Murder at Union Station - Margaret Truman [84]
“And maybe they should be,” she said in a flat, judgmental tone.
He glared at her. She expected an outburst. Instead, he drew a deep breath before saying, “And what do I tell Greenleaf at Hobbes House?”
“The hell with him.”
“Sure. The hell with him! When I changed the proposal from fiction to nonfiction and sold it to Greenleaf, he bought it based upon my claims that I had access to Russo and that Russo was the real thing. The novel would have brought a small advance, peanuts for a first-time novelist. And that’s assuming I could even find a publisher. It’s not like there haven’t been books about the Mafia before. But when I met Geoff and told him the story—and he got Widmer to plan hearings on it based upon the book—Hobbes House upped the ante big-time. And then I got Russo to agree to testify in person and boom, up went the advance again. This is my shot, Kathryn. I don’t care who falls, who takes the rap, who comes out smelling good or bad.” He paused and grimaced. “At least I didn’t… care.”
Kathryn smiled. “But you do now,” she said.
“Yeah, I do.”
She left the couch and fell to her knees in front of him. “Rich, I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Give the tapes and notes to Mac Smith.”
“Why?”
“I trust him. Let’s go to him, tell him everything that’s happened, and ask his advice.”
Marienthal shook his head.
“Then give them to the White House.”
“No.”
She frowned. “Not to Geoff!”
He got up and paced. “Widmer will subpoena the materials, Kathryn. He can subpoena me to testify.”
“Which is why you need legal advice. Mac Smith is terrific. You know that. His reputation is top-notch.”
“So’s my father’s reputation. I’m not about to go to him.”
He abruptly stood, went to the window again, and looked through the drapes. Kathryn waited patiently until he turned and said, “Here’s what I’ve decided to do, Kathryn. I’m going to lay low, stay off everybody’s radar. Without me and the tapes, Geoff and Widmer just might cancel the hearings. Once they do—and this whole thing blows over—I can surface again.” He laughed ruefully. “Maybe going underground will hype the sales of the book, provided Greenleaf goes through with it.” He struck a thespian’s pose. “Where is Richard Marienthal, and why has he gone into hiding? Where is the handsome mystery man?”
Kathryn didn’t find it funny.
“I have to get out of here,” he said. “I checked in under my own name.”
“Where will you go?” she asked, getting up from the carpet.
“Better you don’t know, Kathryn. I want you to go back to the apartment. Get a locksmith in and don’t give a new key to the super. I don’t trust him.”
“Where will you be?”
“With a friend. A male friend.”
Tears formed in her eyes. He took her by the shoulders, gave forth with a boyish grin, and said, “Hey, no crying. Got that? I’ll be fine. It’ll just be a few weeks. Just go about your life as though nothing’s happened. Anybody calls looking for me, I’m away on a research trip for a new book I’m writing.”
“I’m frightened, Rich.”
A laugh designed to comfort accompanied his wide grin. “Frightened about what?”
“Two people involved with Widmer’s hearings have been murdered. Someone doesn’t want Russo’s story told. Isn’t that obvious?”
In his head he agreed with her. Aloud, he said, “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to pack up. I’ll tell them I have a family emergency and have to leave the hotel early. You take the car and drive back to the apartment. I’ll take a cab.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He went into the suite’s bedroom, repacked his small bag, pulled the large canvas shoulder bag with the interview tapes and notes from the floor of the closet, and returned to the living room, where Kathryn still stood by the window. He stood still, too. While he was in the bedroom, the obvious had occurred to him: if he was in some sort of physical danger, she could be, too. He tried to rationalize that thought away, at least for the moment. Those who might want the tapes and notes wanted him, not her.