Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [27]
Under Bergl’s reign, the system was changed. Assignments were now based upon experience and expertise. All murders, from every precinct, were prosecuted by an elite team of seasoned homicide attorneys. Recent results? The conviction rate had risen to more acceptable levels.
Bergl was well dressed, well groomed, and well mannered. He was a little too slick for Crimley’s taste, but the chief detective also recognized that along with putting bad guys away, the U.S. attorney’s other job was to remain in political favor. He was good at both.
“Got a minute?” Bergl asked.
“Sure,” Crimley responded. “Grab a chair.”
“I wanted to run something by you, Morrie.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re aware of the rumor about Senator Simmons.”
“The rumor?” Crimley guffawed. “I’ve heard lots of rumors about him. Get specific.”
“The one about his having a girlfriend in Chicago.”
“Oh, that one. Sure. What about it?”
“A state’s attorney out there—a friend—tells me that the senator’s extracurricular squeeze has connections with the wrong people.”
“Mob?”
Bergl nodded. “Not the sort of woman a United States senator ought to be sharing a bed with.”
“Your friend in Chicago, he—”
“She.”
“She validates the rumor?”
Another nod. “The Chicago AG is buttoned up, sharing nothing with us.”
Crimley slipped fingers between buttons of his shirt and scratched an itch. Relieved, he smiled at Bergl. “You think the senator’s wife might have been killed by someone out there?”
“Far-fetched, right, Morrie?”
Crimley shrugged and attacked the itch again. “Yeah, far-fetched,” he said. “Then again—”
“I just thought I’d toss it into the mix. I’ll be finding out more.”
“That’s good. In the meantime, I don’t think I’ll add it to my list of possibles, if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine with me.” Bergl stood, took a few steps toward the door, stopped, turned, and asked, “You’re a friend of Phil Rotondi, right?”
“Yeah. Phil was in earlier today.”
“Was he? He and the senator go back a long way, college buddies.”
“Roommates.”
“Think he might know something we don’t?”
“Ask him.”
“You ask him, Morrie. I wouldn’t want it to get back that I’m questioning a senator’s love life.”
“Politically incorrect,” Crimley said.
“Something like that. I’m holding a press conference at six. Your chief will be with me.”
“Give him my best.”
“I certainly will. Let’s do this one by the book, Morrie. I don’t want some defense attorney finding holes in whatever you come up with. See ya.”
Crimley watched Bergl leave. He sat back, arms behind his head, and had two immediate thoughts.
The first was that Bergl’s suit looked good on guys built like that.
The second thought was also unpleasant, and he grimaced against it. He’d investigated plenty of high-profile cases in his twenty-three years on the force, but this one—the murder of the wife of a U.S. senator and rising presidential possibility—was in a class by itself. Having turned down early retirement suddenly didn’t seem like such a smart decision after all.
CHAPTER NINE
Earlier that day, Rotondi had called Neil Simmons.
“Neil, it’s Phil Rotondi. I just left Polly at the Hotel George.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. Where are you now?”
“At the office. The press won’t leave me alone. I ducked in here to get rid of them.”
“Have you spoken with your father?”
“A couple of times. He wants to see you.”
“I was there this morning.”
“He wants you to