Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [20]
“The constant focus on Deborah and me, the rumors about our marriage.”
“I can understand your frustration,” Rollins said, “but I don’t believe it will be raised in the debate.”
“Maybe not by the moderators, but Pyle will find a way to work it into the conversation. I can hear him now, saying how important it is to have a strong and loving first lady in the White house. Hell, his wife’s numbers are a lot better than his.”
Rollins was a man who took long pauses before responding to comments or questions, a calculated indication of a thoughtful nature. When he didn’t immediately respond, Colgate added, “It’s Deborah, Jerry. She refuses to address the issue.”
“She feels that it’s better to remain above the fray on issues like this, Bob. I agree with her.”
“I did. I don’t anymore. I sometimes wonder if she’s out to sabotage the campaign.”
“That’s ridiculous, Bob! She’s out there working hard for you.”
“I know that. She’s all business, but like an automaton. These rumors can become cumulative, corrosive.”
“Have you spoken with her?” Rollins asked.
“Sure. She refuses to discuss it, takes that so-called high road, not lowering herself to rumormongers.”
“Are you asking me to do something?”
“Talk to her.”
“Why do you think she’ll listen to me if she won’t discuss it with you? You’re her husband.” His easy laugh softened the comment.
Colgate looked at him but said nothing.
“I’ll mention it to her, Bob, at an opportune time.”
“Good.”
They spent the next hour going over the position papers Colgate had been reading. Rollins agreed with most, but took issue with some, which convinced Colgate to discard those. As Rollins slipped into his jacket in preparation for leaving, he asked casually, “You couldn’t convince Deborah to accompany you tomorrow?”
“She prefers the events in Virginia and Maryland. Closer to home.”
And less awkward, Rollins thought.
“Did you catch Maureen’s talk at the Press Club today?” Rollins asked, referring to Colgate’s running mate, Senator Maureen McDowell.
“No, but the club is sending a DVD.”
“She was wonderful, Bob, very strong and on-message.”
“Glad to hear it. Do you get a sense, Jerry, that Pyle has something, or someone, waiting in the wings to spring on us?”
“Not that I know of,” Rollins replied, “although you never know.”
“That’s my point, Jerry. If he does, I’d like to know.”
Rollins nodded. “Anything else?”
“No. Thanks for coming by. Sue and Samantha okay?”
“They’re fine. Thanks for asking.” He slipped on his jacket. “I’d better be going. Travel safe.”
“I’ll stay in touch.”
Rollins went directly to his downtown law office, where a pile of phone messages awaited him. He shuffled through them, creating piles based upon relative importance, and returned those calls that he considered most urgent. His secretary joined him and asked whether she could leave. It was her husband’s birthday and they were meeting friends for dinner.
“Sure, go on, Helen. My best to Jim. Tell him the only reason he stays youthful is because he married you.”
She laughed and promised to convey the message.
She left as one of Rollins’s young associates, Brian Massie, poked his head in the door. “Got a second?” he asked.
Rollins had hired Massie a year ago after the young attorney had put in a stint in the civil rights division at Justice. His education had been top-notch, head of his graduating class at Harvard Law and editor of the Law Review. That he’d grown disillusioned at Justice was no surprise to Rollins. President Pyle had stacked the agency with cronies and supporters; it was the most politicized Justice Department in history. Political concerns ran rampant over the law at every turn. The decision to hire Massie had been a good one. He’d quickly proved himself able to grasp the most complex of legal issues, and had forged a close relationship with his boss.
“Okay, Brian, but make it quick.”
They spent ten minutes going over a brief Massie was due to file the following morning.
“Looks good,” Rollins said. “Nice job.”
“Thanks, Jerry. Anything