Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [48]
“I’ll help clear,” Kathryn said.
While the women took dishes to the kitchen, Smith and Marienthal went out on to the terrace. The night air was still hot and heavy. A full moon illuminated ripples on the river. The spires of Georgetown University were lighted in the distance. A peaceful setting. Rufus, the Smiths’ great blue Dane, settled down next to Smith’s feet.
“What are the plans to publicize the novel, Rich?” Smith asked. “Will you be doing interviews, book signings?”
“I think so,” he replied. “I don’t think those plans are firmed up yet.”
“Getting late, isn’t it? You say the book is about to be published.”
“Yeah, you’re right. They’d better get on the ball.”
“I didn’t realize Hobbes House did fiction, Rich. I know they publish a lot of conservative nonfiction.”
His comment seemed to make Marienthal uncomfortable. After a false start, he said, “They want to branch out and do fiction. I guess I submitted my novel to them at the right time.”
“Good for you,” Smith said. “The public seems to have an insatiable appetite for novels about organized crime, the Mafia. I’m sure your book will do extremely well.”
“I hope so,” Marienthal said.
“Did Mr. Russo have a family in Israel?” Smith asked.
“No, not really. He lived with an Israeli woman named Sasha.”
Smith fell silent for a moment before saying, “I suppose the prevailing theory is that the mob killed him. You wouldn’t think they’d carry a grudge that long, but they evidently do.”
“Looks like it,” Marienthal said. “Did you represent mobsters when you were practicing law here in D.C.?”
“Not mafiosi. Other gang leaders.”
“Any of them go into witness protection?”
“No. Some copped a plea and did less time as a result. What was it that Russo told you that so captured your imagination? As I recall, you said he was a lower level mobster in New York, not a major player.”
“Well, he—any chance of another beer, Mac?”
“Coming right up.”
Annabel and Kathryn accompanied Mac back to the patio. Annabel carried a platter of fancy cookies bought at the bakery; Kathryn brought a tray holding cups and saucers, cream and sugar, and spoons. Annabel went to the kitchen and returned with a carafe of hot coffee. Once they were all seated, Mac said, “I was talking with Rich about Mr. Russo. It’s pretty evident that his former criminal associates got even with him for having turned against them.” He said to Kathryn, “You know, of course, that Rich’s dad represented Russo during the trial.”
“Yes,” she said. “Rich has told me all about it.”
This led to a discussion of the ethics of cutting deals with members of organized crime in order to put others, usually higher-ups, away.
“I’ve always had trouble with it,” Annabel said. “Some murderer with a dozen killings under his belt cops a plea, turns on his bosses, and gets paid off with a sweet deal, the witness protection program, a new life and identity, money, other perks. I just can’t square that in my mind.”
“Was Russo a murderer?” Smith asked.
“Yes,” Marienthal replied. “Quite a few. Mob stuff, disputes over territory, or matters of discipline—or, as the bosses see it, honor.”
Annabel wrapped her arms about herself, as though it had turned cold. “Gives me the shivers, these people who place so little value on life.”
Smith said, “I’ve always found it interesting and ironic the way organized crime has to operate. It’s a major industry in this country—at least it was—but it can’t resolve business disputes in courts of law as other industries and companies do. So it’s got to solve its differences privately.”
“By killing competitors,” Kathryn said. She’d said little since they’d gathered on the terrace.
“What was Russo’s attitude about having killed people?” Smith asked.
“He was— Oh, I don’t know. He viewed it as a job, I suppose. He grew up in the streets, saw the wiseguys dressed nice and on the arms of pretty women. I know he was a killer, but he could also be a nice guy. At least he was to me.”
“Mellowed with age,” Annabel commented.
“I suppose that happens to everyone,” Marienthal said, “even mob muscle men.”
As they