Calling Card Capers

By Dan Kelly

calling card capers is a fascinating mixture of suspense, adventure, intrigue, revenge, violence, courage, humor and romance all woven into a captivating tale with an ironic climax that the reader will find very hard to put down.

It pits an fbi special agent, don ericson, a private investigator with a direct line to the white house, chet dawson, and a top notch reporter, janet vanderhill, against an extremely intelligent computer geek, Henry, “Hank”, Aldrich ,who has lost his son in afghanistan due to a malfunctioning rifle. The father puts the blame on people who he claims use inferior materials in the manufacture of weaponry given to our american fighting men and women and the people in our government who contract with them for ulterior motives.

at first he tries to get justice for his son through appropriate channels, but when his pleas are ignored or handled in a perfunctory manner and then cast aside like the daily trash he takes matters into his own hands and launches a vendetta that reaches every branch of the united states government and even takes his pursuers to a little known country in the pyrenees mountains. Aldrich assumes the nom de plume crusader and bodies start to fall everywhere, some are on his list of targets, some, unfortunately, are collateral damage because they get in his way.

while all of this is going on, chet and Janet also have to deal with a persistent motherly match making restaurateur who has made amazing strides in converting what was once a simple diner into an upscale restaurant for lunch and a 1930s style supper club in the evening, entertainment et al.
janet and don also have to deal with colleagues in their respective offices who wouldn’t hesitate to throw a dagger at their backs if it suited there purposes.

all in all, it’s a fast moving and entertaining read that will quickly put the readers’ imagination into overdrive and have them taking sides.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Kelly
• Release date: Jun 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311799319

Dan Kelly

A Little Bit About Dan Kelly the Author"May you always find a good book to read and the time to enjoy it!"After spending forty years in the real world of domestic and international banking, my writing activities being largely restricted to business plans, internal memos, advertising copy, news releases and speeches, I decided I had had enough of the real world and made up my mind to pursue something I’ve wanted to do for quite a while, immerse myself in the world of make believe just for the sheer joy of letting my imagination and creative juices run wild.Except for the occasional humorous ode for the enjoyment of family, friends and colleagues, I never had the time to indulge the more fanciful side of my nature, but since July 2007 I’ve made great progress in atoning for that neglect. My Irish sense of humor coupled with my experience in dealing with a broad spectrum of people from all walks of life and social status are proving to be a wonderful reservoir of inspiration for me in character and story development.Celestial Capers, Casino Capers, Computer Capers, Caribbean Capers, Carat Capers, Calling Card Capers, Cabernet Capers, Calumny Capers, Canyon Capers, Capital Capers, Counterfeiting Capers, Cryptography Capers and Chopper Capers are the products of my first thirteen mental voyages into the realm of make believe and I hope you will be as delighted as I was to make these trips. I am currently embarked on my fourteenth safari into the relatively unexplored dimensions of my imagination, Campaign Capers, and I am finding the expedition as thoroughly enjoyable as my first thirteen tours. I’m hoping you will too.If you'd like to contact me, feel free to send me an e-mail at [e-mail].

Book preview

Chapter 1

The man is dressed to the nines. The suit alone had to cost at least five grand, the shoes another grand and the silk shirt and tie maybe another five Cs. Unfortunately, the man can’t confirm my estimates of his attire because he’s lying on the floor in his office with a bullet hole in his forehead.

My name is Chet Dawson. Ostensibly, I’m an independent researcher for businesses and politicians and have a small office on the outskirts of D.C.; small meaning four people, two research assistants, an admin and me. The name on the door is Dawson Inc. Mr. Originality that’s me.

In reality, I also have a private investigator’s license which allows me to legally be nosier than your average neighborhood snoop and I work for the President of the United States. My name appears nowhere on any government payroll that is open to public scrutiny because my relationship with the man is very well hidden in the shadows of the Capitol bureaucracy and even government personnel with top secret clearance don’t know about my relationship with Uncle Sam’s CEO. I report only to him. There are no go-betweens.

I have a very special set of credentials that afford me access to just about anywhere I need to be and I use them only when it’s absolutely necessary. I can usually talk my way into where I want to go. It also helps to be 6’4" tall, weigh a lean 220 pounds, have a nose that’s been broken a few times and have the experience of growing up on the streets of New York and learning at an early age to talk my way into or out of all kinds of situations, including getting my butt kicked. I’m not ugly, but I’m not going to win any pretty boy contests either.

