Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [66]
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he called after her as she walked from the room and headed downstairs.
Clarise’s home was a nondescript, narrow gray town house in Georgetown. It was three storeys high, and had a small enclosed backyard with a studio at the rear. She’d purchased it shortly after moving to Washington from Los Angeles, and had decorated it in a slapdash manner, filling the space with hotel-like furniture and accessories, creating the look of temporary housing for a traveling executive. She seldom entertained there; when she did, it was small gatherings, dinner for six, sometimes eight, or cocktails and hors d’oeuvres with friends before going out for dinner. There were times when she would look around and wish she’d taken the time to apply a more caring hand, or perhaps had used a professional decorator, or just plain looked longer and harder for a couch or chair or wall hanging. Time. There never seemed to be time for such reflection. A housekeeper occupied the third floor and kept things running, serving breakfast each morning to Clarise in a cramped solarium at the rear—always fresh fruit, dry toast, and tea—and picking up after the lady of the house, who seemed always to be in perpetual motion, clothes dropped and shoes kicked off as she passed from room to room, papers and files piled up on the desk to be filed another day, a cellular phone permanently cradled between jaw and ear.
She’d no sooner entered her home and waved to the housekeeper, who was vacuuming the living room, when her cell phone sounded.
“Hello, Mac,” she said. “Your timing is good. I just walked in.”
“Good,” Smith said. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Yale Becker. A source has told him that a student at American University is the one claiming that Jeremiah dated Nadia Zarinski.”
“Why would he lie like that, Mac?”
“We’ll have to find that out,” Smith said. “There’s evidently a second source about Jeremiah’s relationship with the deceased, but we don’t know yet who that is.”
“This is all so preposterous,” Clarise said.
“It’ll get sorted out. Have you spoken with Senator Lerner?”
“Last night. Briefly. I spoke with Jeremiah, too.”
“I hope he understands, Clarise, that he’s got to behave himself while living with his father. Judge Millander won’t tolerate any misbehavior.”
“You sound as though you expect Jeremiah to act badly. Why?”
“Just based upon my brief time with him, Clarise. He seems to be an angry young man, a defiant young man.”
“Aren’t they all these days?”
“He didn’t seem happy being told he’d have to live with his father.”
“Of course he isn’t happy. He and Bruce have been estranged for a long time. At least he’s stayed close to me.” She shook her head. “Mac, I’m sure this business with Ms. Zarinski is all one great big stupid mistake. My concerns are the charges against him for—what was it?—assaulting an officer and—”
“Resisting arrest,” Smith filled in. “The resisting arrest charge will probably be dropped. I’m confident of that, and so is Yale. As for hitting the detective, I—”
“They beat him, Mac. He told me that.”
Smith realized it was futile to continue to try to present the reality of the situation to her. She was reacting the way most parents do when confronted with criminal charges against a son or daughter. It must be a mistake. Their child’s rights were violated. Just make it go away, they tell their lawyers.
Instead, he said, “Yale and I need to meet with you, Senator Lerner, and Jeremiah, and we need to do that quickly, if possible today. I tried to reach the senator, but no luck. One of his aides said he’s tied up in meetings at the Senate all morning, but thought he might be free at lunchtime. Will you be available to meet then?”
Her sigh was prolonged and anguished. “Lunchtime? No, I’m not free, Mac. I have a luncheon with the board’s finance committee. I can’t miss it.”
Smith’s silence said much.
“Please, Mac, try to understand. This is an especially trying time for me. How about later today? This evening?”
“Maybe,” Smith said. “Whether you’re free or not, Yale and I need to sit