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They joined him at the staircase that swept up in an elegant curve. Dan couldn’t help but notice the abundance of art. There were paintings in the hallway, on the wall as they climbed the stairs.
On the second floor, Curtis paused at a wide oak door and knocked. “Senator?”
“Come in.”
Curtis opened the door, and they entered a narrow, high-ceilinged room, its walls covered in a pale wood, in contrast to the dark varnished floorboards. Long floral curtains dropped from almost ceiling height, and a cream rug inset with red roses covered part of the floor. Bookcases filled the alcoves on either side of the huge fireplace, which was framed by two columns of warm marble. Two cream armchairs faced each other, one below the window, and against the wall sat a two-seater couch in red velvet. In the middle of them was a round wooden table, its shapely legs giving it a delicate appearance.
Senator Cain stood beside the fireplace, and Dan realized the image he’d seen online did not do the politician justice. In his dark suit, white shirt, and no hint of jewelry apart from his wedding ring and another ring on his right hand, the man exuded power.
“Detective Mitchell and Mr. Porter?” He greeted them with a polite nod. “Gentlemen, you’re fortunate to have caught me. I’m only here today because I had a meeting that couldn’t be rearranged.”
They crossed the floor to join him, and Gary held out his hand.
The senator gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t shake hands at the moment.” He revealed his palms, and Dan winced.
“You have my sympathies. My mother suffers from eczema too.” Senator Cain’s hands appeared red and painful.
“I don’t suffer from it most of the time. Usually only when I’m stressed.” He sighed. “Which happens to be my present state, unfortunately.” His eyes sparkled. “Not that my stress levels have anything to do with a visit from detectives.”
“It was good of you to see us, Senator,” Gary said in a polite tone. “I know you must be extremely busy.”
Senator Cain waved his hand. “Yes, but you said on the phone that you needed to see me. And to be frank, I was curious.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
“We’re part of a cold case team, and we’re investigating the death of Cheryl Somers,” Gary explained as they sat.
Senator Cain’s breathing hitched. “The police are reopening the case? After all this time?” Dan arched his eyebrows, and the senator plunged ahead. “Please, don’t take my words as a complaint. I couldn’t be happier if the police are looking into this again. I simply thought her death had been swept under the carpet.”
Dan didn’t miss the tremor in his voice. “When did you see her last?”
“At the end of June 1992. I should explain that this is when the family decamps to the Fluke for the whole of July and August. It’s a tradition.”
Gary frowned. “The Fluke?”
Senator Cain smiled. “It’s the name of our house on Cape Cod. Nantucket, to be exact. It’s been in the family for decades. We usually stay there until after Labor Day. All the family comes: our children, grandchildren. In fact, that’s where I should be now.” He paused. “Okay, back to your question. I saw Cheryl before we left our house in Lenox for the coast, so yes, that would make it June. When we returned in early September, her father told me he hadn’t seen her for a week. That was when I called the police.” His brow furrowed. “So she’s a cold case? Good. I was never happy about how this was left.”
“Her father worked for your family for many years,” Gary observed.
“Pete? Yes, I remember him from when I was a child.” The senator smiled. “When I was younger, I worked one summer on a construction site. My father’s idea. He wanted to give me a grounding, to see how most people lived. By the time summer was over, I’d become pretty handy with a saw and a hammer, and Pete put me to work around the house in Lenox.” He chuckled. “My father loved that.”
“When did you first meet Cheryl?” Dan asked.
Senator Cain tilted his head to one side. “I think that was when she was seven or eight years old and I was in my late teens. Of course that was before she transitioned.” The word slipped easily from his lips.
Dan smiled. “Your attitude does you credit, Senator.” He’d gone there with fixed views about politicians, having grown up with his dad’s maxim playing in his head: “You can always tell when a politician is lying—his lips move.”
Senator Cain was making a very favorable first impression.
The senator arched his eyebrows. “Do you refer to how I speak of transitioning as though it is a normal occurrence? It is for a great many people in this country. I count myself an LGBTQ+ ally, and sadly these days, there are too many people who would rather ignore the T. I am not one of them.”
Yeah, the more the senator said, the more Dan liked him.
“But back to Cheryl. She had talent, even at that tender age. I think I was the one who first gave her a pencil and paper.” His warm smile lit up his face. “And she improved by leaps and bounds as the years went by.” He pointed to a portrait above the fireplace. “That’s one of hers.”
Dan gazed at the classically posed portrait of the senator and his wife. “She obviously favored photorealism.” The attention to detail was meticulous, right down to the diamond brooch on Mrs. Cain’s jacket and the gold ring on the senator’s finger.
“Yes, she did.” Senator Cain glanced at Dan. “Are you interested in art, Mr. Porter?”
“Yes.” The house where he’d grown up had been full of paintings collected by his father and grandfather. Dan could remember spending rainy Sunday afternoons with his dad, going from painting to painting, listening as his dad told the story behind each work of art.
