Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [51]
“Huh?”
“A call from the actor at Ford’s Theatre, Sydney Bancroft.”
“What’d he say?”
“He claims he knew she was dating Lerner, and says he counseled her against it.”
“Thanks for sharing it with me, as they say.”
“It just happened a couple of minutes ago, Herman.”
“Get a statement from Bancroft.”
“I will. He’ll be in London till Saturday. I’ll catch him when he gets back.”
“Okay. We can hold Lerner on the assault-and-resisting charges until the preliminary hearing tomorrow. That’ll give us twenty-four hours. Maybe we can get him to talk about the murder, provided the lawyer doesn’t shut him up. Remember, he’s not a suspect in the murder, Rick. We just want to ask a few questions.”
Johnson joined them. “The parents say she never mentioned Lerner,” he said, “the kid, that is. Their daughter talked a lot about the senator, what a great guy he was to work for.”
“The affair with the senator? That come up again?”
“Yeah. The mother thinks the kid is being brought into it because of the rumors about her daughter and the senator. She’s blaming the media.”
“She’s way off base.”
“Tell me about it.”
“By the way, Gertz in Public Info wants to know how the press got hold of it so fast. Any ideas?”
“Wasn’t us,” Johnson said.
“What about the guy at the arts center who helped you find Lerner?”
“Wooby, the director? Possible. Doesn’t seem the type to go running to the press.”
They looked through the one-way mirror into the room where Lerner still slouched in his chair, defiance etched into his narrow, swarthy, brooding, unshaven face. A few years ago, it would have been the face of a thug, or villain. Today, it was the face of a male model.
“Read him his rights again, Rick,” Hathaway instructed, “and see how much you can get out of him before the lawyer arrives.”
Klayman and Johnson entered the room and took chairs on either side of Lerner. Johnson took his time sitting, glaring at Lerner as he did.
“It was an accident,” Lerner mumbled.
Klayman read Lerner the Miranda warning again, slid a copy of it in front of him, and told him to sign as verification that he’d received it. Lerner pushed it back unsigned.
“Suit yourself,” Johnson said. “How long were you and Nadia Zarinski dating?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nadia Zarinski, the murder victim behind Ford’s Theatre. We know you were dating her, Jeremiah. Keep evading our questions and you just dig a deeper hole for yourself,” Klayman said.
“I never dated her. I never even knew her.”
Klayman and Johnson looked at each other before Klayman said, “We have two witnesses who say you did.”
“They’re—lying.”
“I don’t think so,” said Johnson. “Make it easy on yourself, Jeremiah. What’d she do, break it off? Tell you she had another guy, and you lost it?”
“I want a lawyer,” Lerner said. “I’m not answering any of your questions.”
“Suit yourself. You’ll need a lawyer when you’re up on murder charges. Of course, you’re lucky you live in D.C. No death penalty, just the rest of your life in prison. The other inmates should find you attractive.”
Lerner folded his arms across his chest, sunk his chin into his breastbone, and said nothing.
Klayman left the room to join Hathaway on the other side of the one-way glass.
“Lerner’s attorney is here,” Hathaway announced.
A minute later, Mackensie Smith was escorted in. He introduced himself and asked, “What’s he being charged with?”
“Assault of a police officer and resisting arrest, Counselor,” Hathaway replied.
Smith peered through the window at Lerner. He didn’t want to be there any more than Lerner did.
HE’D BEEN RELAXING at home when the call came. She sounded uncharacteristically panicked. “Mac, they’ve arrested Jeremiah,” she said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Clarise. What was he arrested for?”
“That’s what has me so upset. If it was just one of his silly antics, marijuana, getting into a fight, I wouldn’t be so concerned. But his message—I was out at a dinner meeting and my secretary took it—his message said he thought it had to do with the murder of that poor girl at the theatre.”
“Had he known