Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [102]
Rollins returned to his office, with Caroline at his heels. “Good meeting?” she asked.
“Yes, it went well. Anything important happen?”
She laughed. “Mr. Scraggs called to ask whether you’d found a publisher yet for his book.”
“And you told him… ?”
“I told him you were tied up all day but would get back to him tomorrow.” She shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“He never even asked about your daughter.”
“Some people are just too into themselves, Caroline.”
Especially in Washington, D.C., she thought as she returned to her desk.
At six, Rollins announced that he was leaving for the day. “Coming with me, Matt?”
“I’ll be by a little later,” Jackson said. “Detective Kloss gave me a couple of hours off for dinner.”
“Good for you. Enjoy it. I know that this probably has eaten into your life in a big way.”
They went their separate ways, Jackson to meet with Micki Simmons, Rollins to his Foggy Bottom home. As he turned into his street, a bizarre thought came to him: Does self-loathing emit an odor that others can smell?
THIRTY-TWO
“Your partner’s taking a couple hours off tonight for dinner,” Kloss told Mary Hall.
She was surprised, and expressed it.
“Something about a case he’d been working on.”
Mary went to the back porch and used her cell to call Jackson. “What are you up to?” she asked.
“I was going to fill you in,” he said, wishing he already had. “I had a run-in with Hatcher this morning at Metro. I asked him about when he worked vice, and he blew. I can’t shake this feeling that those days have something to do with the Curzon murder.”
“Kloss said you’re taking time for dinner.”
“Right, only I’m not sure it’ll include eating. I got hold of Micki Simmons and suggested we meet at the Silver Veil, but she nixed it. She wants to meet at Montrose Park, next to Dumbarton Oaks.”
“Why there?”
“Beats me, only she sounded upset. No, scared is more like it. I don’t care where we meet as long as she comes through with the names of the cops who shook Rosalie and her down.” When Mary didn’t say anything, he said, “You there?”
“Yes, I’m here. She’s agreed to give you those names?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Matt, we worked the Curzon case together. I feel like I’m being pushed aside all of a sudden.”
“Come on, Mary, you know that’s not true. I would have suggested that you come with me but I think the two of us might make her nervous. Besides, I don’t think Kloss would want both of us away from the house.”
She knew he was right, which didn’t mitigate her feeling of being left out. “What happened with Hatcher?” she asked.
“He got belligerent, the usual, only he was more physical this time. The guy is going off the deep end, I think.”
“Stay away from him, Matt.”
“Oh, I intend to. Believe me, I intend to. I’ll be back at the house by eight.”
“I’ll be here. Take care.”
He arrived at the small, quiet Georgetown leafy refuge a few minutes before six thirty and walked down Lovers Lane, a cobblestone path on its western edge that separated the park from the much larger and more famous Dumbarton Oaks. It was a pristine evening; the lack of people in the park was surprising. The tennis courts were occupied, however. He’d always meant to take up the game, but never got around to it.
Micki was alone, seated on a bench. She was dressed all in black—slacks, sweater, shoes. She didn’t acknowledge him as he sat next to her.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
Her response was not what he expected. “You bastard,” she said. “You lousy, lying bastard.”
“Hey, back off. What’d I do to deserve that?”
“You promised you wouldn’t mention me to anybody.”
“Right. I didn’t.”
“Sure,” she said. “So how come your cop buddy pays me a visit this afternoon?”
“What cop buddy?”
“Hatcher, that’s who.”
“Hatcher? He came to see you? Today?”
“Oh, he sure did. He told me that if I ever opened my mouth I’d end up like Rosalie.”
“Whew!” was all Jackson could manage.
Her anger was palpable. She sat so that a quarter of her back was to him,