Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [37]
“Lobbyists have taken a beating lately,” Mac tossed in. “Refills anyone?”
“Sure,” said Rotondi, holding up his empty beer stein, which had been frosted in the freezer before use.
“They deserve to,” Marla opined.
“Oh, come on now,” Jonell said. “Lobbyists play an important role in the legislative process.”
Only in its purest sense, Rotondi thought.
“Had you ever met Mrs. Simmons?” Mac asked Marbury.
“Yes. A few times. In fact, I saw her yesterday afternoon.”
His statement caused a hush to fall over the room.
Rotondi broke it. “How was she?” he asked.
“Fine. I mean, I was only there for a minute or two. I delivered something for the senator, an envelope. Rick Marshalk asked me to drop it off. I handed it to her at the door.”
The conversation veered from that to a discussion of a developing scandal with a member of the House of Representatives that had made the papers that day. From there, it was on to some amusing stories from Emma Churchill about unusual catering situations she’d recently experienced, and Marla weighed in with the tale of a politician who’d fallen asleep during an Urban League–sponsored roundtable discussion on the state of race relations in America. Although Marbury and his fiancée, and Rotondi and Emma Churchill had never met before, they quickly fell into the sort of easy conversation typical of old friends. When Rotondi got up to fetch a plate of hors d’oeuvres, Marla asked what had happened to his leg.
Rotondi shrugged. “It’s a long story,” he said.
“When you were a U.S. attorney in Baltimore?” Marbury asked.
“Yeah. A creep I put away decided to get even when he got out.”
• • •
He hadn’t wanted a retirement party, and had made his feelings known to his bosses and fellow U.S. attorneys. But they weren’t about to be deprived of putting on a grand farewell for their iconoclastic colleague, and so the night was chosen and the site reserved—Caesar’s Den, Rotondi’s favorite haunt, on South High Street in Baltimore’s Little Italy.
Ninety men and women showed up that evening. Spirits ran high, the liquor freely. Rotondi ordered his usual twenty-ounce veal chop, a house specialty. His wife, Kathleen, opted for mussels in a white wine sauce. In Rotondi’s eyes, she looked especially beautiful that night, although there had never been a day in their sixteen-year marriage when he hadn’t felt that way. Her long hair was naturally blond, and she wore it simple and straight. She had a surprisingly dusky complexion for an Irish girl from Annapolis; her grandmother had been French. All Rotondi knew was that she was as kind and gentle as she was attractive, coolly efficient in court, loving and playful when away from the black robes and stuffy decorum of the courtroom.
They’d met on the job. A new addition to the criminal section, she was assigned to work with Rotondi on some high-profile cases he’d taken on. At first, she found his personality to be off-putting. He attacked every day with the zeal of a man possessed; smiles and relaxed moments were few and far between. But as the weeks went by, she began to see something in him that he wasn’t totally successful in hiding from public view—at least not from her, though he tried hard. And while he never veered from his professional approach, she also sensed a growing flicker of male interest.
One night, after a particularly grueling all-day court session that lasted into the early evening, she suggested they grab a bite together.
“Sure,” he said without hesitation, which surprised her. She’d assumed she would have to cajole him into accepting. “I’ll take you to my favorite place,” he added.
That was the first of many nights at Caesar’s Den, where the owners greeted Phil with open arms and extended the same warm welcome to the lovely lady who now regularly accompanied him. Conversation on their first few evenings together consisted primarily of office talk—lawyer talk—hashing over cases in which they were involved. But as the days extended into weeks, his defenses slipped, and his more personal side peeked through.
“…I used to think