Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [115]
“You’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you, Phil?” Simmons said in a flat voice.
“You might say that, Lyle. You look beat. Tough day?”
“They’re all tough. But I had one piece of good news today. That son-of-a-bitch detective, Chan or whatever his name is, is off the case.”
Rotondi looked at him quizzically.
“I called Chief Johnson myself and told him his guy was rude, nasty, unprofessional, and inept, and that I wanted him gone.”
• • •
Crimley had been summoned to the chief’s office late that afternoon and was instructed to remove Detective Chang from the Simmons case.
“Why?” Crimley had asked. “He’s doing a good job.”
“Let him do a good job on another case, Morris,” was the chief’s response.
“I still want to know why,” said Crimley, afraid he probably already knew the answer.
“Senator Simmons called. Evidently, Chang has been rude and unprofessional in the way he’s handled things.”
“Bull! Charlie’s not the most likable of cops, but he’s good.”
“Please, Morris, don’t argue with me about this, okay? I’m not about to buck a U.S. senator. Assign Chang to another team. End of discussion.”
Crimley tried to mount a further argument but Chief Johnson cut him off by standing, slipping on his uniform jacket, and heading for the door. “Pick your fights, Morrie,” he said on his way out. “This one’s not worth it.”
• • •
Rotondi shook his head. “So a suspect in a high-profile murder case, who just happens to be a United States senator, doesn’t like the detective investigating him and plays the eight-hundred-pound gorilla to get him off the case.”
“Offends your sense of justice, doesn’t it, Phil?” Simmons said.
“I just wish it offended yours, Lyle.”
Simmons changed subjects. “I keep thinking of what Walter told me when he dropped me at the house that night, that Jeannette and I should get away for some R-and-R. I could use some right now.”
Rotondi shifted his posture to look out the window. The light in the room was low, table and floor lamps the only illumination in the large, handsomely furnished and decorated space. Outside, lights on government buildings further glorified them. Washington, D.C., was a beautiful city, with its wide avenues and gleaming marble edifices; its visual grace befit the nation’s capital. It was what sometimes went on inside those places that could detract from their beauty.
Simmons seemed folded within himself, his face expressionless, eyes drooping from fatigue and alcohol. Rotondi had never seen him look this tired—or defeated.
“You know about the envelope,” Rotondi said, breaking a silence that had descended upon the room.
“Yes, I do, Phil. I understand it’s ended up in your hands.”
There was no need for Rotondi to acknowledge it.
“What you have in your possession, Phil, can destroy a lot of people.”
Beginning with you, Rotondi thought. Especially you.
Simmons’s lip curled into what could be taken as the beginning of a rueful smile. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he said.
“What is?”
“How after all these years, you end up with my life in your hands. You used to seem content to play second fiddle to me. Philip Rotondi, the straight arrow, always taking the moral high road as you defined it. I used to admire you for it, Phil. I don’t anymore.”
“How you view me is irrelevant.”
“I know that,” Simmons said. “For me, it’s always been more important how you viewed me. I don’t know why. Hell, I’ve done pretty well for myself. Why I should give a damn what my college friend thinks?”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either,” Rotondi said.
But it did. Lyle Simmons needed a conscience, an external one to compensate for the lack of an internal moral compass. Still, Rotondi wasn’t about to play shrink. He said, “I admire you, Lyle, for what you’ve accomplished.”
“What I’ve accomplished,” Simmons muttered. “I have a wife who became so unhappy that she turned to the bottle. My daughter has an even lower opinion of me. No, that’s an understatement, and I know you’re not a fan of understatement. My son is weak, no backbone. And I got caught with my pants down in Chicago because I’m human.”
Simmons