Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [6]
Lowe and Kelly brought plates from the buffet to the bar and ate there. McIntyre continued to mix drinks for those at the bar and to fill orders brought by the waitress, Mei, who was as adroit as McIntyre at sidestepping attempts to engage. The lavishly appointed room offered a stunning view of the domed Capitol, but not much of what was new in politics, where not much was ever new. His practiced ears picked up on what his wards were saying, particularly Lowe, who pontificated on why Parmele would fail in his bid for a second term. “I’m telling you,” he told a Democratic staffer from the Hill who’d joined the knot of people at the bar, “Parmele’s got plenty of skeletons in his closet, and Widmer knows what they are and where they are.” To Ellen: “Am I right, Ellen?”
She nodded and finished the Maryland crab cake she’d carried from the buffet.
Ellen Kelly had been working for Senator Widmer for less than a year; Lowe had been with the Alaska pol for seven. While she basically shared Lowe’s right-wing views of politics, she would never be, could never be, as strident as he and their boss, Senator Widmer, were in defense of them. Although she’d majored in political science at Georgetown University, for her, politics had never reached the level of passion. She’d sought a job on Capitol Hill following graduation and was recommended to Geoff Lowe by a mutual friend. He hired her almost immediately following a cursory interview, partially because her educational record at Georgetown was solid, more because he loved her looks. Their relationship commenced during her second month on the job. It wasn’t as though she’d fallen for him, at least not in the classic way. Physically he wasn’t her type, nor was he particularly attentive or loving, although he was capable of performing thoughtful acts from time to time—flowers without an occasion to prompt them, a surprise dinner out, an endearing comment now and then. The attraction was, she eventually decided when allowing retrospective thoughts to intrude upon her busy days and nights, Geoff’s dynamism, and the clout he possessed by virtue of his boss’s powerful position in the Senate. It wasn’t a forever relationship, she knew. It simply had come about and would run its course.
Lowe’s cell phone rang. It wasn’t always easy to know whose cell phone was ringing, for so many went off throughout lunch. Lowe had programmed his ring to play “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” which created a unique signature tone. Unless, of course, someone else did the same.
“Yeah?” Lowe turned away from the group and placed a finger in the ear opposite the one against which the small phone was pressed. Ellen watched as he squinted, as though that would help him hear better. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Rich.”
He snapped the phone shut and gave Ellen a thumbs-up. “Got to go,” he announced to the others at the bar, standing and motioning for Ellen to join him. She looked at him quizzically. “No sweat,” he said as they walked to the door. “Everything’s on track.”
CHAPTER FOUR
How much longer to Washington?” Russo asked the conductor.
“Should be in Union Station in about forty-five minutes,” she said.
He nodded and closed his eyes again, the gentle swaying of the train combining with his natural fatigue to cause drowsiness.
He’d bought a piece of Danish and coffee from the café car, but had to ask another passenger to carry it for him to his seat because he was unsteady on his feet. He silently cursed his increasing feebleness. And cursed the watery, lukewarm coffee.
There was a time—and it didn’t seem very long ago—that he was strong and fast, a tough guy who could hold his own in a fight with anyone, including the bigger boys from the New York City neighborhood where he was born and raised. And he could run faster than any of them, which came in handy when boosting merchandise from local stores and having to outrun the owners, or when escaping from the local beat cop.
His father, Nicholas Russo, had come to New