Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [102]
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you there.”
She pushed Flash on the phone and heard Rich’s voice. “Hold on a second,” she told him, switching back to Ellen: “I have to take this, Ellen. I’ll call.”
She didn’t wait for Ellen to say anything, simply switched back to Rich on the other line.
After waking that afternoon, Marienthal had felt a need to get out of the apartment and to walk. Wearing sunglasses and a floppy tan rain hat, he quietly left the apartment—Jackson still slept—and got a half a block away before returning to grab the canvas bag containing his tapes and notes. The bag slung over his shoulder, he wandered the neighborhood until he found himself compelled to take a cab. When he climbed into the cab, he didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but the turbaned driver asked where he wished to go. “Union Station,” Marienthal replied, sounding as though someone else had said it.
The station was its usual busy hub of movement when he arrived. He paid the driver, walked through the main entrance on Massachusetts Avenue, paused and, like a tourist, looked up at the towering arched skylights over the Main Hall. His eyes went to the Augustus Saint-Gaudens stone sentinels looking down at the throngs of people moving through the vast hall. The shields covering the statue’s private parts had been added later to satisfy a call for modesty from some offended citizens.
He rode the escalator to the lower level, got cash from the Adams National Bank ATM machine, bought a newspaper, and took the only remaining seat in Johnny Rockets. He ordered coffee and a piece of lemon meringue pie. He looked around to see if anyone was showing interest in him. Satisfied no one was, he removed his sunglasses, and as he had never done before, read about himself in the paper. The article was illustrated with a picture of the cover of his book and a photo of Senator Karl Widmer. The statement previously released by Widmer’s staff indicated that the hearings into the role of the CIA in the assassination of the Chilean dictator Eliana would move forward, and that tape recordings of the assassin, Louis Russo, could provide evidence of the agency’s culpability in the murder. Adam Parmele’s involvement as head of the CIA wasn’t mentioned.
A leading Democrat on Widmer’s committee, a firm supporter of President Parmele, issued his own statement: “The hearings proposed by Senator Widmer represent nothing more than a blatant political witch hunt, based upon the questionable word of an aging, demented former Mafia killer, who for the past twelve years has been secluded under the witness protection program, and who now claims to have taken part in the assassination. His charges, contained in a recently published book, are ludicrous at best. Basing hearings on such absurd information makes a mockery of legitimate Senate hearings into important matters of state. I and my Democratic colleagues on the committee strenuously oppose this waste of taxpayer money in the interest of political gain.”
Marienthal’s name appeared near the end of the piece: “The book in which the charges are leveled, written by D.C. author Richard Marienthal, has just been published. Attempts to date to speak with Marienthal have been unsuccessful. According to his publisher, Hobbes House, the author’s whereabouts are unknown.”
Marienthal replaced his sunglasses and ate his pie, finished his coffee. He left the restaurant, a replica of a fifties diner, and returned to the street level. He took a circuitous route to the windows of the B. Dalton bookstore and viewed them from a distance. A pile of his books, with one perched on top to allow passersby to see the cover, occupied the window nearest the entrance. He overcame the temptation to enter the store and walked to Best Lockers, behind the Amtrak ticket counter and near Exclusive Shoe Shine. The lockers had been closed to the public after 9/11 as a security measure, but had been opened again. After taking a minute to make his decision, Marienthal located an empty locker and slid the canvas shoulder bag