Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [84]
“Has Driscoll been directly confronted about this, Cale?” Public Affairs asked.
“He’s out of the country. Mary Beth has been trying to reach him.”
“Lucianne Huston has been trying, too.”
“And we’d better get to him before she does,” Broadhurst said.
Helen Kelly asked, “Is anyone besides Ms. Huston suggesting that David Driscoll might have had a … well, had a hand in Paul’s murder?”
“If so, it had better not be anyone from this place,” Broadhurst snapped. Then he realized the pettiness of his outburst.
“The police are obviously examining that possibility,” Mullin said.
“It’s a ridiculous notion,” Broadhurst said, getting up from behind his desk. “Preposterous. I have to leave. Senator Menendez has asked for a meeting.”
“There’s lots of talk in Congress about this,” LC’s Congressional Relations rep said. “Some administration haters on the House Administration Committee are floating the possibility of a hearing.”
“That’s all we need with the budget being debated,” Broadhurst said. “Remember what else Truman said? ‘The buck stops here.’ In this case, it stops in this office, with this Librarian. But for now, you’re all carrying the buck with me. Let’s meet again this afternoon. Thank you for coming—and for your support.”
The senior senator from Florida burst through the door, followed closely by two aides. He smiled broadly as he slapped Broadhurst on the shoulder and said, “Come in, come in. Sorry I kept you waiting. The Rules Committee threw us a last-minute curve. They seem to enjoy doing that these days.”
His office was spacious and handsomely appointed. Signed photographs covered the walls, interspersed with copper metalwork from Michoacán, Mexico, and a grouping of milagros, votive offerings to the saints created from hammered tin and inlaid with semiprecious stones. The fourth wall, dominated by windows, displayed a map of Florida, a U.S. map, and the senator’s family coat of arms.
He hung his jacket on a corner coat tree, invited Broadhurst to take a seat, and folded himself into a high-backed leather chair behind a massive desk.
“Good of you to come on short notice,” he said. To a young female aide who lingered just inside the door: “We’ll need a few minutes alone, Ellen.”
She backed out of the office, closing the door behind her.
“Well, Cale,” Mendendez said, “I’m sure you know why I felt it necessary to get together.”
“The TV report on David Driscoll,” Broadhurst said.
“That’s right. And now this.”
He slid that morning’s Washington Post across the desk. The paper was open to a page on which a long article appeared concerning the intrigue surrounding Michele Paul’s murder, the money paid him by David Driscoll, and questioning any possible correlation between Paul’s murder and the disappearance eight years ago of John Bitteman. Broadhurst pushed the paper back to Menendez. “I’ve read it.”
“Is it true?” Menendez asked.
“That David Driscoll had been sending sizable sums of money to Michele Paul?” Broadhurst said. “We’re investigating further. Unfortunately, it seems to be.”
“How did you learn about it?” asked the senator.
“The police came to me after they’d investigated Michele’s finances.”
“When did the police contact you?” Menendez’s tone had been friendly, pleasantly inquisitive. This question was hard-edged.
“Yesterday,” Broadhurst answered.
“It didn’t occur to you to contact me immediately?”
“No,” Broadhurst