Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [100]
Crimley chewed his cheek. “Marshalk is no friend of Marbury,” he said.
“I disagree,” said Chang. “He said repeatedly that he would do anything to help Mr. Marbury, but wanted only to be truthful with us. His firm put up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the apprehension and conviction of Mrs. Simmons’s murderer.”
“So I read in the papers,” Crimley said. “Good PR, huh?”
“Have you gotten any more info on the possible Chicago connection?” one of the other detectives asked.
“No. I’ll try Bergl again later today. He’s still stonewalling on this.” Crimley yawned. “Let’s get back on it. We’ll hold Lemón another day or two. I want you to talk to the handyman again, Schultz, and Senator Simmons’s driver, McTeague. See if they remember anything else about that day and night.”
They filed from the room, and Crimley called to the front desk to have Rotondi brought to his office.
“So, how was the Windy City?” Crimley asked after Rotondi had settled in a chair.
Rotondi sat up a little straighter and frowned. “How did you know I was in Chicago?” He didn’t need an answer. Obviously, Crimley had decided to keep tabs on his whereabouts.
“I don’t know where I heard it.”
“It was lovely,” Rotondi said. “Beautiful city, nicely lighted at night. The breeze off Lake Michigan is always bracing, and the drinks at the Pump Room are still top-notch.”
Crimley couldn’t help but laugh. “You talk like you went there as a tourist.”
“That’s right.”
“You and the senator taking in the sights?”
“You might say that. Thanks for letting me barge in on you like this, Morrie.”
“I have ulterior motives.”
“Why am I not surprised? I understand that you’re focusing on Jonell Marbury in the Simmons murder.”
“Word gets around. What’s your source?”
“His attorney, Mackensie Smith.”
“Ah, yes, Mackensie Smith. One of my few favorite lawyers.”
“No argument from me. You have Marbury’s print from inside the house?”
“I’ll be damned,” Crimley said. “Whatever happened to attorney–client privilege?”
“I’m on the team, Morrie.”
“Congratulations.”
“What about the African American hair?”
“There is one.”
“Belong to Jonell?”
“You sound as though you and Marbury are friends.”
“We’ve met. He doesn’t strike me as the murdering kind.”
“People change. Model citizen gets screwed by somebody and snaps, and doesn’t take kindly to a pretty young thing saying no.”
“Camelia Watson. You suspect him of having something to do with her death?”
“We’re interested in him. He drove her home, was the last person to see her alive.”
“Emma catered the party Ms. Watson was at the night she died.”
“I know. We’ll be talking to your lady friend about it. Your buddy, Marbury, and Ms. Watson were having an affair.”
“That’ll be news to his fiancée.”
Crimley glanced down at a yellow legal pad on his desk that was covered with notes. “Ms. Marla Coleman,” he read. “His fling with the deceased has been confirmed by people at Marshalk Group.”
“How would they know?”
“The Marshalk gang is a pretty close-knit group. Those things are never kept secret for very long.”
“Like squad car romances,” Rotondi said.
“Exactly! What did you do in Chicago?”
“Played listening post to the senator.”
“You hook up there with any of your old friends from Baltimore?”
Okay, Rotondi thought, you know about Kala Whitson.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Kala Whitson is an assistant AG out there. We worked together in Baltimore before she moved to Chicago. We got together for old times.”
Crimley’s raised eyebrows suggested that Rotondi elaborate.
He didn’t. He was tempted to mention the materials Jeannette Simmons had received from “the Weasel,” but