“Yes, he talked to me about her. And if you just knew her... Money was her game. It was all she ever wanted. And I was going to make sure that she received her hush money. Are you happy? It wasn’t coming out of campaign funds. He inherited a good business from his father, who had been a peanut farmer and had made out extremely well. He had a machine that helped shell the things, and it sold well, and Smith has his own money. Okay? Is there anything else?”
“Just one thing,” Keenan said.
“What else?” Agnes demanded.
“Did you ever hear him talk about a young woman named Jess Marlborough?”
“I know that name,” Agnes said.
“Yes?” Keenan asked her.
She made a face, glaring at them. “I heard it in the news—just like everyone else all over the country and beyond. She was a Yankee Ripper victim. That’s how I’ve heard the name.”
“He never asked you to get an apartment for her, finagle a way to pay a few bills?”
“He wouldn’t ask me for the pennies needed to care for a two-bit whore,” she said tightly.
“We know your financials, Agnes,” Keenan said pleasantly. “You’re very well-paid.”
She straightened indignantly. “And you think that I...that I might be performing some special task that would warrant the amount I make? That I might be anything like Billie Bingham?”
Keenan managed to keep a straight face as he replied, “Oh, no, Agnes, I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind!”
“Indeed not!” she said.
“But you do handle problem people for him.”
“I am an excellent secretary, and I minored in accounting. I am more than a secretary. I’m glad that wretched Miss Bronsen sent in her resignation. She was worthless! A young graphics major.” She paused to snort. “She was paid too much without a shred of loyalty. I swear that young woman flirted with the congressman. She wanted more than she was getting. She’s looking for greener pastures, I imagine. Thought a pretty face was all that was needed—and whatever other talents she might have offered. I can handle all problems, and that’s why I’m paid well!”
“Of course!” Stacey said, and Keenan echoed her sentiment.
“Is that all?” Agnes demanded. “Despite your best efforts, this is a busy office!”
Keenan smiled. “Thank you. Thank you so much for your time, for speaking with us.”
He turned. Stacey quickly followed.
“What do you think?” she asked as they left.
“I think we might have stirred a hornets’ nest.”
“Ah—telling her that Smith told us that he’d called her about Billie?” She grinned. “Or suggesting that her income might suggest sexual services as well?”
He nodded and smiled. “I was thinking about her being angry that Smith would have told us that he talked to her about Billie. The sex thing—she is so uptight, I just couldn’t help it.”
“Oh, you just feel that way because all men are fools.”
He laughed softly. “I wish we had a tap on his phone.”
“Don’t we have enough to get one?”
“Even if we did...if he’s doing anything illegal—or even immoral—he’ll have a burner phone. Any calls from his house will make him sound like a Boy Scout. But it will be interesting to see how his future progresses.” He shook his head. “I don’t see it. His wife and secretary. Standing by—even if he goes down.”
“Very well-paid secretary; a proud congressman’s wife,” Stacey reminded him.
“And yet Cindy Hardy went right for the throat. I can’t help but wonder who knew who—and who knew what about who.”
“Could Billie have been in on this, and when she became too troublesome, whoever else decided that she could both be out of the picture and part of the charade?”
“Anything is possible. Anyway, we’ve got a long drive. This Dr. Lawrence is expecting us, right?”
“I told him we were coming.”
She might have told him that they were coming, but when they reached the hospital, he wasn’t there. A nurse suggested that they try his office; it was near.
A receptionist at his office said that he didn’t take appointments that day: it was one of his surgery days.
They thanked him and headed on out.
Stacey was grateful that Angela was thorough. They didn’t need to ask for his home address because they already had it.
“Do you think he’s hiding something—or he just doesn’t want the past brought back up?” Keenan asked her as they returned to the car.
“He cried on the stand while McCarron denied having killed either Dr. Vargas or Mr. Anderson. He was a young doctor at the time, and he found his mentor murdered. Vargas’s neck was broken