Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [34]
“Hey, pal, for you, anytime. Ciao.” He joined a knot of customers at the bar, leaving Hatcher with his half-filled glass of bourbon, and his thoughts.
• • •
At headquarters, Matt Jackson was busy writing up the interview they’d done with Rosalie Curzon’s father, while Mary Hall ran through a database of names in the D.C. area. She came up with dozens of Thompsons, but only two with the first name “Craig”: one married and employed by the Department of Agriculture, the other single and living in the District. His occupation was listed as “Consultant.” Although they wouldn’t rule out either man, chances were that it was the bachelor who’d been involved with the victim. He’d be first on their list.
Mary, instructed by Hatcher to reach the senatorial aide, James Patmos, who’d allegedly introduced the lobbyist Lewis Archer to Rosalie Curzon, called Senator William Barrett’s office in the Russell Building at First and C Streets, NE, and asked for Jim Patmos.
“He’s not here,” she was told.
“Do you expect him back today?”
The woman laughed. “One never knows,” she said. “Can I take a message?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll try him again tomorrow.”
“No luck?” Matt said after she’d hung up.
“He wasn’t there. I didn’t want to leave my name.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather he not have time to come up with a story.”
“We didn’t worry about that when you called the congressman.”
“Hatcher didn’t worry about it, Matt, but I do.”
• • •
Deborah Colgate’s limo driver dropped her and Connie Bennett in front of the Colgates’ Georgetown townhouse. The events at which she’d spoken had gone well, plenty of checks written, and even more money pledged to the Colgate campaign for president. Deborah hated the fundraising aspect of running for elected office, found it demeaning and even fraudulent in what it promised to donors. Why did they contribute, she wondered, especially those whose checks were for small amounts? Did they expect something in return besides the psychic payoff of having put their money where their beliefs lie? The big donors certainly expected a bang for their bucks—access to the candidate once he or she was in office, and clout when it came to legislation that would affect their lives, especially their bottom lines. Politicians, she decided, were like televangelists, promising miraculous improvements in the lives of those who sent their money, salvation and freedom from disease and pain—or in the case of politicians, better jobs, lower taxes, and a sunny future.
She and Connie went to the kitchen, where a housekeeper was preparing snacks in anticipation of their arrival, salmon with a dollop of horseradish sauce on crackers, and Deborah’s favorite, hummus on toast points.
“We’ll be in the study,” Deborah told the housekeeper.
“Cognac?” she asked Connie once they’d kicked off their shoes and were settled in the book-lined room at the front of the house.
“Love one.”
“Me too.”
“You knocked them out today,” Connie said after they’d touched the rims of their snifters.
“I’m getting better at it.”
“You’ve always been good at it, Deb, going back to college. Remember when you rallied support for that professor who’d been let go? You not only fired up the students, you got the administration on your side.”
Deborah laughed. “Silly student stuff,” she said.
“It wasn’t silly at all. The guy might have been odd in his thinking, but he was a good teacher. He deserved to stay—and he did, thanks in part to you.”
“He was a pervert.”
“He was not. Besides, if he was a pervert, why did you champion his cause?”
“I guess I was into perversion at the time.”
Connie smiled. “I miss those days, Deb.”
“So do I, although lately I feel as if I’m back there.”
“How so?”
“Back when perversion was on my mind.”
Connie’s expression said she didn’t understand.
“My whole life these days is perverted, Connie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m living a life of lies.”
“That’s not true, Deb.”
“Yes it is. My marriage to Bob has