Poisoned Politics Read Online Free PDF Page B

happened, and she called him to tell him she was dumping him. His worse nightmare. His political career would be over. I mean, if she was that well-connected in Ohio, she could influence the powers-that-be to withdraw their support. Then, she’d withdraw her money. That would finish Wilson politically.”
    Samantha nodded. “Quentin would be unable to mount a re-election campaign without her money, especially if she was using her influence against him. Quent wouldn’t have a prayer. He was a Cleveland D.A. from a modest background. Then he started winning several high-profile cases against some financial con men who’d defrauded scores of Ohioans out of their retirement savings. That’s when he got on the Ohio politicos’ radar screen. And, caught Sylvia Burnham’s eye. She’s old Ohio money. After they married, it was an easy climb upward for Quent.”
    I scrutinized Samantha. “You really did research him, didn’t you?”
    In a brief return to her old self, Samantha arched a brow at me. “I told you I researched my pupils. I looked for anything that might hold him back or become fodder for the media sleaze.”
    I leaned back in the chair and sipped my coffee, pondering what she’d said. “You know, I’m thinking more and more that Wilson’s wife may have been the one to push him over the edge. I’d be willing to bet she called him while he was still here. And it was a downward spiral for Wilson after that.” I took another sip of coffee. “Boy, I wish we knew who called him last night.”
    Samantha picked at her nails. “Actually I do know who he talked to last night.”
    â€œWhat?” I stared at her.
    Samantha stared at her hands. “I … I saw his cell phone on the sofa beside him and … I went through the phone logs before I called the police.”
    Whoa . I hadn’t expected that. “Wow, that was really clear thinking.”
    She gave me a worried look. “I know how that sounds, Molly. But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know who called Quentin before he did this horrible thing. Someone drove him to suicide, and I want to know who it is.”
    â€œDid you recognize any phone numbers?”
    â€œYes, there was one that matched his home number in Cleveland. I recognized it from my own phone log when he’d call from Ohio.” She rose from her chair and went to the small cherry wood desk across the room, then returned with a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down all the numbers that Quent talked to Saturday afternoon. He said he’d be at the Hill most of the day.”
    I reached for the paper and scanned the long list of numbers. Since this was Wilson’s personal line, the list was shorter than it would have been if constituents were listed. Even so, Samantha had copied an entire column of phone numbers. “These are a lot of calls. Which was his Ohio phone?”
    She pointed a fire engine red fingernail at one number. “This one. I checked it with my phone logs, and it’s his home. So, that means his wife did call him yesterday evening.”
    I exchanged a glance with Samantha. “The police took his cell phone, right?”
    She nodded. “Yes, they did. But I’m not sure they’d bother to check who called Quentin. After all, it’s an obvious suicide.”
    â€œMaybe, maybe not. Do you recognize any other numbers on this list?”
    â€œYes, several are from his Capitol Hill office. The rest of them looked like other numbers on the Hill, probably colleagues and staffers. Still, I may give the list to a professional to check to be sure.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Her face darkened. “If it wasn’t his wife and he was being blackmailed, one of those numbers could be the blackmailer’s. If so, I want to expose the bastard. He was responsible for Quentin killing himself.”
    â€œSo, you have a private eye on