Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [68]
“This is Clarise Emerson. Is the senator there?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is my son there?”
“Please hold on.”
It seemed an eternity before Jeremiah picked up the phone.
“It’s Mother, darling. Are you all right?”
“Sure.”
“What are you doing?”
He snickered. “Just hangin’ out. Nothing else to do here.”
“Jeremiah, has Mr. Smith talked to you today?”
“Just a little while ago. He and the other guy are coming here this afternoon.”
“I spoke with Mr. Smith this morning. Can you tell me about this claim that someone has told the police that you dated the poor girl who was murdered?”
“He’s a liar.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No. I just mean that whoever said that is a liar.”
“Of course. Have the police spoken with you again?”
“Uh-huh. They’re coming here.”
“When?”
“This afternoon. That’s why the lawyers are coming.”
“What did they say when they called?”
“I don’t know. They want to ask me questions again.”
“About the murder?”
“I guess so. Why don’t you tell Smith and the other lawyer to sue the city for police brutality? That’s what they ought to be doing.”
“I’m sure they’ll consider that in due time. Now listen to me, Jeremiah. It is vitally important that you do what the lawyers tell you to do, and that you not do anything wrong. Your father and I cannot have you doing things that put us in a bad light. Do you understand?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Jeremiah, unfortunately this is an especially busy time for me. You know I have to go through a hearing in the Senate about heading the NEA, and there’s so much going on at the theatre. But when it’s all over, you and I are due to go away on a long, well-deserved vacation. Just the two of us. You pick the place—the Caribbean, Mexico, Europe, wherever you say. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess. Sure. Whenever you’re not so busy.”
“Fine. I’ll call later today after you’ve seen the police and the lawyers. Just be good, Jeremiah. This all will be over soon, and we can go away and laugh about it.”
“Okay. Bye.”
The click was loud in her ear.
She placed a series of calls from the patio, including one to Mac Smith, whom she reached at home.
“I just spoke with Jeremiah, Mac. He says the police are coming to question him this afternoon.”
“That’s right. I’ll be there, too. Yale is tied up with a deposition. Can you be there?”
“I don’t think so, although I’ll try.”
“Well, it’s not urgent that you be there. The senator will be.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Will you let me know how it goes?”
“Of course.”
“Mac.”
“Yes?”
“There isn’t any possibility, is there, that they might actually accuse Jeremiah of the murder?”
“Anything is possible, but let’s not even consider that at this juncture, Clarise. I’ll be in touch later today.”
She felt satisfied after the call. She left the house and returned to Ford’s Theatre where, in the structured refuge of work, things seemed to be less confusing on the personal front. What she didn’t know was that after she and Smith had concluded their conversation, he’d turned to Annabel and said, “When this is over, I don’t think I’ll ever view Clarise the same way as before it happened. I knew she was ambitious, and admired that ambition and her successes, but she is one cold woman, Annie. She’s ice.”
“And we’ve seen her when that ice has thawed, Mac. Let’s not rush to judgment.”
He smiled and kissed her. She was right, of course. He’d spent most of his professional life fighting prosecutors who’d jumped to judgment in indicting some of his clients, and secretly considered himself to be a thoughtful and not-too-quickly judgmental person.
“I’m glad you decided to become involved,” she said, returning the kiss.
“The jury is still out on that, Annabel. But I’m glad you’re glad. See you tonight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“IMPRESSIVE, CLARISE. Most impressive. I just wish all the groups with which I’m involved had their financials in order the way you’ve managed.”
“I’d love to take the credit, Sol, but I can’t. The