Death of an Intern by Keith M. Donaldson

reporter.”
    The VP didn't comment, just looked at her.
    â€œShe came in unannounced on a visitor's pass. Rather than have her turned away, I met with her. She wanted to know about Janet. I told her what we would be providing, and that we'd requested no interviews. She wasn't rude, maybe a little pushy. I called for Kat to show her out and left them. The reporter then barged her way into our work area as Kat was escorting her to reception from Con II.”
    He was preoccupied. “She do anything?”
    â€œNo. She asked Kat some questions, and then left when Kat pushed it.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI'd like Fisher to make a mild protest to the Star about clearances and security. Be on record. I did ask Fisher to tell Lane that a beat reporter invaded her territory.”
    The VP smiled. “I bet she jumped all over that.”
    â€œNo doubt in my mind.”
    â€œThat's enough for now.”
    â€œI'm sure you remember that reporter we allowed to get friendly?”
    He nodded.
    â€œFortunately, we had more on him than he thought he had on us.”
    â€œDo what you think best,” her brother said dismissively.
    â€œWe can never let down our guard.”

T he Metropolitan Police Department was headquartered on Indiana Avenue Northwest in between 4th and 5th streets, close to where Pennsylvania Avenue and Constitution Avenue merged just west of the Capitol Building. The Judiciary Square Metro Station was only a couple of blocks away.
    The Homicide Division, except for their Cold Case group, was housed in Southeast at Pennsylvania Avenue and Branch Road. However, Max Walsh maintained an office at headquarters for geographical and other conveniences.
    I was in Max's office pacing and complaining to him about my morning meeting with Frankie Grayson and Kat Turner. “They're hiding something,” I concluded.
    The Captain of Homicide scowled.
    â€œI'm no national security threat,” I complained. “Why should the Secret Service get involved in the Rausch murder investigation? Are they looking to take over the case? They don't trust MPD?”
    â€œActually they didn't request—”
    â€œI saw—”
    â€œNo!” Walsh interrupted sharply. He leaned forward in his big desk chair.
    Whoops. I overstepped. I gave him my attention.
    â€œTheir legal counsel requested a joint task force,” he said. “Ms. Rausch worked closely with the Vice President. Somebody could have been trying to get at him through Rausch.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes on me.
    â€œI doubt that. We've got two dead, formerly pregnant women whose fetuses or embryos were stolen. One didn't work for the Vice President. Where's the national threat in that?” I implored.
    â€œYou do ask good questions,” he said wryly.
    â€œOh, come on. What am I missing here? If the Secret Service wants in, why isn't the Vice President's office being more proactive? Marsha said Janet only socialized with White House people and had no known boyfriend. Who slept with Janet? Does this joint task force thing work both ways? Will they investigate that for us?”
    â€œThe Vice President is their protectee,” Max emphasized. “Besides, the investigation is not going in their direction. It is out on the streets, searching for the perp who killed two women after they left the 2nd Street Clinic.”
    â€œAre there any connections between the two victims? Do you have the TV interview of Mrs. Williams?”
    â€œNow what are you going to go and stir up?” He rose and walked around his desk to me. “That woman lost her only child.”
    I stopped pacing. “Do we know who fathered her dead grandchild?”
    â€œIt just so happens we do.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œHe's in the military and currently out of the country. He knew she was pregnant, and they had planned to marry when his tour was up. Also, she had a fulltime job with a nonprofit working with homeless