me once to trust you. I need you to return that favor today.”

  She clicked her nails against one another, holding my gaze for ten heartbeats before she nodded. “What do you need?”

  “Was Grayson into anything shady that involved anyone in state government?”

  Trudy shook her head slowly. “Not that I remember. He served on the security committee, though, and there’s some overlap there with state agencies since 9/11.”

  I dug out a pen and notebook and jotted that down. Any needle in this particular haystack would do.

  “I take it this means you’re too busy to talk logistics today?” she asked.

  I sighed. “I am so excited about this event—”

  She raised one hand. “I know. I already put your name in for vetting with the White House. Once they get you on the list, the Secret Service will need a background check. They’ll move fast because there’s not much time, and she just added two appearances and a breakfast to her schedule for the day, which will have them hopping.” She smiled. “How would you like to take her breakfast in the morning and his speech in the evening? If you have time.”

  I blinked. “I will make time.” Pretty sure I managed to get the words out. To be in a room with the president—that was the literal manifestation of college Nichelle’s every career dream. I shot out of the chair. “Thank you, Trudy. I’ll do you proud.”

  “I know you will. Get Bob his scoop today and we’ll circle up this weekend.”

  I scrambled back to my little ivory cubicle, flipping my laptop open before my rear hit the chair.

  I had an email from Aaron at the top of my inbox. I clicked it and scanned the text. Press release from the governor’s office. All members of the state assemblies and the First Family safe, many thanks to local law enforcement. So, nothing I didn’t already know, but it would narrow Charlie’s search a bit.

  I didn’t recall knowing Lakshmi’s last name before, but Kyle said Drake, so I clicked to Google and typed it in.

  Journalism in the Age of the Internet 101: the answer to almost anything can be found online. The tricky part is knowing where to look.

  Social media accounts were the top hits, of course. I clicked Instagram first.

  Her profile was public. Odd, for someone with her past, but okay. Last post was a week ago. She was on a beach.

  I scrolled.

  Before that, there were photos almost every day.

  Lots of them featured a tall, dark-haired guy who’d rather look at her than the camera more than half the time.

  Bingo.

  I clicked to the tags.

  There weren’t any. Weird.

  Back to Google.

  Lakshmi’s Twitter feed was full of retweets of love quotes and animal videos.

  Facebook.

  The page you requested cannot be found.

  Huh?

  Back to Google.

  I copied the link. Pasted it into a different browser.

  Got the same 404 error.

  Leaning back in my chair, I clicked the pen in and out.

  Why erase her profile there but not anywhere else?

  I jotted the question down, put stars on either end.

  Clicked her Instagram back up and stared at her wide smile.

  She was happy. A week ago.

  Next photo. She was facing the selfie camera, a serious pose this time, her gorgeous eyes wider than I remembered. Mine settled on the guy, the super intense gaze he had locked on Lakshmi, no hint of a smile. I loved it when Joey looked at me that way. Lakshmi’s voice rang in my ears. “Ted didn’t like to share.”

  What if Mr. Wonderful here didn’t like her past?

  I studied his face. Was it familiar, or was I making it that way because I wanted a lead? I couldn’t tell. I tapped my index finger on the keyboard. What else did I know?

  The governor’s office.

  How did she end up in there?

  Her boyfriend was cute. On the skinny side, but handsome. Long nose. Strong jaw.

  Oh hell.

  Eyes wide, I went to pull up another photo.

  404 error.

  I clicked back.

  Same screen.

  But the photos had been there just minutes ago.

  Instagram main page, search.

  No such user.

  Somebody was deleting Lakshmi Drake’s online life right before my eyes.

  I snatched up my phone. Clicked Kyle’s name.


  Why couldn’t you identify the remains? Send.

  Gray dot-bubble.

  Buzz. Too much damage to the facial bone structure for a positive without the lab. I still can’t even figure out how the hell they got in here—it’s supposed to be a secured area, but this place is a fucking jurisdictional nightmare today.

  My hands shook as I typed. Try from the inside. I’m pretty sure Lakshmi’s been dating the governor’s son.

  3

  Richmond Police and federal law enforcement officers are investigating a death in the Virginia capitol overnight Thursday. No details about the identity of the victim or the circumstances surrounding the death have been released.

