Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [39]
“And?”
“Said he wasn’t feeling well and was staying home.”
“What about the teen show?”
“He said to tell you it’s coming along fine. They’re rehearsing tomorrow. I must say, Clarise, that Sydney is becoming more erratic. Maybe ‘insufferable’ is more accurate.”
Hers was a gentle laugh; this time it was her hand on his shoulder. “Could we not discuss Sydney today, Bernard?”
As though not hearing her, he said, “I think you should know that Sydney is a serious suspect in Nadia’s murder.”
She stared. “How do you know that?”
“One of the stagehands. Wales. He told me that when the police questioned him, he told them that Sydney showed an unnatural interest in Nadia. He said Sydney was always touching her and making lewd comments. The police were extremely interested, Wales says.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
“You may not want to believe it, Clarise, but it’s a fact.”
“I hope it isn’t a fact, Bernard. Had you heard anything about Sydney and Nadia before?”
“No, of course I didn’t. Are you going to ask Sydney about it?”
“Not unless I have to. I’d like to talk to the police first.”
“They won’t tell you anything. But I’ll keep my ears open.”
“Yes, do that, Bernard. I have to leave now. There’s a party at the Millennium Arts Center I must stop in on, and dinner with some AT&T people. I think they might want to sponsor one of the shows next season in addition to their usual support.”
As she left the building and said good night to a park ranger on duty at the desk downstairs, her thoughts were on what Crowley had told her about Bancroft. She hadn’t been honest when she’d said she didn’t believe the claim that Bancroft had made improper advances to Nadia Zarinski. It was more a matter of not wanting to believe it.
“Damned old fool,” she said under her breath as she hailed a cab and gave the turbaned driver the address of the arts center in southwest Washington.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND why a husband has to be in the delivery room when his wife delivers a baby,” Hathaway snapped at Klayman and Johnson the moment the detectives entered his office at First District headquarters. “Wallace’s wife’s having a baby, so he takes off for the day. It was better when my kids were born. My wife had the kids, and I went to work.”
“It’s an event you don’t want to miss,” Johnson said.
“Were you there when your kids were born, Mo?”
“No, but I wish I had been.”
Hathaway’s eyes rolled up in his head. “Who wants to see that bloody mess anyway?” His eyes returned to straight and level. “So, what do you have?”
Klayman led off. “I talked to some students who knew the deceased—or knew about her. They portray her as being sexually active; one called her a ‘round heels.’ I didn’t think anybody used that expression anymore. She was dating a student named Joe Cole. I spoke with Cole. He was out to dinner with the deceased Saturday night. They made love back at her apartment after dinner. He says he left because she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t see her again. Other students I talked to claim Cole was angry about the way the date turned out because, according to them—and they’re quoting him—she told him that another guy she was dating was a better lover.”
“That must have given his ego a hell of a boost,” Hathaway said.
“Tell him who the other guy is,” Johnson told Klayman.
“Jeremiah Lerner.”
“Ooooh,” said Hathaway. “The senator’s son?”
“Yup.”
“We have an address on him?” Hathaway asked.
“Easy to get,” said Johnson.
“The chief was on with the senator today,” Hathaway said, leaning back as far as his chair would allow, and rubbing his eyes. “He agrees to talk to us, but not here. They’re working out a deal. Don’t you love it? Somebody gets murdered, and we have to cut a deal to talk to him.”
“I want to run a background on Cole,” Klayman said. “According to the other students, he was mad enough to want to kill her.”
“What do we do about the Lerner kid?” Johnson asked.
“Go talk to him,” Hathaway said. “His old man’s