The man on the floor is Edmund Baker, a lobbyist for an international uniform manufacturer based in the mid-west and, judging from his home, his wine cellar in particular, his home office and his clothing, a bon vivant of the first order.

I’ve seen dead bodies before, but never one with a calling card displayed on its chest.

COMPLEMENTS OF THE CRUSADER

HUMAN TRASH REMOVAL MY SPECIALITY

NO NEED TO CALL ME.

I’LL FIND THE NEXT ONE ON MY OWN!!!

I assume the red background symbolizes bloodletting. It appears someone left the door unlocked at the nuthouse again.

Over the years, I’ve developed relationships with local law enforcement officials both in Washington D. C. and in the communities surrounding it. I even have a few contacts at the Federal level that make me feel a little better about the clowns running the show in our nation’s capitol. At least they occasionally hire folks with brains, insight and are good at what they do.

One of those Federal contacts, FBI agent Don Ericson, is the reason I’m here on Foxhall Road in the Phillips Park community of the very exclusive Northwest Section of the Capitol staring down at a dead body.

Thanks for coming over, Chet. Isn’t this the guy you called me about a while back? If I remember right, you were doing a background check for one of your clients and you had a bad feeling about him. We had nothing on him, but you weren’t going to let it lie there. You said something about the man being a little too cool for your tastes. Too standoffish for a legitimate businessman. You said something about anyone that cool is like an iceberg with 90 percent of the package out of sight. Did you ever come up with anything on him?

You’re welcome, Don, and yes this is the guy and no I wasn’t able to dig up anything on him. Hell, I couldn’t even chip off a few ice cubes.

"Well, it looks like you weren’t the only one who had a bad feeling about him. When it comes to the motive for this, that calling card pretty much says it all. There are no signs of forced entry, so Mr. Baker must have allowed the killer access to his home. There are no signs of anything obvious being taken. The house hasn’t been ransacked. There’s a wall safe behind that picture of Mr. Baker taken with the Secretary of Defense and it doesn’t appear to have been fiddled with. Apparently Mr. Baker’s killer is also a cool customer as there are no signs of anger, of pent up rage being released through the senseless destruction of anything in the house.

As you can see, the forensics people have done their thing, dusted for prints, vacuumed the carpeting and furniture in the office, taken pictures of everything from every conceivable angle, etc., etc. All I can do is wait to see if they are able to discover anything that might give us a hint as to where to start looking. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to lend a hand in that regard. From working with you in the past, I know you have access to some very unusual albeit prolific resources when it comes to getting a close look at other people’s dirty laundry and I have a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get on this one.

I’ll be glad to lend a helping hand, but who’s going to be filling it with the required greenbacks?

I’ll get the okay to bring you on board as a consultant to assist in the investigation and apprehension of this Crusader character. You’ve helped us on a gratis basis in the past. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble selling it to the bosses.

Don, I don’t come cheap. The average hourly rate for a PI is $50 and for the more experienced ones up to $100. I charge $300 an hour plus expenses. You’ll have to trust me and give me discretionary leeway when it comes to incurring them. If something unusual comes up, I will run it by you first. I do not want to expose myself to the U. S. Government paper mill, being forced to wait for a decision by committee to be made.

Apparently to lighten the mood a little Ericson says, Understood. Geez, making that kind of money, how come you’re still wearing off the rack suits?

Thankful for the opportunity to join in I quickly respond with, You better get your eyes checked mister. This is not an off the rack sack of threads, man. This is an original Jimmy Kong hand tailored masterpiece. He comes right to my office, fits me, I select the material and style and in two weeks, presto, Mr. GQ in the flesh at a fraction of the cost.

Chet, do these GQ quality Chinese suits come with anything else besides fortune cookies? Egg rolls? Tubes of won ton soup? Noodles?

Huh?

GQ quality suits don’t come with fortunes sticking out of their pockets, Chet.

Looking where Don is looking I’m surprised to indeed see the fortune from the fortune cookie I had eaten at lunch. I had stuffed it in the handkerchief pocket of my suit jacket and forgotten about it. It had worked its way up and was sticking out of the pocket.

Hey maybe we’re onto something here. We both begin to laugh and head for the front door of the house.

When we enter the living room our laughter is quickly squelched by the tongue lashing of a petite woman in her sixties who is enraged by our joviality. Your behavior is inexcusable for the scene of a murder with the body still lying where it has fallen. Looking at the badge hanging around Ericson’s neck she adds, I will be talking to your superior about your demeanor the first chance I get.

