Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [45]
“Where do you keep your tools, Mr. Schultz?” Chang asked.
“In my truck.”
“You have it with you, sir?”
“Sure. I drove it over here.”
“Would you mind showing me your tools, sir?”
“What for?”
Chang stared at him.
“Sure. Happy to show you whatever I’ve got. Nice meeting you, ma’am. Hope you find whoever killed Mrs. Simmons. She was some nice person, a real lady.”
When Chang returned twenty minutes later, his partner asked if he’d found anything.
“He has many tools that might have been used to kill Mrs. Simmons. I want a warrant for evidence technicians to test them for blood.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary,” Widletz said.
“Yes, I do, Detective Widletz.”
“Hey, Charlie, do you think you could call me Amanda? We’ve been working together a long time.”
“I prefer not to,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” she muttered, adding under her breath, “You officious little twerp!”
• • •
Emma Churchill returned to her Foggy Bottom house, where she and Rotondi lunched on choice leftovers she’d brought home from that morning’s catered breakfast. They turned on a small TV in the kitchen and watched the news. A press conference by Senator Simmons and his family was scheduled to begin at noon. Ten minutes before that, the newscaster said, “Our Jane Willis is standing by at the Dirksen Senate Office Building with some breaking news. Jane.”
The familiar face of a local reporter filled the screen. “While we’re waiting for a statement from the senator and his family, I’ve been told by reliable sources within the MPD that the marriage between Senator Simmons and his deceased wife was a troubled one. According to these sources, there had been marital problems for a number of years, and separation and divorce had been discussed.”
The anchor said, “Jane, are the police considering this significant as far as the investigation of the murder is concerned?”
“I haven’t specifically been told that,” replied Willis, who stood in front of the bank of microphones that would be used by Simmons and the family, “but we have to assume that it will figure into their probe. Back to you until the senator makes his appearance.”
“Breaking news indeed,” Rotondi grumbled. “Breaking rumor would be more like it.”
“You’ve indicated in the past that their marriage was rocky, Phil,” Emma said.
“They had their ups and downs.”
“You should know.”
He did know a lot about the marriage between Lyle and Jeannette Simmons, far more than he’d ever confided to her, or anyone else for that matter.
The scene on the screen shifted from the anchor desk to the press conference. Lyle Simmons stood in front of the bouquet of microphones, flanked by Neil and Polly. Dozens of reporters surrounded them. The senator looked good, Rotondi thought, tall, tanned, sadness written on his handsome face, his gray hair promising wisdom in all things. Polly looked as though she’d suddenly found herself in an alien land and was desperate to escape. She hadn’t bothered to dress for the cameras; she wore what she’d had on when she’d arrived in D.C. It was Neil, however, who especially captured Rotondi’s attention. He was certainly a good-looking young man, no surprise considering his parentage. He wore clothes well. But there was a softness about him, Rotondi had always felt, not physically but in spirit and character, a man who harbored few convictions about himself or the world.
The senator spoke: “Thank you for coming here today. My son, Neil, my daughter, Polly, and I suffered a terrible tragedy a few days ago. The brutal murder of my wife, and of their mother, has shattered our lives, as you can imagine. There has been speculation as recently as a few minutes ago about the state of my marriage to Jeannette. I was shocked to hear the sort of vicious rumor reported just prior to this news conference. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We enjoyed many happy years together. That happiness has been taken away at the hand of a murderer, and as a family we are working closely with law enforcement to bring that killer to justice. Polly