Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [124]
“I’m not corroborating anything,” said Smith. “I wasn’t there as Mitzi’s attorney, but I am a lawyer who’s advised her on legal matters. I may not practice law anymore but I’m still a member of the bar. It would be inappropriate for me to testify to what was said last night.”
“So that leaves only Robert’s word.”
“Exactly,” Smith confirmed. “Also bear in mind that before she left she said that she’d deny all of it if asked by anyone who wasn’t in the room.”
Sayers turned to Brixton. “But there’s the word of your client, Louise Watkins’ mother.”
Brixton nodded. “Look, Will,” he said, “I told Ms. Cardell that I wasn’t out to turn this into a media event. I meant that. But you’re free to do whatever you wish, and I’ll help in any way I can.”
“I’m going to give Ms. Cardell a call again,” Sayers said.
“Good luck,” Brixton said. “If you want to talk with my client back in Savannah, give a yell.”
“Shall do,” replied Sayers. “I’d hate to see this story die.”
Brixton handed Sayers that morning’s Post. “See that picture?” he said. “That’s the guy who attacked me last night.”
“The story keeps getting better,” Sayers said.
“A story I could do without,” Brixton said as he rubbed his aching arm.
Flo arrived early and joined them at the table. She, too, wanted a play-by-play, but Brixton declined. “We’ve been through it already,” he said. “I’ll rerun it for you on the drive home.”
“I know one thing,” Smith said as Brixton and Flo prepared to leave.
“What’s that?” Brixton asked.
“I doubt if we’re still on Mitzi Cardell’s A-list.”
Brixton and Flo gathered his belongings from the hotel and were on their way back to Savannah by four that afternoon.
• • •
A few days later, Brockman was arraigned on the charge of first-degree murder, as well as with the torching of the house. He denied the latter, of course, and his court-appointed attorney expressed confidence that evidence was lacking to link him to the arson. Brockman told the arresting authorities that he’d killed Silva on orders from a paramilitary group headed by a man named Dexter—a patriotic group, he claimed—which was met with skepticism and scorn. He directed them to the office building used as a front where he’d received part of his indoctrination, but before anyone visited there in search of the mysterious man called Dexter, word came down from the highest echelons of government that any investigation of the firm Z-Stat was off-limits for national security reasons. Brockman’s attorney was informed that there was no person at Z-Stat named Dexter and that his client was delusional: “Maybe you can get him off with an insanity plea,” the prosecutor joked with the defense attorney, an old buddy, and they shared a good laugh over it.
As it turned out, there was no need to enter a plea for Brockman. He was found hanging in his cell by a sheet. A few questions were asked about why corrections officers hadn’t taken steps to prevent his suicide, but these queries soon evaporated.
• • •
Brixton got up the morning after returning to Savannah and went to the window. It promised to be a scorcher in Georgia’s first city and his adopted home. Everything ached, thanks in part to the long car ride from D.C. He turned and looked at Flo, who slept peacefully, a tiny smile on her pretty face. Brixton smiled, too. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, and made a silent pledge to treat her to a special dinner for sticking by him.
Showering was a slow, painful process; he had to be careful not to get his bandage wet and accomplished that by wrapping Saran Wrap around it. He dressed in a beige linen shirt, which he didn’t tuck into his blue slacks, and wore a pair of tan desert boots he’d forgotten that he’d left in the back of one of Flo’s closets.
“I’m going to the office,” he said, kissing her brow.
She stirred, looked up, and grinned. “I am so glad you’re home,” she said.
“Me, too.”
She sat up. “You’re feeling up to going to work?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call later. How about dinner out tonight?”
“Sounds yummy.” They kissed, and she snuggled her