Looking at me she says, I see no badge hanging around your neck. What are you doing here?

My name is Chet Dawson and I’m here as a consultant at the request of Agent Ericson, Ms.???

Knowing who and why I’m here seems to have somewhat mollified her, but she’s not about to put me on her BFF list. Ignoring the implied query about her identity she asks, What kind of a mess did Eddie get himself into this time that warrants an FBI investigation with the help of an outside consultant no less?

Don takes control of the situation with, Ma’am, that’s one of the things we’re trying to determine. How do you know Mr. Baker? Are you an employee, a friend, a relative?

I’m his grandmother, Eleanor Baker, and I live here with Eddie. I’ve been away for a few days visiting my sister in Philadelphia. I’m the one who found him lying on the floor in his office and called the police.

Don voices what I’m thinking, Mrs. Baker, were you close to your grandson? Did he confide in you? Did he say anything to you about being in any kind of trouble with anybody? Was he worried about anything?

My grandson was a very secretive person when it came to both his personal and business lives. We’ve lived together in this house for over ten years now and except for the occasional meal or evening at the theater we lived separate lives. We liked it that way. We gave each other a lot of space to do our thing.

My curiosity always gets the better of me so I ask, What is your thing, Mrs. Baker?

With a glare so intense I’m waiting for sparks to start flying out of her eyes she hisses, Minding my own business and expecting others to do the same.

Hit the dirt! Incoming!! Wow! Eddie’s not the only one in the Baker family who likes to keep secrets.

After another five minutes goes by without eliciting anything useful from Grandma Baker, Ericson ends his interview with her and leaves her to do her thing.

Walking over to me where I’ve been examining some Hummel displayed in a cabinet in a corner of the living room Don says, That is one strange and very cold woman. It’s easy to see where the grandson got his personality from. She’s exhibiting no signs of grief whatsoever. Anger? Confusion? Yes. Sorrow? Not a trace.

Well, there’s nothing else to be learned here, Don. I’m going to split and take another look at what I dug up the last time I tried to look into this guy’s personal and business affairs. Maybe I overlooked something. It’s a starting point anyway.

Okay, Chet, and thanks again for coming out today.

Chapter 2

Walking into my office at any given time on any given day is an adventure into the unknown.

It could be quiet as outer space and neat as an anal retentive’s, it could be as noisy as a rock concert and look like a bomb had just been detonated in the middle of it or the confines could appear quite normal with things in mild disarray and people talking quietly on the phone and tapping away on their computer keyboards. However, there is no such thing as a normal atmosphere at Dawson Inc. New cases, new clients, new challenges and new surprises are always showing up and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My team though small is the best I could ever hope for. Felicity Carson, my admin, is my right arm and keeps things running smoothly even when it looks impossible to do so. No, she is not in the know about my relationship with the President, but she’s a very sharp lady and I wouldn’t be surprised if she suspects that I’m into something that I’m not sharing with her but trusts me enough to believe whatever I might be doing behind her back is not illegal. Her name suits her as she is always upbeat, always has a smile for you and she wasn’t standing behind the door when good looks were being handed out either. That doesn’t hurt where the clients are concerned. She’s thirty eight years old, has a master’s degree in public affairs from George Washington University and has never been married.

Bob Forsythe and Shirley Simpson are my researchers and possess investigative instincts and computer like memories that never fail to amaze me. They’re both in their early thirties, single, and are junk food addicts with no apparent side effects. Bob aspires to be a freelance journalist and is attending night classes to get his degree in journalism. Shirley wants to be a home wrecker just like her dad…. That got my attention too when I first asked her the question. She loves to broadside people with that little tidbit. In reality, her father owns and operates a demolition company that razes office buildings, homes and other structures and hauls the debris away. Initially, her employment with me was only to be for as long as it took her to get her bachelor’s in business administration, but she’s accomplished that and has been working for me for going onto five years now and shows no signs of wanting to leave. I’m letting sleeping dogs lie.

As I open the door to the office, I’m surprised to find it empty. There’s the usual daily clutter on everyone’s desk, but no bodies sitting in the chairs. Hi Honey, I’m home. What’s for dinner?

This witticism gets no response, so I start a room to room search which takes all of a minute as there are only four rooms, the main office, a small supply room, a break room and a bathroom. Glancing at my watch and seeing that it’s only a little after four in the afternoon, I’m about to call Felicity on her cell when she comes rushing into the office all out of breath.

