Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [60]
“I’m sure you’ll want to confer with Polly, too,” Rotondi said.
“Of course. I’ll get hold of her. Can you come by at six? We’ll have dinner.”
Had Emma not had a catering assignment that evening, he would have declined. “All right,” he said.
He clicked off the phone and left the restaurant. It had clouded up during the time he’d been at the bar, and the humidity level had risen. There was a moment while standing on the sidewalk that he considered going to Emma’s house, packing up Homer, and heading home.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. There were things he knew about Jeannette and Lyle Simmons that he’d been suppressing since heeding Lyle’s call the night of the murder. It was time he took the lid off them and followed where they led.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After taking Homer for a walk and feeding him, Rotondi changed clothes, left Emma’s house, and drove to the Willard hotel, where he passed the time by sitting in the opulent lobby and watching the parade of well-dressed humanity passing through. His vantage point gave him a view of the elevators. At a few minutes before six, two people emerged from one and walked his way. The man, of Asian descent, was dressed in a suit and carried a small briefcase. The woman wore a black pantsuit. The detectives, Rotondi reasoned as they disappeared from view. The interview was over. He called Simmons’s suite on a house phone and was told to come up.
He expected to see the senator surrounded by his usual entourage, but the man was alone in the suite. He looked tired, and older than a day ago.
“Sit down, Phil. Drink? There’s a minibar and—”
“Nothing, thanks. How did the interview go?”
Simmons, who was in shirtsleeves, the knot of his tie pulled down, plopped in a chair across from Rotondi. “Insulting, that’s how it went. You’d think I was a serial killer the way that obnoxious little Chinese detective talks. I have a call in to the police chief. I refuse to be treated this way. The detective made a lot out of what Neil told him, that Jeannette and I had a rocky marriage. Why the hell Neil would have offered such nonsense is beyond me. It was a good marriage, Phil, no better or worse than any other. Maybe being a senator put an extra strain on it at times. You know, me being away a lot and Jeannette rattling around alone in the house. I tried to get her involved in my activities, but she just kept retreating into a shell. I suppose I can’t blame her for wanting to stay clear of politics. It can be a rough business, Phil, a nasty business.”
Rotondi listened patiently, something at which he’d always been good.
“She was having trouble with booze,” Simmons announced.
“How much trouble?” Rotondi asked, knowing the answer.
“It wasn’t always evident,” Simmons said. “It was being alone that contributed to it, that I know. That was one of the reasons I tried to convince her to join me in some of my travels. Showing up alone at fund-raisers always raised eyebrows with the press. I suppose the detectives who were here heard the rumors, too, and are making a big deal out of it.”
“You said the ME is releasing Jeannette’s body, and that you’re setting up a memorial service. Any idea when that will be?”
“After I get back from Chicago. That’s what I wanted to speak with you about, Phil. I’m due out there day after tomorrow to meet with an exploratory committee, and to attend a fund-raiser.”
“Exploratory committee?” Rotondi said. “For a run?”
Simmons nodded. “Strictly preliminary, Phil, and hush-hush. