Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [98]
Jackson and his colleague ordered in lunch and ate quietly. It had been a busy morning; they’d logged in fourteen calls, six of which were determined to be from clients. Following lunch, and after checking in with Kloss and Mary at the Rollins house, Jackson went to an unoccupied office and placed a call on his cell phone. Micki Simmons answered.
“It’s Matt Jackson,” he said. “How are things?”
“Things stink, if you want to know the truth. You tell me I can’t leave this lousy city, and I’m not working, so what’s good about it? When can I go?”
“It won’t be long,” Jackson responded, not knowing whether it would be or not. “I thought you’d want to know that your former employer, Billy McMahon, was gunned down yesterday.”
“He’s dead?”
“Yeah, he’s dead.”
“Maybe there’s justice after all.”
“Micki, I need to talk to you.”
“You always say you need to talk to me.”
“I need for you to be honest with me.”
“I have been.”
“Maybe you’ve been honest, but not always forthcoming.”
She didn’t respond; he could hear her breathing into the phone.
“I have to know, Micki, the names of the cops who were shaking down you and Rosalie.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Micki, I’m calling from my cell phone. I’ve never lied to you.” (Well, almost never, he thought). “Your friend Rosalie is dead, and I want to know who killed her. Don’t you?”
“Sure, but not if it means I end up the same way.”
“You won’t, Micki. Whatever you tell me stays with me, like in Las Vegas.”
“I can take that to the bank?”
He smiled. He’d thought of using that cliché but had fought the urge. “Yeah, you can take it to the bank. You want to meet somewhere?”
He’d hoped she’d give him the information on the phone. Shaking free of Kloss, Rollins, and the kidnapping case wouldn’t be easy. But he decided he would work it out, had to work it out.
“I’m not sure when I can get free. I’m working on a big case and—”
“The kid who went missing?”
“Right. Look, I’ll meet anyplace you say. Name it. The Silver Veil? Dinner’s on me. Oh, right, you don’t like that place.”
“Too many bad memories.”
“All right. You pick the place.”
“What time?”
“I’ll call you back within the hour.”
“Hey, Matt.”
Her familiar tone pleased him. “What?”
“I do this for you, you do something for me.”
“Quid pro quo.”
“Whatever that means. I meet and tell you who the cops were, and you let me go home. I want to go home, Matt.”
He went through a fast series of mental calculations. Could he promise her what she wanted? He decided that he could, and would.
“It’s a deal,” he said.
“Great,” she said. “What did you call it?”
“Oh, quid pro quo. It’s Latin.”
“A cop who speaks Latin,” she said. “I’m impressed.” She ended the call.
Jackson called Kloss. “Detective, I was wondering if I could steal a couple of hours tonight around dinnertime.”
“Got a date?”
He thought of Mary. “No, but I’d like to follow up on something. It has to do with a case I was working before joining the Rollins case.”
“Sure. Mr. Rollins informs us that he intends to be home by six. Does that work for you?”
“Perfect. I’ll be back to the house by eight. Thanks.”
The day dragged on slowly, minutes seeming to be hours. But at three, the relative peace was shattered when Rollins came to the reception area to tell Caroline that Governor Colgate’s wife, Deborah Colgate, would be stopping by the office at four. This set into motion a series of events as the staff prepared for her visit. Two Secret Service agents arrived to check out the offices. They were surprised that Jackson and his partner were there, and posed a series of questions before clearing them. All staff