Chapter 5
At the Gibson hotel bar in uptown Washington D.C. Trevor Byron was enjoying a drink with a very beautiful woman. He had paid an extortionate amount of money for the pleasure of her company, and she was doing her very best to convince him that she wanted to be there.
Trevor was about to suggest to his companion that they head up to the room that he had booked for them, reaching backwards into his jacket, hanging on the back of his chair, to retrieve the key card to show her his intent just in case she was unable to hear his words above the din of the busy bar, when his hand collided with that of another much smaller hand. Instinctively he grabbed onto it, gripping it tightly and spinning to greet the owner as quickly as he could. His angry stare encountered the returning wide eyes of a young woman.
"What the hell!?" he yelled into her face.
His companion began to flee just as the would-be pickpocket tried to escape from Trevor's unyielding hold. Trevor used his other hand to grab onto the wrist of his escort, briefly losing his tight grasp of the other woman. In his panic to retain his hold on her, they struggled for dominance. As he pulled, so did she. Without warning his grip loosened as he failed to maintain an equal amount of force on both of the fraught women. The pickpocket lost her footing on a patch of slippery floor, and as she pulled her hand free of the now unsecure grip of her victim her balance tipped and she fell backwards with force. Her head struck against the corner of a nearby table and she lay motionless.
Time slowed for a moment and everything went completely silent before erupting in a frenzy. Trevor's escort shrieked in horror. Trevor's own shock at what had just happened allowed her to slip free and she bolted for the door. Trevor began to shake.
Someone close by shouted "Call an ambulance", and Trevor was bumped aside while several people moved into the space to attend to the unconscious woman. He took out his phone and dialled a number. But he wasn't calling for paramedics.
"I need help. Quick. I'm at The Gibson. There's been an accident."
Gillian was awakened to the persistent snuggling of her partner beside her. It was Sunday. She knew this automatically even though she had only just barely arrived at consciousness. It was Sunday, and she was being forced into wakefulness before her body told her it was time.
She buried her face into the pillow and raised the covers up over her head with a groan. His hand went around her waist from behind and dragged her back against him.
"What time is it? Why are you waking me?"
He mumbled into the back of her neck, "It's not quite seven yet, and my daughter arrived in the door about an hour and a half ago."
She froze against him, turning her head backwards towards his. "Was she ok?"
"Doing her very best not to make a sound and failing spectacularly."
"You think she was drunk?"
"I dunno…" he sighed in self defeat, "Yeah? Probably. I just let her be, but stumbling in at five in the morning?"
"It's not like her."
"Not in the last year anyway since she started to grow up a bit," he paused for a beat, "Do you think I should call her out on it?"
She thought for a few seconds and turned to face him, both on their sides, sharing her pillow.
"See how she is when she gets up. But don't go full on, Cal. She has to make mistakes."
"Ok," he sighed.
His phone began to buzz and vibrate on the nightstand on his side of the bed. They both stared at it in confusion for a second before Cal reluctantly rolled over to pick it up.
He turned the screen to show her the caller ID and said, "That can't be good."
Hitting the receive button he held the phone up close to his ear but between them so that she could listen in.
"Ok. Ok. Yeah. Get all the information you need together and we'll meet you at our offices at ten… well it is Sunday, Congressman, and I suggest you'll need the time to prepare for us anyway."
He disconnected the call and dropped the phone into the space between them on the bed. "You get the tea on and I'll go and find out just how hung over Emily is? Make sure she's alright before we head out."
Three figures sat around the comfortable seating area in Cal Lightman's office; Congressman Bertrand Pryce in the armchair, and Gillian and Cal sitting either end of the sofa. The congressman was tense and closed in on himself with his shoulders high and his hands resting in his lap. Cal was virtually sprawled upright against the sofa, while Gillian was perched with relaxed shoulders, a straight back and legs pressed together at an angle leaving her knees pointing in the direction of the company she shared. An open posture designed to relax the worried politician.
He had explained to them that his congressional aide was a young man from a wealthy political family. He was interning with Bertrand's office at the request of his father who was of the opinion that Trevor needed the experience to grow up and develop his political career so that he could eventually run for, and take over, his father's seat. The two senior congressmen had been friends and party colleagues for decades, and Bertrand was obliged to look out for the young man.
If news got out that Trevor Byron, son of one political dynasty and interning for another had assaulted a woman leaving her unconscious in hospital, there would be a national scandal. This was the story that some witnesses had told the local police. Trevor denied it all. According to Trevor, he had turned around by chance at the wrong time and startled the woman while she was attempting to reach into his pocket. Her own fear at being caught had caused her to slip. According to Trevor, he hadn't touched her. Bertrand didn't believe him on this, he trusted the word of multiple witnesses, but there was something that didn't sit right with him about it. It would be a lot easier on Trevor to just admit that he had grabbed hold of the woman and caused her to slip, and that it was an accident. They could work with that story. By covering it up, he was making it a bigger story. And Trevor was around the political life long enough to know that.
"So you want us to, what?"
"To find the truth."
"And what if the truth makes it a bigger scandal? You know we aren't in the business of cover-ups."
"Dr Lightman, I need to know if I have to drop Trevor Byron from my team and distance myself from him. I need to know what went on in that bar, the background of it, and why."
"We'd like for you to arrange for Trevor to come in and speak with us. We can do it today if you need," Gillian's gentle tone deescalated the mood and brought the congressman back to the task at hand.
"The sooner the better. I've already told him he should expect your call. Ideally before this woman wakes up and starts talking to the press," he agreed.
"It's all kickin' off now, eh?" Cal commented to Gillian as they watched Congressman Pryce exit the building from their vantage point looking out the window of Gillian's office.
"You think Trevor's incident is connected to the pickpocket case?"
"Be a weirder coincidence if it wasn't, don't you think?"
"I don't know. At least now we have a good case for the next bar to check out. You should call it in to Mallory."
His chaotic grin threatened to split his face, but he did his best to fight it off.
"Why don't you call him?"
She shot him a sideways look, then let a devious smile begin to break through.
"Maybe I will."
He paused for a second, caught off guard by her turning the tables on him.
"No. It's alright, I'll call him," he said in a slightly high-pitched monotone, making a hasty exit to do just that before she could. He could hear her quiet chuckling until he closed the door behind him.
