Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [96]
“He was killed?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“Here’s where it gets complicated, Fletch. I mentioned the black girl, Louise Watkins. She’d come out of the club with Mitzi, saw what happened, and helped us get away.”
“Get away?”
A tear formed in Jeanine’s right eye. “We ran. This girl threw the knife in a river or stream and we went home like nothing ever happened.”
“You were never connected with it?”
“That’s right.”
He stood, parted the drapes, and looked out over the lighted lawn and shrubs. “I’m shocked, of course,” he said without looking at her, “but it turned out all right.” He leaned over her. “There’s nothing else, Jeanine? That was the end of it? What did the police do, chalk it up as another unsolved homicide?”
She avoided his eyes and said, “Not exactly.”
“I hate ‘not exactly.’ Be specific. What then? They accused someone else of the crime?”
“Yes.”
“That person did time for it?”
“Yes.”
“Tough on that unfortunate person but—”
“The black girl was convicted of it.”
“How—?”
“She was a screwed-up girl, Fletch, a drug dealer and prostitute. She didn’t go to prison for long, just four years.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“She tried to blackmail us.”
“What?”
“She tried to blackmail me and Mitzi. She wanted a thousand dollars to keep her mouth shut.”
“You paid her?”
“No. Mitzi’s father did, ten thousand dollars.”
“Ward Cardell paid her ten thousand bucks? You said she wanted a thousand.”
“Just to keep quiet. Mr. Cardell paid her more money to confess that she did it and to accept the prison term.”
His laugh reflected amazement rather than joy. “And she bought it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have any contact with her after she came out of prison?”
“No. She was murdered days after she got out. Someone shot her on the street. They said it was one of those drive-by shootings, probably drug dealers.”
Jamison pressed a button that summoned his personal aide. “Another drink,” he said.
“Ma’am?” the aide asked Jeanine.
“What? Yes. Another wine.”
Jamison took his seat across from her again. He stared her down, causing Jeanine to avert his gaze. “Okay,” he said, “let’s pick up where we left off. From what you’re saying, this whole sordid affair happened long ago, past history, so why bring it up to me now?”
“Because it’s surfaced again, Fletch.”
“How?”
She told him about Brixton, and about the newspaper reporter who’d called Mitzi. “And there’s a D.C. lawyer involved, too, somebody named Mackensie Smith.”
“I’ve met him. You say this Brixton is involved in the case? How so?”
She explained that he was representing Louise Watkins’s family, which was all that she knew. She awaited his reaction, ready to brace against an angry tirade. With his second drink in his hand, he said in measured tones, “This obviously has the potential to turn into a major flap, Jeanine, the sort of bombshell this town thrives on. Do you have any idea of what the ramifications are?”
“I’ve been running them through my mind all night, Fletch. I know I should have told you this years ago but—”
“Let’s not play the should-have, would-have game, Jeanine. It’s too late for that. This private detective has to be stopped. I assume he’s the one feeding information to the reporter.”
“It looks that way.”
“How much has Mitzi confided in her father?”
“I know she’s spoken with him a few times. I encouraged her to.”
“Ward Cardell has been a friend throughout my career, a loyal supporter. I can call him.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I’ll think about it. You’ve made quite a mess of things.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to, Fletch. It was all so long ago and I was young and—”
“This guy Brixton is the problem. He has to be shut down before he goes any further.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Just keep your mouth shut. I’ll take care of it.”
She tried to entice him into bed but he balked. “I have some thinking to do,” he said and left the room.
CHAPTER 35
Jeanine Jamison had waited up almost two hours for her husband to return and finally dozed off well past midnight. When she awoke that morning after a restless, nightmare-laden sleep,