What’s going on? Where have you been? Where are Bob and Shirley and how come you’re puffing like you just ran a marathon?

This has been an afternoon from hell. Our service provider’s servers and other equipment have developed some glitches and we can’t get on line or check or send emails. Our phones are out due to some dimwit running into the telephone pole in front of the building and I had to run across the street to FEDEX to mail some research reports to Billings and Billings because I couldn’t arrange for pickup over the phone. I left the office door open because I knew I wouldn’t be away for more than ten minutes. I left a note on my desk explaining where I was and when I would be back.

I didn’t see any note.

Felicity walks over to her desk and not seeing the note begins looking around for it. It is lying on the seat of her chair. Holding it up so I can see what she has in her hand she says Ta da. When you opened the door, a draft must have blown it off my desk.

Are there any estimates on when our communications will be restored?

The phone company says our phone service should be back up by eight tonight. There is no estimate as to when our computers will be back on line. Bob and Shirley went over to the library to use their computers to complete some research they are putting together on Samuelson and then they were going over to the Washington Post to do some research in the paper’s archives on those former presidential hopefuls you are so curious about.

Okay, that clears things up. Why don’t you knock it off for today? I’m sorry your day wound up in the crapper. When everyone’s back at their grindstones tomorrow morning, I want you to put all assignments on the back burner and devote all of your time to an old case. Do you remember the Edmond Baker background check I was working on a while back?

Yes, I remember. You thought there was something wrong about the man, but we couldn’t dig up any dirt on him. What’s up with him?

He was murdered sometime last night. One bullet in the forehead did the trick. Don Ericson is bringing us on board as consultants to help him determine a motive for the killing and find the killer.

I give Felicity a rundown on what I have learned at the crime scene and finish up with, Pull our file on this guy and have it on my desk when I come in tomorrow. Make copies for you, Bob and Shirley too. I want all of us working on this full time. Let’s start out by reviewing everything we did the first time around. We might have overlooked something. After we’ve all had a chance to do that, I’ll want to have a confab to determine a plan of action. Baker was into something that really ticked this Crusader character off. Knowing what that was could open a lot of doors for us.

Chapter 3

Early the next morning as I’m pulling out of my driveway to go into work my cell rings. It’s Don Ericson. Where are you?

I’m just pulling out of my driveway to head in to the office. What’s up?

Take a detour and meet me at the Dirksen Senate Office Building. I’ll be on the fourth floor in Senator Gail Markham’s office. The Crusader paid her a visit last night. Same MO, shot in the head while sitting at her desk, calling card tucked in a pocket of her jacket, no sign of a break in, and the office hasn’t been tossed.

Security is pretty tight around there. I wonder how the shooter got in without being detected.

That’s just one of many questions I’d like answers to.

Ericson disconnects, leaving me to ponder what this warped person’s agenda might look like. The killer definitely doesn’t have a high opinion of the victims for whatever reason and apparently doesn’t want to take anything from them but their lives. The victims are viewed as human trash, but why? What the hell is motivating this screwball?

When I arrive at the Dirksen Senate Office Building, I am surprised to see that everything looks normal. Other than the usual sprinkling of security people, visitors and newshounds, there’s nothing going on to indicate that a murder has taken place just a few short hours ago. Somebody has put a lid on what’s happened and it has to be someone with a lot of clout to do it so quickly and completely.

I find Ericson in the senator’s office talking with a small group of people who I assume are part or all of the senator’s staff. The forensics people and the medical examiner are busy doing their thing, so I just wander around to see what I can see without somehow contaminating the crime scene.

Nothing out of the ordinary jumps out at me. The usual pictures of family and dignitaries, some taken with the senator in the picture, diplomas, awards, along with some very nice oil paintings decorate the walls and potted plants are scattered around the office. The usual computer, telephone and other clerical paraphernalia sit on the desk top and the pad on the desk has some notes on it, but I can’t make out what is written as the writing is very neat, but very small. There’s a credenza behind the desk whose top holds some books and a woman’s purse.

There are file cabinets along one wall, a built in bar which also holds a TV in the middle of the opposite wall and an informal seating area in front of the desk with a circular coffee table and that is about it.

As the small group of people Don was talking to disburses, Don comes over to me and asks, What do you know about Senator Markham, Chet?

