Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [124]
• • •
Within days of being incarcerated, Jack Parish had cut a deal with prosecutors. In return for turning state’s evidence against Rick Marshalk, the Marshalk Group, and by extension Senator Lyle Simmons, he was promised minimal jail time and an eventual place in the federal Witness Protection Program.
“Not a bad deal for a guy who murdered two people,” Emma said after Rotondi had been filled in about the deal over the phone by Crimley, entre nous, of course.
“It’s the system,” Rotondi said.
He fell silent.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m just thinking that what happened at your house wasn’t all bad.”
“You’re joking! That scum Parish almost killed us!”
“I don’t mean it was good what happened to you, Emma. But the way it turned out, I didn’t have to reveal anything from that envelope. I didn’t have to contribute to bringing Lyle down. There were plenty of others to do it.”
Swarms of law enforcement agents had invaded the Marshalk offices and removed anything of potential evidentiary interest. The raid, which quickly uncovered the link between Marshalk and Simmons, prompted a change of heart in the Chicago AG’s office. The damaging material about Simmons, kept under wraps theretofore thanks to political pressure, was released to various law enforcement agencies—which meant, of course, that it soon found its way into the press, including two of the photos, which ran in a tabloid publication. Federal indictments would soon be coming down against Simmons, according to Rotondi’s sources.
• • •
Rotondi and Emma sat in the kitchen of his condo on the Eastern Shore drinking coffee and passing pieces of that day’s newspapers back and forth.
“I hope he wins,” Rotondi muttered.
“You hope who wins?”
“The Asian American detective who got booted off the Simmons case. Charlie Chang.”
“What is he trying to win?”
“A sense of justice for himself and the system. I don’t think I ever mentioned that Lyle brought pressure on Chief Johnson to get rid of Chang. The chief caved and told Morrie Crimley to transfer him to another unit. Crimley was boiling mad about it, but with retirement on the near horizon, he played good soldier. Chang quit the force and has brought a suit against MPD for racial discrimination.”
“You don’t think Lyle wanted him gone because he’s Asian, do you?”
“No. I think he didn’t like that this Chang refused to kowtow to him. Crimley says that Chang never did fit in and was tired of the way other detectives were treating him. According to Crimley, Chang has a master’s degree and is going after a Ph.D. He’s better off gone.”
• • •
Jeannette Simmons’s memorial service wasn’t the only funeral that Rotondi had elected to avoid during the past month.
Neil Simmons’s service was held in a small church near his home. According to Polly, it was sparsely attended: “His wife and kids seemed to hold up okay,” she reported during a call to Phil that afternoon.
“How are you doing, Polly?” he asked.
“Confused, so confused. God, Phil, poor Neil. He said in that note he left behind that he’d killed Mom by going to Marshalk and telling him of the damning information she had against them. All he wanted was for them to do the right thing and clean up their act. Mom. Camelia Watson. And now Neil. Marshalk sure left a trail of bodies, didn’t he?”
A vision of Neil Simmons sitting in his car in a closed garage, a hose from the exhaust pumping noxious, fatal fumes through a small opening in the window, flooded Rotondi. He willed the grim visual away. “How’s your dad?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess. I haven’t spoken much with him. He asked me to stay around D.C. until he makes his announcement about not running—for anything. I said I would. Have you spoken with him?”
“Yes, once.”
• • •
Rotondi hadn’t tried to contact Lyle, but had received a call from him just a few days before his announcement that he was abandoning politics.
“Hello, Philip,” Simmons had said, his voice strong. “How goes it?” “Just fine, Lyle. You?”
“Under the gun, but I’ll come out all right. Phil, the reason I’m calling