Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [30]
They were summoned to the front desk, where Rosalie’s father waited. He was a short, compact man, no more than five feet, six inches, with a chiseled face, his posture erect, his gaze steady. He wore a crisp white shirt and a wrinkle-free tan safari jacket. His salt-and-pepper hair was in a buzz cut, the sides of his head shaved close. Neither Jackson nor Hall was surprised when he announced that he was career military, army, retired; his final rank, master sergeant.
They escorted him to an interview room and asked if he wanted coffee or a soft drink.
“Just water, thank you,” he said.
He sat straight up in the wooden chair, hands folded on the table. His expression hadn’t changed since their initial introduction to him, a man used to taking orders—and giving them—and who accepted whatever was thrown at him without flinching. A good soldier.
“We’re sorry about your daughter,” Mary said.
His response was a curt nod.
“I know this is difficult for you,” she said, “but we have to ask some questions that might help lead us to your daughter’s killer.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.”
“We’re trying,” Matt said.
“When was the last time you saw or spoke with your daughter?” Mary asked.
He lowered his eyes and stared at his folded hands before looking up and saying, “It’s been a very long time.”
“Can you be more specific?” Matt said.
“At least five years.”
“You were estranged,” Mary said.
“That’s correct.”
“I hesitate asking this,” Mary said, “but were you aware of what your daughter did for a living here in Washington?”
For the first time, his stoic expression cracked. He squeezed closed his eyes and his lips tightened.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Mary said.
His eyes snapped open. “No, it’s all right. I’m just glad that her mother never knew.”
“She… ?”
“She died when Rosie was in high school.”
“I see,” said Mary. She turned to Matt.
“Even though you hadn’t had contact with your daughter in quite a while,” Matt said, “it’s possible that you know someone who might have been close to your daughter during your period of estrangement.”
“Only Craig.”
“Who’s Craig?” Matt asked.
It seemed as though he’d been holding his breath. Now, he exhaled, and shifted his posture in the chair. “Craig was a man she’d been dating here in Washington. At least that’s what he told me.”
“You knew him?” Mary asked.
“Yes. He—”
“How did you come to know him if you hadn’t been in contact with your daughter?”
“He came to see me a few years ago. He found where I was living and came to see me. I’m retired, you know, twenty-six years in the U.S. Army. I live in West Virginia.”
“Yes, sir,” said Matt, feeling the need to be respectful to this man who was obviously proud of his service to the country.
“It wasn’t the best life for my family,” Curzon said. “We moved a lot, too many times for my wife and Rosalie. It was hard on them, especially Rosie. We were never in one place long enough for her to put down roots and make real friends.”
“Not easy,” Mary said.
“No, not easy,” he agreed.
“About this fellow Craig,” Matt said. “You say he was seeing your daughter here in D.C.?”
A nod from Curzon. “He said they’d been dating for more than a year. He said he wanted to marry her.”
Both Matt and Mary’s eyebrows went up slightly in unison, and their thoughts were in sync, too. The daughter’s life as a prostitute was obviously the reason for her boyfriend’s visit to her father.
“Craig wanted me to do something about Rosalie, about the way she was living her life.”
“Were you able to?” Mary asked.
“No. I didn’t even try. The last time Rosalie and I were in contact, I’d come to Washington to visit with her. I didn’t know that she was a prostitute, had no idea. She’d told me that she was working as a hostess