Well, she’s a Republican senator from Kentucky and a senior member of the appropriations committee. She has a reputation for being extremely conservative and was not afraid to do battle with anyone if she felt money was being spent carelessly or needlessly. From what I’ve heard, her constituents love her, but she’s made more than a few enemies since she’s been in the Senate. As I glance over at the body I can’t help adding, Obviously. I know nothing of her personal life.

She’s married to a corporate attorney here in D. C., has three grown children who jointly own a private air courier service based in Arlington, VA that flies out of Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport and her only interest outside of politics that anyone is aware of was her six grandchildren.

Two bodies in two nights and both victims have a government connection. This person is on a mission which he seems to wants to complete ASAP. He’s very cautious, leaves no clues at the scene, and he apparently has knowledge of the whereabouts of his targets and their routines. The victims may or may not have known their assailant, but apparently had no reason to be alarmed by the killer’s presence as there are no signs of attempts to flee or of a struggle at either location. Something Baker and Markham said or did set this loon off on a rampage. Our first hurdle is to find out what that might have been. Since the victims both have connections to the Federal Government, it most likely has something to do with their jobs. At least that’s a decent starting point.

I agree. I’m going to have my people review Markham’s legislative activities over the past couple of years to look for anything that might have been sufficient to raise the hackles on someone’s neck to drive them to take such drastic action to settle the score. Politicians are always ticking someone off, so it will have to be something extraordinary, something that might have raised an unusual furor somewhere, a public outcry out of the ordinary.

While you’re focusing on that, I’ll be regurgitating and reviewing the steps we took when we checked out Baker the first time around. In fact, I’ve had my people put everything they’ve been working on aside to devote their time exclusively to this chore. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow morning.

Okay, Chet. Happy hunting.

You too.

When I get to my office, I clue everyone in on the latest killing. Time is of the essence, folks. This person is in a hurry up mode and I’m thinking he’s already zeroed in on his next victim. Don’t overlook anything no matter how far out in left field it might appear. Baker was into something fishy. I smelled it from day one.

Chapter 4

At three a. m. the next morning, I’m awakened from a fitful sleep by my phone ringing. It’s a sleepy Ericson. We’ve got another one. I just got a call from the Metropolitan Police. Supreme Court Judge Richard Carlyle was found shot in his car on 2nd Street NE about five minutes ago. Meet me there.

Shit! Why can’t this guy watch TV at night like the rest of us?

Be prepared to be bombarded with questions from the media. I understand they’re crawling all over the place. No one was able to put a lid on this one.

When I arrived on the scene, the first question fired at me was, Do you think this shooting of Judge Carlyle is related to the shootings of Edmund Baker and Senator Markham?

Whoever put the lid on the Markham killing didn’t secure it very well. Before I can think of an appropriate answer, in other words some creative bullshit, Ericson comes over and ushers me away from the news hungry hoard.

Say nothing to nobody except ‘no comment’.

With a nod of my head I ask, Did this Crusader leave anything behind this time that might be of some help to us?

Maybe. Something new has been added. The judge was found slumped over the steering wheel of his car wearing a pair of sunglasses. Taped onto the lenses were the words Blind Justice = Unfair Verdicts. The ME estimates time of death at about ten o’clock last night. No need for sunglasses at that time of night."

Anything else differ from the other two scenes?

This time the calling card was found stuck behind one of the ear pieces of the sunglasses. This person is definitely trying to make a statement.

This individual is a nutcase and therefore unpredictable in his behavior. One thing’s for sure, he’s letting his actions speak for themselves and I’m afraid he has a lot more to say. The media is going to have a field day with this person when all the details are made known to them and that’s only a matter of time. There’s no way this person isn’t going to get his/her fifteen minutes of fame.

There’s got to be a common thread that connects these people somehow.

I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need more than a thread to catch this loon, Don. Whole pieces of cloth might not even do the trick. There could be a lot of reasons for this killer thinking his victims deserve to die and they might not be connected at all or if they are the chances of any of them being obvious to us master sleuths could be slim to none. This person may belong in a booby hatch, but stupidity is not one of his/her failings. So far three perfect murders have apparently been committed and that accomplishment is making me real nervous. If this Crusader continues on his merry way, we’re going to have a mass panic on our hands in and around the Capitol.

Well, all we can do for now is continue to rake through the activities of the victims for the past year or so and hope we uncover something that might link them together and possibly to the killer. One very unfortunate link is all of the victims were shot with a .32 caliber weapon. The bullets recovered from the first two victims were fired from the same gun. I’m thinking the bullet in the judge was also fired from the same gun. I’ll get confirmation of that after the autopsy is performed.