  A statement from Governor Thomas Baine’s staff proclaimed the First Family safe and all members of the commonwealth’s house and senate accounted for. The governor also thanked law enforcement for swift containment of the situation.

  No arrest was reported as of 11 a.m. Friday.

  “The First Family appreciates the concern of all Virginians as we move forward with the important business facing the commonwealth and let our fine first responders do their work,” Kelly DeFazio, Governor Baine’s press secretary, wrote in the press statement. “The governor has full faith in the ability of the men and women in our law enforcement agencies to resolve the matter quickly.”

  I stared at those two paragraphs way longer than I should’ve, twisting and untwisting a lock of hair around my fingers as I debated including the exact location of Lakshmi’s body. Technically, nobody had said that information was off the record, and I had the texts to prove it. But my gut said I was the only reporter in town who got those texts, thanks to my history with the victim. So including it might tip Charlie and Dan to something they didn’t know yet—and leaving it out would damn sure win me some brownie points with my cops, which could come in handy on a story like this. The statement from the governor’s office was a hint, though it was hard to say how much of one since I already knew more than most folks.

  Out. For now.

  I’d better be right about being the only reporter in the know.

  I filled the rest of my story with a bunch of history on the building and its architecture and information about Baine and the last legislative session, ending with Aaron’s nonstatement before I opened an email to Bob.

  Thin, but it’s all we can print for now, I typed in the message I attached the story to.

  Time for a caffeine fix. Halfway to the break room, I spun for Bob’s open door when every ear in a three-block radius heard my name.

  “You bellowed?” I stuck my head around the corner.

  He gestured to his screen. “What is this horse shit? Two hours ago you said you had a murder practically on the governor’s desk, and this is the copy I get?” He clicked his browser open as I stepped inside and shut the door. “Do I need Charlie Lewis to fill me in today?”

  Wow. He wasn’t known for his patience, but I usually got more leeway than this.

  I kept my eyes from rolling upward as I sank into my usual chair, shaking my head. Every crease on his pinched face told me he was more scared than mad. And I was a safe whipping post because he knew I loved him. Months of scrambling to stay on top—and therefore off our weaselly publisher’s shit list—had taken their toll.

  I kept my voice even. Soft. “I’m trying to keep Charlie in the dark until I figure out what the hell is going on here,” I said. “Pretty sure the only reason I know where the body was is because Aaron was in a rush and let it slip in that first text.”

  “And why do you think Charlie didn’t get the same slip, exactly?” Bob laced his fingers behind his head. “I know you’re White’s pet and all, but the man still has to do his job fairly.”

  Good point. Except Charlie didn’t have a history with the victim.

  Bob’s eyebrows went up, waiting for me to answer.

  “I’m sure enough to risk it,” I said. “Kyle and his team are neck-deep in this for a reason I’m not clear on yet, but I got something off the record from him, and I swear on my favorite Louboutins every cop in the state will give everything they’ve got to keep this as tight as possible.”

  Bob sat up. “What’d your friend give you?”

  “Offest, blankest record there’s ever been.” Kyle’s words ran through my head again.

  I rolled my lips between my teeth, not breaking eye contact. “I can’t tell you.”

  The words stretched between us in a silence heavy with what wasn’t being said. I had worked a dozen people’s fair share of sticky stories, and I hadn’t ever refused to let Bob in on a lead.

  He finally tipped his head to one side, clearing his throat. “You don’t trust me?”

  My eyes did roll that time. “Of course I do. This is just . . . complicated. I’d rather keep it to myself until I have a better handle on what’s going on. It’s really hard for me to say to you, chief, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I need you to trust me.”

  “You’re sure we’ll come out on top?”

  I hated the tiny catch buried in his question. For nearly a year, my heart patient editor, the closest thing I’d ever had to an actual father, had lived every day worried he was about to be forced into retirement. And I had lived those same days determined to kick Charlie’s ass on every lead so he could rest a little easier. Despite a couple of close calls, I’d always managed to pull out the win.

  I could do it again this time. I didn’t have another option.

