Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [63]
“No. I chalked it up to some sort of writer’s paranoia. You know, don’t let anyone see a work in progress, bad luck, that sort of thing. Have you seen it?”
“No. If Russo was killed because he turned on his fellow mobsters, they made sure anything else he knew about them was dead along with him. But that doesn’t mean Rich didn’t learn things from Russo. They might want to shut him up, too.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you, Frank. Russo spilled what he knew ten or twelve years ago. If the mob did kill him, it was strictly to get even for his having turned on them.”
“But what if it wasn’t the mob that killed Russo? And there’s this murder of Russo’s assailant. Who killed him, and why?”
“Look, Frank, I understand your concern. I’d be worried, too. I’ll try and get hold of Rich. When and if I do, I’ll let you know. Maybe between us we can get him to sit down and think things out.”
“I can’t ask more than that. I’ll come down at a moment’s notice.”
“You’ll hear from me.”
Smith hung up and dialed Rich Marienthal’s number. The machine answered.
“This is Mac Smith, Rich. It’s important that I speak with you. Please call at your earliest convenience.” He left his number and ended the call.
“A problem?” Annabel asked when Mac joined her on their terrace.
He recounted the conversation.
“Rich hasn’t returned any of their calls?” she said.
“According to Frank.”
“That is worrisome,” she said. “Maybe we should go over to their apartment.”
“I thought about doing that, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate. Rich is an adult. I got the impression from Frank that their relationship might not be all it should be.”
“Still,” Annabel offered, “something could be terribly wrong.”
Mac took a minute to think about it. Chances were that everything was just fine with Richard Marienthal and his good-looking girlfriend, Kathryn Jalick. To go banging on their door might be viewed as an unwarranted intrusion into their lives. Still…
“Okay,” he said.
They took the car from the Watergate’s underground parking garage—their reserved space had added thousands of dollars to the price they paid for their apartment—and drove to Capitol Hill. Annabel waited in the car as Mac went into the foyer and buzzed the apartment shared by Rich and Kathryn Jalick. There was no response. He noted on the intercom board the apartment number for the superintendent and pushed the button. A man with an East Indian accent answered. A TV playing loudly and a crying baby could be heard in the background.
“Sorry to bother you,” Smith said, “but my wife and I have been trying to contact two of your tenants, Richard Marienthal and Kathryn Jalick.”
“They’re not home?” the super said.
“There’s no answer from their apartment. Are they away? Have you seen them recently?”
“Today.”
“Did they indicate where they might be going?”
“Oh, no, they said nothing. Just hello to me,” he yelled over the background din.
“What time was that?”
“This afternoon. At lunchtime. What was your name?”
“Smith. Mackensie Smith. I’ll leave a note in their mailbox.”
“Very good. I will tell them Mr. Smith was here looking for them.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks.”
Smith returned to the car, wrote on a piece of paper the same message he’d left on the answering machine, and placed it in the mailbox, noting that the box appeared to be empty.
Back home at the Watergate, he said to Annabel, “Well, at least they’re alive, according to the super. I’ll call and let Frank know that we tried. Meanwhile, I’ve got an hour’s worth of work to get ready for tomorrow’s class.”
“And I’m off to bed,” Annabel said, kissing his forehead. “Don’t be too late.”
Mac immersed himself in his classroom preparation and, with the exception of an occasional mental lapse during which he thought of Rich and the call from Rich’s father, managed to relegate such thoughts to the back burner.
Rich Marienthal was well aware of the message Mac left on his answering machine. He called from where he and Geoff Lowe had been having dinner at the Capitol Grill to check for messages, and heard Smith’s voice, along with