Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [83]
What was the kidnapper after? Money? Coming up with a ransom wouldn’t be difficult for Rollins, who obviously had plenty of money and knew others who did. Men like him traveled in a tight, precious circle of big bucks and influence, pulling strings to get what they want even if it meant destroying the country. Greed. That was the problem, Hatcher mused as he waved his hand over the table to emphasize his point—to whom?—and knocked the empty glass to the floor.
He didn’t like Jerrold Rollins. He knew that for certain. He’d seen him once—actually twice, and hadn’t liked him on either occasion. From Hatcher’s perspective, Rollins was a buttoned-up type, typical lawyer, with narrow eyes, who talked down his nose at people, and through his nose, in a pinched voice that testified to his upbringing and education—Ivy League schools, probably, which wasn’t true but supported the image Hatcher had conjured, a typical D.C. wheeler-dealer.
Maybe it was something besides money that the kidnapper wanted. Hatcher’s face twisted as that crossed his mind. He motioned to the waitress for another drink.
Tommy had kept an eye on Hatcher throughout the evening, monitoring his foul mood, exacerbated by the drinks.
The waitress asked Tommy whether she should serve him again.
“Yeah. Give him one more, but that’s it.”
The owner got busy with a large post-theater crowd that arrived, seeing to it that they had what they wanted. It was a lively group. Drinks flowed freely, and conversation was boisterous. After Tommy had handed the check to them, he looked over to where Hatcher sat. His head had come forward and rested on the table, one hand wrapped around his half-empty glass. “Excuse me,” Tommy told his customers. He shook Hatcher by the shoulders. “Hey, Hatch, my man, let’s go.”
Hatcher looked up with glassy eyes.
“You can sleep it off here, pal. You’re in no shape to go home.”
Hatcher leaned against Tommy and they awkwardly made their way to the back room. Hatcher sat on its edge as Tommy helped him off with his jacket, and undid his tie. His pushed the detective to his back and removed his shoes. “Sleep it off, buddy. The cleaning crew will be around when you wake up. Pleasant dreams.”
They were anything but.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The decision to send Rollins to his office on Monday had involved input from various law-enforcement entities, including the FBI special agent assigned to head the Bureau’s involvement, and members of the MPD task force. Some voiced reservations: “What if the guys behind the snatch are looking to take a shot at the father?” was one raised by a member of the task force.
“Unlikely,” Kloss countered. “They’re either after money, or something else from him. He’s the one who can deliver what they want. Killing him would be counterproductive.”
“How are we covering him while he’s out and about?” another asked.
That discussion occupied the next half hour. It was eventually decided that Rollins would be shadowed by the two young detectives assigned to the Rollins family, Jackson and Hall. “Rollins is comfortable with them,” Kloss explained. “Besides, they’re low profile, haven’t been in the public eye. And, don’t forget, we also have people up at his offices. We position Jackson and Hall somewhere near his building. When he goes out, they trail behind. Make sense?”
It was agreed. When Kloss returned to the home, he filled in Jackson and Hall.
“The officers inside will alert you when Rollins leaves his