Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [87]
“I don’t know,” Brixton said, accompanied by a shrug. “Maybe it will be sufficient just knowing the truth. I suppose she could go to the press and publicly vindicate her daughter’s memory. That’s really not up to me.” He laughed. “Will Sayers would love the story if it pans out.”
“Yes, I suppose he would.”
“I really appreciate this, Mac.”
“As I said, I’ll let you know tomorrow. You’ll be in Washington for a while?”
“Until I get to see her, or know she’s refused. I’m going to visit one of my daughters tomorrow in Maryland. Here’s my cell phone number. Thanks for a great evening.”
“It was our pleasure,” Annabel said.
After Brixton left, Mac and Annabel sat in Mac’s office.
“Do you really think you should ask Mitzi to see him?” she asked.
“Mixed emotions about it, Annie. On the one hand I’m not anxious to be the one to raise this with her—assuming what he says is true. On the other hand, if he is right, a serious miscarriage of justice has occurred. All things considered, I think I should follow through. I’m not acting as Mitzi’s attorney, just a friend and conduit of the message. I’m sure she’ll say no and that’ll be the end of it. I told Robert that I would tell her what it’s about—without suggesting that she might have been involved—and let her make her own decision.”
“No matter how it comes out,” Annabel counseled, “Mitzi won’t be happy knowing that there’s someone in town who thinks she might have been involved in a twenty-year-old homicide.”
“And if our first lady might also have been involved—”
“I’d rather not think about that. I don’t need a nightmare to keep me awake.”
CHAPTER 31
Smith called Brixton at the hotel the next morning to say that he would contact Mitzi Cardell and inform Brixton of the result. But as Brixton drove out of the city on his way to visit Jill, he had second thoughts about using Smith as an intermediary. While he appreciated the distinguished attorney’s willingness to make the call, he wondered whether it might be more effective to call Cardell cold and catch her off guard. He reflected back on times during his tenure with the Savannah Metro force when he’d made such calls and how taking the person by surprise had paid dividends. In some cases, the people on the receiving end blurted out things that had proved to be incriminating, or at least had led him to another level of the investigation.
Too late now, he decided as he navigated D.C.’s traffic snarls until reaching less-crowded roads outside the city. As he got closer to the house, his thoughts shifted from Louise Watkins to the reception he might receive, not by his daughter but by Marylee and her haughty mother. His nerves were on edge and he drew deep breaths to lower his pulse rate. Just stay cool, he told himself. Don’t let them get to you. Focus on Jill and let whatever comments Marylee and her mother make roll off your back like water off a duck.
The problem was that he wasn’t a duck.
Marylee’s faux colonial house looked like all the others in the neighborhood, lots of white cedar shakes and contrasting shutters, blacktop driveways and manicured lawns, probably all built at the same time by the same architect and contractor. He wondered as he pulled in front of the three-car garage why Marylee had never married again. Had her experience with him so soured her on the thought of tying the knot for a second time? She was a good-looking woman who kept herself in shape on the tennis court and in the large pool behind the house. Had her overbearing mother scared away potential suitors? That had to be it, he decided, although that was pure supposition albeit a satisfying one.
Marylee came out of the house and greeted him at the car. She wore a white tennis outfit that showed off her cute bottom and shapely bronzed legs.
“I’m a little late,” he said. “Traffic.”
“It’s okay. I want you to know that Mom isn’t well.”
“Oh? What’s the problem?”
“She has cancer. Lymphoma. She’s been going through chemo and radiation.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Is it—?”
“Terminal? We’re all terminal, aren’t we?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I