Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [99]
“Where will you meet with her?” Rollins was asked.
“In my office.”
Rollins’s office was swept with a handheld device.
After the Secret Service had departed, Rollins instructed Caroline that he and Mrs. Colgate were not to be disturbed. “Please see that everyone understands that,” he added to his secretary of many years.
Jackson called Micki Simmons back and told her that they’d meet at six thirty.
At 3:45, a call came in from Kevin Ziegler. Jackson and his partner listened, and the digital recorder went into action.
“Just nailing down tomorrow, Jerry,” Ziegler said. “My office, ten a.m.?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I know this isn’t easy, Jerry, but—”
“Ten at your office,” Rollins said sharply, and hung up.
“Sounds like he didn’t want to talk,” Jackson’s colleague commented.
“Yeah, sure sounds that way.”
Deborah Colgate, accompanied by her two Secret Service agents, arrived precisely at four and was immediately ushered into Rollins’s office, the agents occupying chairs in the reception area.
“Love to hear what’s going on in there,” the detective with Jackson said.
“So would I,” Jackson agreed.
“Who do you figure will win in November?”
“Haven’t given it much thought,” Jackson said.
“Looks like Colgate’s a shoo-in, despite all his baggage.”
“You never know,” was Jackson’s reply. “You just never know.”
THIRTY-ONE
For reasons he couldn’t explain even to himself, Rollins felt the need to stage his office for Deborah’s arrival. The external surroundings would do nothing to mitigate what he intended to say, but he went about the task nonetheless. The blinds and drapes were tightly closed. He pulled a comfortable armchair to the side of his desk, and placed a floor lamp at its side. Two desk lamps added additional lighting. He selected what he considered a soothing jazz CD, a selection of ballads by the Canadian pianist Oliver Jones. He kept the door closed, but Caroline had a brief glance into the room and found its artificial ambiance to be strange, almost amusing. If she didn’t know her boss better, she would have thought that he was planning a seduction.
He’d debated where to hold the meeting. His initial idea was to choose somewhere far away from the District, perhaps a secluded inn like the King’s Contrivance, where they’d rendezvoused before. He’d also considered a secluded park, a bench beneath graceful trees, where his words would be softened by singing birds and gentle breezes. Neither venue held up to further scrutiny. With the press following their every move, although for different reasons—she as the wife of a presidential candidate, he as the tragic father of an abducted daughter—meeting in such intimate surroundings would surely feed already voracious media appetites.
It had to be the office, he decided. That put it on a formal, businesslike footing, two people professionally intertwined getting together to discuss campaign issues, fine-tuning talking points, and plotting strategy, all perfectly within the realm of their acknowledged relationship. And in a sense, that’s exactly what it was.
Caroline called Rollins to announce Deborah’s arrival and he went to where Deb waited. “I’m so glad you could come,” he told her, taking her hand and whisking her into the office. “Hold all my calls,” he told Caroline. Brian Massie lingered in the doorway to his office and watched his boss greet the new presumptive first lady. It was time to go outside for a cigarette, and to make a call.
“What’s this all about, Jerry?” Deborah asked the minute the door was closed. “I canceled two appointments to be here.”
“I appreciate that, Deb. Believe me, I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I didn’t consider it urgent.”
“Urgent?” she said. “Could you turn off that music?”
“I thought—”
“I’m not in the mood for romantic ballads.”
He did as she’d asked, and came to where she stood in the center of the room. “Better?” he said.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Sit down, Deb.” He indicated the chair next to his desk.
She remained standing. “Jerry, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it Samantha?”
“No. Please,