Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [110]
Rotondi let enough time to pass to allow Simmons to answer his own question.
Neil faced Phil. “If that’s true,” he said, “it means that somebody at Marshalk killed Mom.”
Rotondi locked eyes with him.
“No,” Neil said. “You’re wrong. Maybe Jonell did do it. What about Camelia Watson?”
“What about her?”
“He was with her the night she died. He was having an affair with her.”
“I don’t believe that,” Rotondi said, not aware that Neil didn’t believe it, either. “Let me show you something, Neil.” He pulled the six pieces of paper from the envelope Marbury had delivered to the house and handed them to Neil.
“What’s this?”
“This is the envelope that Rick Marshalk asked Jonell to deliver to the house the day your mother was killed.”
Simmons handed them back.
“No,” Rotondi insisted, shoving them into Neil’s hands. “Look at them, Neil. They’re worthless pieces of paper. The letters are a year old. Marshalk sent Jonell to the house to establish that he was there close to the time of the murder. Why else would he have Jonell deliver worthless documents?”
Simmons gave the papers back to Rotondi, who returned them to the envelope. “I’m sorry, Phil, but it couldn’t have been somebody from Marshalk. What about Marlene? I told you what she did, believing she’s my mother.”
Rotondi decided not to debate that scenario. Instead, he said, “Neil, I wanted to talk to you because of something I’ve come to learn about the Marshalk Group—and about your father.”
“What’s that?” Simmons asked as their salads were served, along with beers.
“Did your mother discuss with you a package she’d received from someone in Chicago?”
Rotondi’s question obviously took Simmons by surprise. His eyes mirrored that surprise, as well as concern.
“I believe that she did, Neil,” Rotondi added.
“How would you know about that?”
“She told me she intended to.”
“You know about that package?”
“Yes, I do. In fact, I have it.”
“You have that package?”
A nod from Rotondi.
“Mom gave it to you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe she’d do that.” He shifted his position as though to create distance between them. His level of agitation was palpable. “What was in that package?” he asked.
“Damaging material about your father and the Marshalk Group.” He didn’t wait for Simmons to respond. “Did you share with your father what your mother told you?”
Simmons’s awkward silence testified that he had.
“So he knew,” Rotondi said. “Who else knew?”
“No one.”
“What was your father’s reaction when you told him?”
The pasta arrived. Neither salad had been touched. “Is something wrong?” the barmaid asked.
“No, everything is fine,” Rotondi said. “We’ll have it with our pasta…Neil,” he went on, placing his hand on Simmons’s arm, “I want to know who killed your mother as much as you do. I don’t care how it ends up as long as there’s justice. Who else did you tell about your mother having that package?”
“No one. I told you I didn’t say anything to anybody except Dad.”
Rotondi closely observed Simmons. He didn’t buy his answer. “What was your father’s reaction?” he repeated.
Neil gathered his thoughts before replying. “He said it was nothing to worry about and that he would take care of it.”
“Meaning what?”
Neil shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Rotondi speared a piece of pasta. The red sauce was sweet, too sweet.
“You hate my father, don’t you, Phil?” Neil said almost under his breath.
It was Rotondi’s turn to be surprised. “Why would you say that?” he said. “Your father and I have been friends for a very long time.”
“You hate him because of what he did to you in college, stealing Mom from you.”
“That’s—that’s not true, Neil. Your father told you about that?”
Neil shook his head. “Polly did. Mom told her.”
“That’s water over the dam, Neil, and you’re wrong. I don’t hate your father and never have. Was I in love with your mother once? I sure was. And I continued to love her but in a different way. If I hated your father, I would have turned the material over to the police, or to some reporter. I haven’t done either. But I am convinced that your mom was murdered because of what