Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [31]
“Understandable,” Mary offered. “She didn’t want to hurt you.”
“It was worse finding out the way I did.”
“Through this Craig?”
“No. I knew before that. I sensed things weren’t the way she said they were. She never allowed me to visit where she lived in—what is it, the Morgan section of the city? Every time I suggested I’d come by there, she had some excuse. She used a post office box, no home address. The same when I wanted to have lunch or dinner in the restaurant she said she was working at. Always a reason not to go there. I knew something was wrong. One day when we were having lunch in a cafeteria in one of the museums, she left her purse when she went to the restroom. A letter was sticking out that had her home address on it. She’d said we couldn’t get together that night because she had other plans, so I drove to the address on the letter and parked across the street. I saw her leave the building dressed like a whore. Later, she came back and a few men arrived. I didn’t know whether they were there to see her, but I had a feeling that was the case. The second or third man—I don’t remember which—eventually came out of the building, and she was with him. They walked down the street and disappeared around the corner. I knew then what she was up to.”
“Did you confront her about it?” Mary asked.
“No, I couldn’t bear to do that. I went back to my hotel, checked out, and drove to West Virginia that same night.”
“Didn’t she wonder why you did that?” asked Matt. “Didn’t she contact you?”
“No. I sent a letter to her address at the apartment building and said in it what I now knew about her. She never replied.”
“But then Craig arrived,” Matt said.
“That’s right. He seemed a nice sort of fellow. He told me that he was in love with Rosie and wanted them to get married, but first she would have to give up what she did for a living. He wanted my help.”
“And you couldn’t help,” Mary said.
“I wouldn’t help, I told him.”
Neither Jackson nor Hall pressed him as to why he refused to come to the aid of his daughter. Instead, Matt asked, “Did Craig indicate that your daughter wanted to give up her life as a… as a call girl?” It seemed the gentlest of terms to describe his daughter’s occupation.
“I don’t recall whether he said that or not,” Curzon replied.
“What was Craig’s reaction when you refused to help?”
“Oh, he was angry. He said he was disappointed in me. I suppose he had reason to be. Don’t think it was an easy decision to make. I thought about it for days after he left. But I’ve lived my whole life under a set of rules and beliefs. To me, life is nothing more than a series of decisions. You make good ones and things go pretty well, barring a calamity over which you have no control, you know, an earthquake or a plane crash. You make bad ones, well, things don’t go so well. Rosalie made a bad decision, one she had to live with. It was up to her to straighten out her life. No one could do it for her, including me. I suppose I was still angry at being lied to all that time.”
While both Matt and Mary didn’t agree with his thinking—how could he not have tried to help his daughter escape a life of degradation and, as it turned out, danger?—it wasn’t their role, nor was it the place to air their feelings.
“Tell me more about Craig,” Matt said. “What was his last name?”
“Thompson.”
“Did he say what he did for a living here in Washington?”
“He said he was a consultant.”
“For whom?”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Did he give you an address or phone number where you could reach him?”
“No.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to gain from him, and Matt stood. “Thank you for coming in, sir,” he said, “and for being candid with us at what must be a very difficult time for you. We’ll get back in touch if we make any progress in finding Rosalie’s killer.”
Curzon, too, stood, erect, as though awaiting his next order. “Can you tell me how I can arrange the release of Rosalie’s body?”
Mary answered. “I’m afraid it will be a little while before that can