Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [94]
“I only peeked through the garage window, but…”
“Care to see her up close?”
“I’d love that.”
The sight of them in the driveway, illuminated by a large halogen lamp over the front of the garage, stirred murmurs from the press, and a few hurled questions, which were ignored. Rollins opened the door and flipped on an interior light.
“That is a beauty,” Jackson commented, going to the Porsche and running his hand over its gleaming red surface.
“It’s a 2003 nine-eleven,” Rollins said. “Three-hundred-eighty horses. She’ll get up to one-ninety, if you’re crazy enough to do it.”
“You ever take it on a track?” Jackson asked.
“No. Sue wouldn’t be pleased if I decided to turn race driver. Go ahead, get in.”
Jackson slipped behind the black, leather-wrapped wheel. “Like a cockpit,” he exclaimed.
“I always feel that way when I’m driving it. My midlife crisis.” He laughed.
Jackson climbed out of the car and appreciated the solid “thunk” of the driver’s door as he closed it. They left the garage, prompting another chorus from the press, and returned to the house.
“When this is over,” Rollins said, “I’ll have to take you for a ride in it. Let you drive it.”
“That would be great.”
Rollins yawned. “I think Detective Kloss was right,” he said. “I’m going to join my wife upstairs.”
“Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Matt. Thank you.”
“For what, sir?”
“For being here for us. Somehow, I know this will be over soon and we’ll have Samantha back safely.”
• • •
When Rollins entered the bedroom, Sue hadn’t changed into nightclothes. She sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, her feet drawn up, her knees tight against her chest. Rollins placed his arm around her. “Sue,” he said.
“What?”
“This will all be over soon. Samantha will be home again.”
As she slowly turned to look at him, a torrent of tears flowed from her. She wrapped her arms tightly about him and squeezed as though life itself depended upon it. He allowed her sobbing to abate before gently pushing her away and holding her at arm’s length. “Sue,” he said, “did you hear me? This will be over soon—everything is going to be all right.”
“That’s what they keep saying but—”
“It will be, Sue. Trust me, it will be.”
THIRTY
Paul answered the phone. “It’s Y-man,” he whispered to Greta. “We’re gewtting ready to bring this to a conclusion within the next few days. Any questions about the plan to release her?”
“No. When?”
“I’ll call again.”
• • •
Rollins’s final phone call before leaving his office the previous night had been to Bob Colgate. He reached him on his cell while en route to a fundraiser.
“It’s Jerry, Bob. I wanted to bring you up-to-date on a meeting I had today.”
“With Ziegler.” There was an edge to Colgate’s voice that was all too familiar to Rollins.
“Word gets around,” Rollins said.
“Did it ever occur to you to run it past me before you meet with someone like Ziegler?”
“It was a last-minute thing, Bob. He seemed anxious to talk and I wanted to hear him out.”
Silence on Colgate’s end.
“He wants to get together again, day after tomorrow, to try to iron out details for the Miami debate.”
“That’s nice. You will, of course, consult with me and the staff before committing to anything.”
Rollins held his annoyance in check. “Of course,” he said.
“We need to meet, Jerry. I never considered you a loose cannon, but—”
“It’s hard for me to find time with Samantha’s kidnapping and—”
“But you found time for Ziegler.”
“I have to go, Bob. I’ll call after the second meeting with Ziegler.”
As though he’d been struck by a sudden thought, Colgate asked, “How are things going with Samantha? No breaks yet?”
“No, nothing yet, but thanks for asking.”
Rollins replaced the phone in its cradle and stared at it. He was well aware, and had been from the earliest days of their friendship, of Colgate’s self-centeredness. He’d always excused it as being an integral part of a politician’s personality and character. You didn’t run for governor of a state, or for president of the United States, without