Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,47
have been reasonably attractive in his youth, but that youth was fading. He had become popular for a jocular charm, but even among his constituents—who hoped to ignore his behavior—the charm was fading as well.
He started to give an order to the blonde woman, but his mouth formed a silent O instead as he noticed Keenan and Stacey.
He looked at his secretary who looked helplessly back at him.
He turned his attention to the blonde, his voice booming as he said, “Thank you, Miss Bronsen. Now, if you’ll go and get started right away on that project for the animal shelters, I will greatly appreciate it. And now...well, are these visitors from my beautiful district?” he asked his secretary, before turning his attention back to Keenan and Stacey. He seemed to force his charming smile.
“No, sir,” his secretary answered with lightning speed. “I told them you were busy. They’re from the FBI.”
Smith tried hard not to change his expression. Despite his savvy, his smile did appear to be plastered in place.
“Well, goodness! A visit from our finest. I do have a terribly busy day and you were scheduled earlier, but, thankfully, some matters can be handled quickly. Please, agents, come on into my office. Let me see how I can help you today.”
Stacey glanced at Keenan. They’d gotten lucky. The skinny blonde woman scurried away; the secretary went back to her desk.
Smith held open the door to his office as if he was welcoming them into his home.
They walked in. He followed them and indicated they should take the chairs in front of his desk.
Keenan caught Stacey’s eye and she nodded subtly toward a credenza in the office. On it sat a very fancy espresso machine. Keenan raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.
“To what do I owe this visit?” Smith asked. He didn’t bother with the pretense of including the pleasure of. He sat behind his desk, left hand resting upon it, and leaned back in his chair. He looked at them guilelessly.
“We do hate to bother you, Congressman Smith,” Stacey said easily.
“But your name has been linked with that of Billie Bingham,” Keenan said.
“And you’ve heard about her horrific murder,” Stacey put in.
“Of course, of course,” Smith murmured. “Those poor, poor women. And Miss Bingham. Yes, I know the woman. We’ve met on occasion. She did receive invitations to the darnedest places! I wish I knew something. I do. This killer must be stopped. I’m going to assume that you and others are spending every waking hour determined to stop this scourge. Not that we don’t have other matters of national and personal safety to be considered. Now, I do know others who would say good riddance to bad rubbish. But every man and woman born on this earth has a soul. So, if I can help you in any way whatsoever, I am certainly eager to do so.”
“You did know Billie Bingham, correct, sir?” Stacey asked. “I’ve seen you with your arm around her in a picture, I believe, in a magazine.”
Smith waved a hand in the air and managed a laugh. “Why, I don’t even remember what event it was at—but yes, I did meet her. I thought she was one of my constituents, just wanting a picture with me!”
“Well, of course, sir, everyone would want their picture with you,” Stacey said, leaning forward a bit. “I’m just curious, because the tabloids took off with it. Did you see her after, try to get her to...well, deny the allegations that there was anything going on?”
“No, no, no... You just can’t help what people say. I’m a public figure. There are always opponents in the political field—people who want to egg things on, you know?” Smith said.
“We were hoping that you might know of someone who was with her or did know her well. If you could help us in any way that might help catch the killer,” Keenan said.
He shook his head.
Keenan noted that Smith’s fingers were moving, one, two, three, four. Not tapping audibly but moving nervously on his desk. And he could just see past the desk that Smith’s leg was twitching.
“You’re looking for some whacked-out madman!” Smith said. “I don’t know any...insane people like that!”
“You’ve never been to Bingham’s mansion?” Stacey asked.
Smith turned to her with wide eyes.
“We just ask because a car like yours was seen there,” Keenan told him.
He didn’t really know if Smith’s car had been seen there or not—but it drew his desired reaction.