Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [9]
“Here’s the number, Mary,” Hatcher said. “See if you can set up something for later today. In the meantime, the three of us will pay a visit to this Lewis Archer character. Depending on what happens with the congressman, you two get hold of Manfredi, maybe swing by the academy, remind him that you were a student, Mary, get him in a chatty mood, catch him with his pants down, too.” He chuckled at his witticism. “I’ll take care of Joe Yankavich. I know the creep. We on the same page?”
Hatcher and Jackson waited, and watched, while Mary made her call to Congressman Morrison’s office in the Cannon House Office Building.
“This is MPD Detective Mary Hall,” she told the staffer who answered. “Is the congressman available?”
There was a pause as Mary listened to the response. “It’s a police matter,” she said.
Another long pause. “Congressman Morrison? This is MPD Detective Mary Hall. We’d like to speak with you about a homicide last night in Adams Morgan.… That’s right. The victim was a Rosalie Curzon. She was a prostitute and… Oh, yes, sir, I am serious. We have reason to believe that… What?… Sir, all I’m asking is that we have the opportunity to sit down with you and ask a few questions.… Sir, I’m not accusing you of anything. If you’d prefer, we can just stop at your office and… No, sir, I’m not threatening anything.… What? Yes, I think sometime tomorrow would be acceptable.… What? You’ll pick the place?” (She glanced over at Hatcher, who nodded.) “Yes, sir, that will be fine.… You’ll call? Here’s my cell number, Congressman. I’ll expect to hear from you by the end of today. Thank you, sir.”
“Smooth, honey,” Hatcher said when Mary hung up.
“He sounded nervous,” Mary said.
“Good,” said Hatcher. “Make him squirm.” He laughed. “I hope it’s him, you know? I’d love to take down one of those arrogant congressional bastards.”
Before heading for Archer’s office on K Street—Washington lobbyists’ street of dreams—they Googled the name. Prior to joining a lobbying firm with six names, including his own, he’d been a two-term congressman from California. Defeated in a bid for a third term, he ended up with a cushy job in the Defense Department’s procurement branch. After eleven years buying $12,000 ashtrays and $14,000 toilet seats, he jumped to what had become known as the “fourth branch of government,” lobbying his former employer on behalf of defense-contractor clients. A photo of him prompted Hall to ask, “Do you figure those are his own teeth?”
“Bright, huh?” Hatcher said. “Break out the sunglasses.”
A receptionist told them that Mr. Archer was in a meeting.
“Get him out of it,” Hatcher said. “He’ll be meeting with us.”
His tone told the receptionist that to argue wasn’t prudent, nor would it accomplish anything. She left her desk and disappeared into the recesses of the firm. A few minutes later, Archer accompanied her to the reception area. The smile he flashed was as white as the monogrammed shirt he wore. “I understand you want to see me,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“We just need a few minutes with you,” Jackson said, extending his hand and introducing Hatcher and Hall. “You have a conference room that’s not being used?”
“This won’t take long, will it?”
No one replied.
“This way,” he said, and led them to a large conference room, where they sat at a huge oblong cherry table. “What’s this about?” he asked once they’d settled in the guest chairs.
“We’re investigating a murder that happened last night,” Hatcher said. “In Adams Morgan.”
“A murder?” Archer said, brow furrowed. “That’s terrible. But what does it have to do with me?”
“The victim was a prostitute,” Jackson said. “Her name was Rosalie Curzon.”
The three detectives sat silently and waited for him to respond verbally, although anything he might say was negated by the knowing expression on his deeply tanned face.
“Are you suggesting that I knew this woman?” he finally said.
Hatcher offered what passed for a smile. “Are you suggesting that you didn’t