Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [53]
“God, I hope not.”
Hatcher didn’t wait for his dotage to snarl at his two junior detectives when they walked into headquarters. “Where’ve you two been?”
“Interviewing McMahon, the guy from Beltway Escorts,” Jackson said.
“Anything there?”
“Maybe. The guy’s a lowlife, and he had a grudge against the victim. We’ll keep on him.”
“He suggested that the victim’s girlfriend, another hooker, was—”
“I’ll write up the report,” Jackson said quickly, cutting Mary off in mid-sentence. She looked quizzically at him. He replied with a small shake of the head. He didn’t want Micki Simmons brought up with Hatcher, not after he’d willingly allowed her to leave town, and even drove her to the station.
“I’ve got this Thompson guy coming in,” Hatcher said. “Should be here any minute.”
“You want us with you?” Mary asked.
“No. This one’s mine. Tell me again what he said when you called him.”
Ten minutes later, Thompson arrived and was escorted to an interview room fitted out with video- and audio-recording equipment. He was seated in a hard wooden chair at the scarred table and was told that Detective Hatcher would be with him momentarily. Hatcher stood in an adjacent room and observed him through the two-way mirrored wall. With him was a uniformed officer.
“Let’s let him marinate a little,” Hatcher said.
“He’s a suspect in that hooker’s murder?” the officer asked.
“Yeah, and he’s a live one. Used to be her boyfriend.”
“How can a guy have a hooker for a girlfriend,” the young, pink-cheeked officer said.
“Beats me,” Hatcher said. “Here’s what I want you to do. After I’m with him for fifteen, twenty minutes, I’ll give you some sort of sign. You come in and say I’ve got a phone call or something. Then, when I leave, you stay in the room with him. Stand over him. No conversation.”
“Okay, Hatch.”
Hatcher hitched up his pants over his belly and entered the room. His arrival startled Thompson, who jerked in his chair.
“Mr. Thompson, Detective Hatcher,” Hatch said, using his most soothing voice.
“Right,” Thompson said, standing and offering his hand. Hatcher shook it and took the chair across from him.
“Thanks for coming in,” Hatcher said, recalling Chief Carter’s similar words. “I’m taping your statement, Mr. Thompson. Just want you to be aware of it.”
“All right.”
“Before we get to it, please spell your name for our records.”
Thompson did.
“And what is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a consultant on national security issues.”
“Oh. That’s a pretty important job, national security.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Where do you consult? I mean, I don’t get a chance to talk to too many consultants.”
“Homeland Security, the Pentagon.”
“Impressive. Keeping the country safe. Can’t imagine a more worthwhile thing to do.”
“It is important.”
“Damned important. So, Mr. Thompson, let’s go over your relationship with Ms. Rosalie Curzon. I understand that you and she were sort of a couple.”
Thompson thought before answering. “I suppose you think it’s strange that I’d be involved with a prostitute.”
“Hey,” Hatcher said with a shrug, “different strokes for different folks. Live and let live. So, how did you meet her?”
Thompson looked down at the table. “I was a customer.”
“Oh.”
He looked up at Hatcher. “I knew right away that she was much more than a prostitute, Detective. She had a very sweet side to her that I knew I could bring out.”
Hatcher smiled despite the pain in his temples. “That’s nice,” he said. “So, what happened? You couldn’t convince her to go straight, get out of the life?”
“That’s right. We split up because she wouldn’t give up what she did. I pleaded with her, even went to her father to ask him to talk to her. He refused. Some father.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a father to me,” Hatcher said as if agreeing. “When’s the last time you and Rosalie got together, Mr. Thompson.”
Here comes the lie. Hatcher could see it in Thompson’s eyes, mouth, and body language.
“I’ll try to be as accurate as possible,” Thompson said, looking to earn points for effort. “It will be two years this coming November.