Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [101]
She straightened. “Have you seen the tape?” she asked absently.
“Seen it? No.”
He had seen it, of course, had watched it more than once, alone in his darkened office, the flickering images casting macabre shafts of red and yellow and orange light over the room, and over him. He’d felt sick the first time he’d watched, and had wondered whether he would need to run to the bathroom to vomit. The impact of the second viewing was no less potent than the first.
“But you know what’s on it,” she said.
“Only what I’ve been told.”
“And what have you been told?”
“That it places Bob in a compromising position with a call girl.”
“It was taped?”
“Yes. The call girl taped it.”
Rage crossed her face. She clenched her fists and let out a stream of four-letter words, then ended with, “How could he have been so stupid, so careless?”
“I don’t have an answer for that, Deb,” he said, retaking his seat. “Look, I’m meeting with Kevin Ziegler tomorrow about the Miami debate. I’ll try to convince him that to make use of the tape would bring politics down to a new level, down into the gutter. I don’t have any illusions, though. Pyle’s campaign will never directly claim responsibility for the tape’s release, but with the Internet and blogs and out-of-control surrogates, it’s easy to let someone else claim the… responsibility.”
“This was the call girl who was murdered,” Deborah said.
“Yes.”
Her thoughts were as visible as though written in a cartoon balloon above her head. Had her husband, candidate for the most powerful office in the world, killed the prostitute? He wanted to dissuade her of that possibility, but couldn’t. Instead, he said, “I’ve told you about this, Deb, to give you a heads-up, no surprises, no blindsiding. You had to know.”
“Does Bob know?”
“I haven’t told him, but I will. Unless, of course…”
“Unless I tell him,” she said. “No, I won’t tell him, Jerry. He doesn’t deserve that from me.”
“I understand how you feel, Deb. I’ll find the right time, maybe after I meet with Ziegler tomorrow.”
“I don’t care,” she said. The anger returned. “God, I detest him. He couldn’t be content with bedding down his bimbos in the privacy of a hotel room, could he? Having women fall at his feet wasn’t enough, was it? No, he had to go pay some common whore.” She spun around to face Rollins, and expressed what she’d been thinking. “Did he kill that girl, Jerry?” She said it through bitter tears that had mascara running down her cheeks.
“Don’t go there, Deb. This is bad enough without adding murder to it.”
He fetched a Kleenex from his desk and handed it to her. “Try to pull yourself together, Deb. If the tape does surface, it hopefully won’t be for a while. I’ll see what I can accomplish with Ziegler tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you realize that this hasn’t been easy for me, having to break this sort of bad news to you.”
She nodded. “You’re in the midst of your own nightmare, Jerry, and had to deal with this, too.”
“I’m sure Sue and I will have Samantha back home soon. As for the tape, let’s just hope that reason will prevail.”
That prompted the first smile, actually a laugh, from her since arriving. “Reason prevail? In a presidential campaign? And the earth is flat. Do I look a fright, Jerry?”
“Go freshen up,” he suggested, pointing to the private bath off his office.
He opened the drapes and blinds and moved her chair and the floor lamp back to their original positions. He was seated behind his desk when she emerged. He rose and embraced her, held her at arm’s length, and said, “You look fine.”
“Thanks. I hope Sammy’s back soon.”
“I’m counting on it.”
He escorted her to the reception area, where the Secret Service agents jumped to their feet. Deborah flashed a smile at members of Rollins