Marten went back to shaving, his thoughts on how he could devise a way to retrieve and examine Caroline's medical files. For no particular reason he thought of what she had said to him in the hospital when she'd taken hold of his hand and looked into his eyes and said in hesitant speech—
"They . . . murdered my . . . husband and. . . son . . . and now they've . . . killed. . . me."
"Who are you talking about?" he'd asked. "Who is 'they'?"
"The . . . the . . . ca . . ." she'd said. But it was the most she could do, and her strength gone, she'd fallen asleep. They had been the last words she'd uttered before she'd woken later and told him she loved him and then—died.
Marten felt the emotion begin to creep up in him and he took a moment to collect himself before he finishedshaving. Done, he went into the room to dress, determined to drag himself from his still-gaping sorrow and get on with the problem at hand.
"The ca . . ." he said out loud. "What
ca?
What was she trying to tell me?"
Immediately he thought of the brief time he'd had inside Caroline's home before her lawyer had asked him to leave. What was there? What could he have seen, if only for a moment, that might give him the answer to what she had been trying to tell him? Besides the shortlived walk-through, and apart from appreciating her homey touches, the only place he'd been where there had been anything definitive was her husband's office. The little time he'd spent there he'd seen what? Photographs of the Parsons family, of Mike Parsons with celebrities. Beyond that had been the stacks of working files that covered most of the congressman's desk with more still on a side table. Those, he remembered, had been clearly labeled in felt pen— COMMITTEE REPORTS AND MINUTES. That was it, nothing more.
Frustrated, Marten pulled on his pants and then sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. As he did, the thought hit and he sat bolt upright.
"Committee reports and minutes," he said out loud.
"Committee
. How would a person begin to say the word 'committee' in everyday speech? Not '
com
-mittee' but—'
ca
-mittee.'"
Could Caroline have meant that someone on a committee Parsons was a member of was responsible for their deaths? But then she hadn't said
someone,
she'd used the plural
they
. So if he was right and she had been referring to a
committee,
had she meant several members of it or the entire group itself? But how could an entire congressional committee be involved in the complexmurders of three people, not to mention the other innocents on board Parsons's chartered plane? The idea was crazy, but for now it was all he had.
By his watch it was just a little after seven thirty in the morning. At two he was to attend Caroline's memorial service at the National Presbyterian Church. That gave him a little more than six hours to try and dig into the history of Mike Parsons's recent congressional service and maybe find some sort of answer, or at least the beginning of one.
Marten opened his electronic notebook, clicked it on and brought up the Google search engine. In
Search
he typed "Representative Michael Parsons's then hit "Enter."
On the screen popped Parsons's Congressional Web page. Marten breathed a sigh of relief; at least Parsons's name was still in the government database. At the top was "Congressman Michael Parsons, Serving the people of California's 17th District. Monterey, San Benito, Santa Cruz Counties."
Parsons's office locations in Washington and California were listed farther down the page, followed by a place to find the committees he had served on. Marten clicked on that and up came the list.
Committee on Agriculture
Committee on Small Business
Committee on Budget
Committee on Appropriations
Committee on Homeland Security
Committee on Government Reform
House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence
Within those were a number of subcommittees Parsons had also served on. One in particular caughtMarten's eye, a subcommittee he was
"They . . . murdered my . . . husband and. . . son . . . and now they've . . . killed. . . me."
"Who are you talking about?" he'd asked. "Who is 'they'?"
"The . . . the . . . ca . . ." she'd said. But it was the most she could do, and her strength gone, she'd fallen asleep. They had been the last words she'd uttered before she'd woken later and told him she loved him and then—died.
Marten felt the emotion begin to creep up in him and he took a moment to collect himself before he finishedshaving. Done, he went into the room to dress, determined to drag himself from his still-gaping sorrow and get on with the problem at hand.
"The ca . . ." he said out loud. "What
ca?
What was she trying to tell me?"
Immediately he thought of the brief time he'd had inside Caroline's home before her lawyer had asked him to leave. What was there? What could he have seen, if only for a moment, that might give him the answer to what she had been trying to tell him? Besides the shortlived walk-through, and apart from appreciating her homey touches, the only place he'd been where there had been anything definitive was her husband's office. The little time he'd spent there he'd seen what? Photographs of the Parsons family, of Mike Parsons with celebrities. Beyond that had been the stacks of working files that covered most of the congressman's desk with more still on a side table. Those, he remembered, had been clearly labeled in felt pen— COMMITTEE REPORTS AND MINUTES. That was it, nothing more.
Frustrated, Marten pulled on his pants and then sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. As he did, the thought hit and he sat bolt upright.
"Committee reports and minutes," he said out loud.
"Committee
. How would a person begin to say the word 'committee' in everyday speech? Not '
com
-mittee' but—'
ca
-mittee.'"
Could Caroline have meant that someone on a committee Parsons was a member of was responsible for their deaths? But then she hadn't said
someone,
she'd used the plural
they
. So if he was right and she had been referring to a
committee,
had she meant several members of it or the entire group itself? But how could an entire congressional committee be involved in the complexmurders of three people, not to mention the other innocents on board Parsons's chartered plane? The idea was crazy, but for now it was all he had.
By his watch it was just a little after seven thirty in the morning. At two he was to attend Caroline's memorial service at the National Presbyterian Church. That gave him a little more than six hours to try and dig into the history of Mike Parsons's recent congressional service and maybe find some sort of answer, or at least the beginning of one.
Marten opened his electronic notebook, clicked it on and brought up the Google search engine. In
Search
he typed "Representative Michael Parsons's then hit "Enter."
On the screen popped Parsons's Congressional Web page. Marten breathed a sigh of relief; at least Parsons's name was still in the government database. At the top was "Congressman Michael Parsons, Serving the people of California's 17th District. Monterey, San Benito, Santa Cruz Counties."
Parsons's office locations in Washington and California were listed farther down the page, followed by a place to find the committees he had served on. Marten clicked on that and up came the list.
Committee on Agriculture
Committee on Small Business
Committee on Budget
Committee on Appropriations
Committee on Homeland Security
Committee on Government Reform
House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence
Within those were a number of subcommittees Parsons had also served on. One in particular caughtMarten's eye, a subcommittee he was
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