Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [121]
“Where to?” he was asked by the driver.
“The nearest car rental agency,” Stripling replied, settling back and smiling.
He was delivered to a Hertz office, where he rented a midsize sedan, drove from the garage, and headed for the highway leading back to Washington. While stopped at a light, he unzipped the bag and shoved his hand inside. What he felt was soft, cloth. He pulled two pairs of socks and shorts from the bag, followed by a black T-shirt, a handkerchief, and a leather kit containing toiletries.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
The light had turned green; drivers behind him leaned on their horns. He went through the intersection, pulled to the curb, and surveyed what he’d taken from the bag. “Son of a bitch!” he said loudly, flinging the clothing to the floor. “Son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The taxi carrying Kathryn Jalick and Geoff Lowe from Union Station pulled up at the entrance to Mac and Annabel’s Watergate apartment building. Kathryn had taken money from her purse prior to arriving and handed it to the driver. She opened the door on her side. Lowe opened his and grabbed the handles of the shopping bag. So did Kathryn.
“I’ll carry it for you,” Lowe said.
“I’ll carry it myself,” she responded angrily.
They entered the lobby, where Kathryn gave her name to the uniformed man behind the reception desk and said she was there to visit with the Mackensie Smiths.
“Yes, Ms. Jalick. Mr. Smith told me you’d be coming and said to send you right up.” He pushed a button behind the desk that activated the lock on a set of glass doors leading to the inner lobby and elevators. Lowe headed for them with her.
“Sir,” the lobby guard said sternly.
“I’m with her,” Lowe said.
“No he’s not,” Kathryn said, pushing open the doors.
“I’m on Senator Widmer’s staff,” Lowe said.
“I’ll call Mr. Smith,” said the guard.
The doors closed behind Kathryn, and Lowe watched her enter a waiting elevator.
Mac Smith answered the internal call from the front desk.
“Mr. Smith, there’s a Mr. Lowe here who accompanied Ms. Jalick. He wishes to come up.”
“Have him wait,” Smith said, “until Ms. Jalick arrives. I’ll ask her.”
A few minutes later, Smith called back. “Tell Mr. Lowe he’ll have to wait until Ms. Jalick says he can join her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lowe visibly fumed. “Senator Widmer won’t like this,” he told the guard. “Somebody’s going to answer for this.” He paced the outer lobby while pulling out his cell phone and calling information in New York City. A minute later he was connected with Sam Greenleaf at Hobbes House.
“Rich Marienthal is on his way to New York,” Lowe told Greenleaf. “He has the tapes.”
“He’s coming here?” Greenleaf said.
“Where else would he be going?”
“His parents live in New York” was Greenleaf’s reply.
“That’s right. But why would he take the tapes to his parents’ home?”
“This whole project is becoming nightmarish, Geoff. Pamela’s on the warpath and—”
“Who’s Pamela?”
“Pamela Warren. My publisher. We’ve gotten a couple of early notices already. They’re dismissing the book as the figment of the old mobster’s imagination. One reviewer is labeling it a hoax.”
“Don’t blame me,” Lowe said. “Marienthal’s the one who’s screwed everything up.”
Greenleaf abruptly ended the call.
Mac and Annabel Smith greeted Kathryn at their apartment door and led her to the dining room, where she placed the shopping bag on the table. “The tapes,” she said.
“The tapes,” Smith said, emphasizing the words. “Rich gave them to you?”
“In a sense. He’d had them in a public locker at Union Station. He gave me the key before taking the train to New York.”
“He’s on his way there now?” Annabel asked.
“Right.