Looking at the body which is still in the car as the forensics people process the scene and the ME examines the body, I notice one thing that prompts me to ask the ME if he thinks the judge had been killed here or someplace else and moved here.

Judging from the extent of liver mortis present in the back of the body, which has been dead approximately five hours, this man was killed and laid on his back for some time and then later put in the car seat. There are no signs of blood stains anywhere in the car, so I think it’s reasonable to assume he was killed elsewhere and the body was moved here later and positioned behind the steering wheel of the car. Why do you ask?

The driver’s seat is too far back for the judge’s feet to even reach the gas pedal. Did you or anyone else move the seat to make more room for examining the body or the inside of the car?"

The seat hasn’t been touched. The forensic folks and I arrived at the same time and I immediately went to the body. They’ve been waiting for me to finish up so they can have a go at the inside of the car.

Thanks for your input doctor.

Looking at me like I just performed some kind of parlor trick Don whispered, How did you do that?

Do what?

Determine the seat was in the wrong position for the judge. With all of the ME’s equipment spread around him, I couldn’t see a thing inside the car.

I didn’t look at the seat itself. I looked at the back of seat and it was obvious to me that it was too far back from the dashboard to be adjusted properly for the small man sitting in the seat.

Oh. I should have spotted that.

Why? That’s one of the reasons you have all of these pairs of eyes processing a crime scene. No one sees everything all the time, not even FBI agents.

Yeah I guess so and thanks for the ego massage, but now I have to find the real crime scene as this scenario seems to have been set up strictly for the media.

Well, while you’re doing that and checking out Senator Markham’s recent activities, Dawson Inc. will continue reviewing the work we did on Baker and start to snoop around the judge’s bailiwick and see what he’s been up to lately. If you don’t need me for anything here, I’ll head in to my office now. It looks like it’s going to be a busy day.

Let’s touch base around five this afternoon, perhaps catch a bite to eat somewhere and wash it down with a drink or two.

That sounds like a decent way to end the day. Later.

Chapter 5

At around five-thirty, Don and I are sitting in his favorite Chinese restaurant, Dim Sum Heaven, not too far from my office, and we’ve just been served our drink order, a Singapore Sling for Don, yuk, and a Tsing Tao for me.

How can you ruin good gin with all that sweet and sour gunk?

I love their taste and aroma, they’re a great pick-me-up after the world has been slapping me around all day and they take the taste of the rot gut they call coffee in my office out of my mouth.

Spoken like a true elbow bender.

What did you manage to come up with today?

"Where Baker is concerned, more suspicion, but nothing I can hang my hat on yet. A couple of new names showed up which I want to check out and they might shed some light on things.

As for Carlyle, all I’ve dug up so far is that he was a little man with a really big temper. He could be cantankerous and didn’t appear to get along with the other Supreme Court Judges very well. He had a reputation for being opinionated, which I guess isn’t a bad trait for a Supreme Court Justice, but he apparently took it too far down the road to stubbornness and unreasonableness. What did you dig up on Senator Markham?

"The impression I’m getting from the people I talked to today is that she was a tough straight shooter. Things were usually black or white, yes or no with her. She didn’t have much tolerance for gray areas or maybes. She was liked and respected by her colleagues and had a good sense of humor. She took a lot of ribbing because of her tight fistedness with the greenbacks, but she could give as good as she took. We’re going over her voting record in the Senate for the past year to see if there’s anything there that might have turned this Crusader against her. So far we’ve covered the latest three months and nothing stands out.

As for Carlyle, we found the murder scene. When we checked out his residence, the side door to the garage was slightly ajar, so we went in there first and there was blood all over the garage floor. It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed in the garage and when we checked out the house it was immaculate with nothing apparently out of place. The judge isn’t married, but has a housekeeper who works days from seven to four Monday through Friday and she takes care of the house, does the laundry and cooks meals for the judge and leaves them in the fridge when he’s going to be home for dinner. When we talked with her, she had no idea that the judge had been killed. She said she had no reason to go into the garage as there was nothing there that she was responsible for.

Well, we’re doing all we can do for now. Maybe if we fill our bellies that might push out some brilliant ideas about what else we can do. Let’s check out the menu and order.

Don’s cell rings and the look on his face as he listens to the caller tells me that looking at the menu is as close as we’re going to get to the evening’s repast. As he hangs up he says, "We have another one and this one has the highest profile yet. An hour ago Lieutenant General Paul Styversant was shot and killed in his