Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [36]
Jonell Marbury’s laugh was a rumble. “I was counting on one of those, Mac, but I’ll settle for a gin-and-tonic.” The woman accompanying him, his fiancée, Marla Coleman, opted for the same.
Once everyone was settled with drinks and hors d’oeuvres in hand, the conversation almost immediately turned to the murder.
“I thought you might have to cancel, Jonell, because of it,” Annabel said.
“There’s really not much I can do,” he replied. “We all feel terrible for Neil Simmons. He was so close to his mother.”
“A terrible loss,” Marla said.
Marbury’s Caribbean roots were evident in the slight but discernible lilt to his voice. Considerably darker than Marla, who hailed from Savannah, Georgia, the thirty-seven-year-old was a man who turned heads and commanded attention when he entered a crowded room. Mac had met him when Jonell was chief of staff to an African American congresswoman from California. He’d established a reputation as one of the most effective staffers on the House side, and his influence in drafting legislation was considerable. He was, among other things, especially skilled at working with lobbyists who had a stake in a pending bill, weaving their input and legitimate concerns into the finished product. And he kept them all legitimate. Then, a year ago, he’d told Mac over lunch that he’d resigned from his post with the congresswoman to take a job with the Marshalk Group on K Street. His decision was not, he admitted, popular with Marla, an executive with the National Urban League in D.C.
She, his fiancée, was equally attractive. She’d been cited by Washingtonian magazine as one of the city’s up-and-coming influence makers; the photograph of her in the magazine was stunning. This night she wore an off-white linen suit that hugged her tall, slender body. Jonell’s suit was light gray and nicely cut. Seeing the couple featured in the pages of a fashion magazine wouldn’t have surprised anyone. One thing was certain. They’d outdressed their host and hostess, who wore casual clothing.
“Rick Marshalk is putting up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward,” Marbury said.
“That might generate some leads,” Mac said. “Do the police have any suspects yet?”
“Not that I know of. I was talking to Rick today and—”
Another call from the downstairs desk informed Mac that Phil and Emma had arrived.
“We invited another couple to join us tonight,” Annabel said as she stood to get the door. “I think you’ll enjoy them. Phil Rotondi was an assistant U.S. attorney in Baltimore, and Emma Churchill runs a top catering service here in Washington.”
“She caters all of our affairs at Marshalk,” Marbury said.
“Phil is a close friend of Senator Simmons,” Mac added. “They go back a long way.”
Rotondi and Emma were introduced and joined the group in the living room.
“I understand you and Senator Simmons are close friends,” Marbury said to Rotondi in his deep, well-modulated voice.
“That’s right. College roommates.”
“You should be on the radio,” Emma said to Marbury.
“I was. The college station.”
“The senator must be devastated,” Marla said.
“Of course.” Rotondi turned to Marbury. “Annabel tells me that you work for Neil Simmons.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been there about a year now.” He turned to Marla. “Marla thinks I’ve sold out.”
“I never said that,” she said.
“Not in so many words.”
“Jonell used to be chief of staff to a congresswoman on the Hill,” Annabel said.
“Congresswoman Dustin,” Marla added.
“She’s a firebrand, I hear,” Emma said.
Marbury laughed. “She can be tough. I loved working for her.”
“Marshalk recruited you?” Rotondi asked.
Marbury nodded. “They offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse, like The Godfather.”
“Money,” said Marla.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Marbury said, defensively.
“I never said there was anything wrong with being paid more,” Marla said.