  “I’m sure. If by some chance I’m wrong about this, I have an ace in the hole.” Kyle might kill me, but I could get confirmation on the victim ID from somewhere else, especially since I knew where to look. I stood, waving a hand to Bob’s screen. “Ryan should get that on the web before noon.”

  “Do I need to hold more space than this on the front?”

  I turned to the door. “Give me until four. I’ll let you know.”

  An hour snuggled up to Google later, I knew the name of the governor’s childhood dog, his college GPA, and how he liked his eggs—over easy—but the internet had officially failed me for the first time.

  I had exactly jack shit on Baine’s son. Other than confirmation that Hamilton Baine was indeed the boy from Lakshmi’s Instagram, and I was pretty sure of that before I read about his dad for an hour.

  Four campaign photos: two from the House of Delegates, one from the state senate, and one from last year’s election. That was the sum total of what my computer could tell me about Lakshmi’s adoring companion. I would’ve given my entire shoe closet to go back and screenshot just one photo.

  “Now what?” I leaned back in the chair, stretching my arms over my head and trying to unkink my back. Governor Baine’s family smiled, toothpaste-commercial perfect, from my screen.

  Dammit. Thomas Baine was a military hero, with a silver star and two Purple Hearts to show for his service in Iraq. A brilliant lawyer who’d started his career at a bank, but moonlighted helping out pro-bono in zoning and redistricting cases in economically depressed areas. A loving husband and father who still held hands with his wife in public and stood when she entered a room.

  He was also only Virginia’s second African American governor, sworn into office on the 235th anniversary of his great-great-great-great-grandfather’s emancipation from slavery—a tear-jerking moment Trudy captured beautifully, straight from the we-can’t-make-this-up files.

  Baine was perfect. Poised to lead the commonwealth into the third decade of the twenty-first century with a strong economy and a commitment to top-tier education and technology access in every single county. And with early buzz about national aspirations, President Denham’s reaching across the aisle to invite him to introduce her was a political coup, giving Baine clout with voters who would normally dismiss him out of hand.

  Except now there was a dead call girl in his office. Whether Lakshmi had left her racier life behind when she walked out of that classroom after our chat two years ago or not, every talking head on every news ch
annel in America would label her a prostitute as soon as one determined reporter broke both of those tidbits.

  The governor’s whore. It was short. Scandalous. And it would stick, truth be damned.

  I opened the bottom left drawer, eyeing the jumble of notebooks. I never tossed the important ones, so somewhere in there were the notes from all the conversations I’d had with and concerning Lakshmi Drake. Maybe I’d scribbled down something that could help me find a place to start.

  If I could find it.

  I pulled out a stack of five and started flipping.

  Nothing.

  Halfway through the second stack, a tap on my shoulder made me jump half out of my chair.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Shelby Taylor’s high-pitched, whiny drawl came from behind me. I stretched my face into a smile before I turned. Shelby didn’t know I knew she was screwing the publisher in her latest effort to wheedle her way into my job. She was still pretending to be my friend. Intrigued by how long she’d carry this on and what her end game could possibly be, I played along.

  Slapping the notebook shut, I turned the chair and looked up at her—not far, Shelby’s whole self only has a few inches on me when I’m sitting. “How’s your weekend looking?” I kept my tone light.

  “Eh.” She waved one hand. “Solo ice-cream-and-wine fest. The usual. You have big plans with your mystery man?”

  My smile didn’t falter, thanks to a boatload of recent practice. Joey was a touchy subject in the newsroom. I’d kept our relationship quiet for more than a year because while I knew he wasn’t a “bad guy,” he was on a first-name basis with more than a few of them, and for a long time I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why. But this summer, things got serious enough that I couldn’t stay willingly ignorant of his life and continue to call myself any kind of smart. His official job title, director of transportation for a major trucking firm, wasn’t an issue, but the darker, unofficial side of his days—making contacts and fixing problems for the Caccione crime syndicate—my friends wouldn’t approve. Not that I did, either, but the situation was complicated, extraction from it dangerous, and I was well and truly in love with him, so I could deal. They would not. The questions hadn’t stopped since he’d shown up at Parker and Mel’s wedding last spring and swept me right off my glittery Manolos in the middle of the second dance. Pulling a trick from my years of covering cops and lawyers, I’d gotten good at deflecting them.