Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [101]
“By the way, Morrie, I rendezvoused with Kala Whitson in her apartment. Juicy stuff, huh?”
“No comment. What do you know about a possible Chicago connection to Jeanette Simmons’s murder?”
“Chicago connection? Like in the mob?”
“Yeah. Speaking of juicy stuff, the senator’s extracurricular love life with a mob-connected Chicago woman has me wondering.”
“What the senator does behind closed doors, Morrie, is none of my business.”
“Even if it might have had something to do with his wife’s murder?”
“Do you think it did?”
Crimley’s large shoulders moved up and down. “Did your buddy, Ms. Whitson, have anything interesting to offer about their investigation?”
“What investigation?”
“Ah, come on, Phil, don’t treat me like an idiot. We know that the Chicago U.S. attorney has been looking into Senator Simmons and his connections with certain folks with crooked noses out there.”
“Why don’t you ask them?”
“We have. I’ve talked to Bergl here in D.C., who promises to bring us into the loop. He hasn’t. Justice is treating us like second cousins. No, worse than that. They won’t share a damn thing.”
Rotondi was tempted to suggest that the MPD’s penchant for leaking information was a good reason for other law enforcement agencies to keep their sensitive investigations close to the vest. He didn’t bother. Crimley didn’t need to be reminded of it.
“Can we talk about Jonell Marbury?” Rotondi asked.
“Sure. Since you’ve joined the Mac Smith team, ask away.”
“Did your people take from the Simmons house the envelope that Jonell delivered that afternoon?”
“No. Chang started to go through some of the stuff in the senator’s library—there were envelopes piled everywhere—but the senator’s people complained that some of it might be top secret and jeopardize national security. The usual bull. It didn’t matter. What’s in those envelopes is irrelevant to the investigation. Marbury admits delivering something for the senator, and Marshalk confirms that he sent him on the errand.”
Rotondi came forward in his chair, moved his injured leg with his hand, and looked through the evidentiary photos on the desk. He picked up the picture of the water glass taken from the Simmons kitchen, on which a fingerprint was identified as belonging to Jonell Marbury. “Nice glass,” he said. “Notice those little indentations around the middle? Hard to see in this picture, but they’re there.”
“So?”
“Emma’s kitchen cabinet is filled with them. She had those particular glasses custom-made for her catering service. The indentations provide a surer grip, fewer glasses slipping from people’s hands and breaking.”
“Interesting,” said Crimley, “only I don’t know why.” As he said it, he remembered Chang’s comment that the glass with the fingerprint didn’t match any of the other glasses in the Simmons kitchen.
“Wouldn’t be hard for someone to take one of Emma’s glasses at a catered event, have Jonell use it and leave his prints, and place that glass in Jeannette’s kitchen.”
“You’re not the first person to raise the possibility of a frame, Phil. Some of my detectives are doing the same thing. The question is, who?”
“Somebody at Marshalk. Emma caters all their parties.”
“They’re her only clients?”
“Of course not. She caters a lot of events on the Hill, agencies, fund-raisers.”
“And Marbury worked on the Hill before coming to Marshalk. I imagine he made a few enemies over there.”
Rotondi stretched his arms out in front of him, and sighed. “You accused me the last time I was here of being all take, no give. I don’t like that reputation.”
“I’m listening, Phil.”
“What would you say if there was a sheaf of papers and pictures that are not only damaging to Senator Simmons,