Free Who Killed Tiffany Jones? by Mavis Kaye
Authors: Mavis Kaye
profitable for him. And, except for the unsettling call from New York City four days ago, even the FBI or the CIA could not have found a happier, more self-satisfied American than thirty-nine-year-old Dave Hamlin.
16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 53
“ M a v i s K a y e ”
53
Dave Hamlin was a marvel in American politics, having been elected to Congress from a district that had a white population of 472,644, and an African American population of only 2,258, or about 5 percent. There were also ten times as many Hispanics, three times as many Indians and Eskimos, and twice as many Pacific Islanders and Asians as blacks. Hamlin, in fact, was married to a Native American woman and had three teenage children by her. His family had remained in Twin Falls, and here in Washington he was enjoying his freedom and status as the representative of his diverse constituency. It was quite a feat for a small-town boy whose classmates had begun calling him “Tater” in high school.
They had meant it derisively, noting that he was about the same color as an Idaho spud. And, when he squinted, they said, his head resembled one—a cheerful, smiling tuber shaded by a ring of close-cropped curly hair. The name had stuck through high school and college, where he had been a star in track and football at the University of Idaho. And now, without knowing about its school days origin, some of his colleagues, including members of the Black Caucus, also used the name, but only behind his back. Dave Hamlin didn’t mind—not at all.
He had accepted it good-naturedly in high school and later, when he ran for office, embraced it. He had discovered that public humility, even if you didn’t mean it, was very attractive to voters. And if you were from Idaho, what better nickname than “Tater.” But beneath the jolly, self-effacing demeanor, Hamlin was as ambitious and slick as any politician in Washington.
He was still smiling broadly as he returned to his table, noting the chest-high curling cherry-wood partitions that divided the room and the sculpted bronze ribbonlike ornaments suspended from the ceiling.
His date, Christine Spivey, pulled his chair away from the table so he could sit. A large, luscious, butter-colored woman with lots of red makeup and thin black eyelashes, the thirty-one-year-old lobbyist had been appointed the task of getting close to the new Idaho congressman 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 54
54
W H O K I L L E D T I F FA N Y J O N E S ?
and of making sure he met some like-minded people among Washington’s elite.
“I just love this place. I just love it,” he gushed to his dinner companions. At the table were Senator Ray “Pancho” Hernandez (R-Texas), Congressman John Durham (R-Pennsylvania), and their wives.
It was Hamlin’s first visit to Georgia Brown’s, and he was thoroughly impressed. They had come to the elegant restaurant after leaving a giant Republican fund-raiser at the Omni-Shoreham Hotel where none other than President George W. Bush put his hand on Hamlin’s shoulder and said: “We’re counting on great things from you.”
Hamlin had flashed his reassuring don’t-worry-I’m-your-boy smile at the president and winked, which led “Dubya” to pause and note that Tater was the kind of American he could count on.
Now Hamlin smugly scanned the menu in front of him. He had thought of soul food as simple fare, collard greens, chitlins, corn bread, ham hocks, and such, but the menu here was as sophisticated as the decor. He considered the overall possibilities but finally chose horse-radish- and peppercorn-crusted filet mignon with pan-bronzed scal-lops, whipped potatoes, and spinach. Wow! he thought. Putting the menu aside, he sat back and surveyed the well-heeled, multi-ethnic crowd that surrounded them as the others ordered.
When the waiter left, Christine Spivey, Rowena Hernandez, and Connie Durham excused themselves to go to the ladies’ room. Hamlin watched Spivey’s sensual walk
16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 53
“ M a v i s K a y e ”
53
Dave Hamlin was a marvel in American politics, having been elected to Congress from a district that had a white population of 472,644, and an African American population of only 2,258, or about 5 percent. There were also ten times as many Hispanics, three times as many Indians and Eskimos, and twice as many Pacific Islanders and Asians as blacks. Hamlin, in fact, was married to a Native American woman and had three teenage children by her. His family had remained in Twin Falls, and here in Washington he was enjoying his freedom and status as the representative of his diverse constituency. It was quite a feat for a small-town boy whose classmates had begun calling him “Tater” in high school.
They had meant it derisively, noting that he was about the same color as an Idaho spud. And, when he squinted, they said, his head resembled one—a cheerful, smiling tuber shaded by a ring of close-cropped curly hair. The name had stuck through high school and college, where he had been a star in track and football at the University of Idaho. And now, without knowing about its school days origin, some of his colleagues, including members of the Black Caucus, also used the name, but only behind his back. Dave Hamlin didn’t mind—not at all.
He had accepted it good-naturedly in high school and later, when he ran for office, embraced it. He had discovered that public humility, even if you didn’t mean it, was very attractive to voters. And if you were from Idaho, what better nickname than “Tater.” But beneath the jolly, self-effacing demeanor, Hamlin was as ambitious and slick as any politician in Washington.
He was still smiling broadly as he returned to his table, noting the chest-high curling cherry-wood partitions that divided the room and the sculpted bronze ribbonlike ornaments suspended from the ceiling.
His date, Christine Spivey, pulled his chair away from the table so he could sit. A large, luscious, butter-colored woman with lots of red makeup and thin black eyelashes, the thirty-one-year-old lobbyist had been appointed the task of getting close to the new Idaho congressman 16470_ch01.qxd 7/12/02 4:33 PM Page 54
54
W H O K I L L E D T I F FA N Y J O N E S ?
and of making sure he met some like-minded people among Washington’s elite.
“I just love this place. I just love it,” he gushed to his dinner companions. At the table were Senator Ray “Pancho” Hernandez (R-Texas), Congressman John Durham (R-Pennsylvania), and their wives.
It was Hamlin’s first visit to Georgia Brown’s, and he was thoroughly impressed. They had come to the elegant restaurant after leaving a giant Republican fund-raiser at the Omni-Shoreham Hotel where none other than President George W. Bush put his hand on Hamlin’s shoulder and said: “We’re counting on great things from you.”
Hamlin had flashed his reassuring don’t-worry-I’m-your-boy smile at the president and winked, which led “Dubya” to pause and note that Tater was the kind of American he could count on.
Now Hamlin smugly scanned the menu in front of him. He had thought of soul food as simple fare, collard greens, chitlins, corn bread, ham hocks, and such, but the menu here was as sophisticated as the decor. He considered the overall possibilities but finally chose horse-radish- and peppercorn-crusted filet mignon with pan-bronzed scal-lops, whipped potatoes, and spinach. Wow! he thought. Putting the menu aside, he sat back and surveyed the well-heeled, multi-ethnic crowd that surrounded them as the others ordered.
When the waiter left, Christine Spivey, Rowena Hernandez, and Connie Durham excused themselves to go to the ladies’ room. Hamlin watched Spivey’s sensual walk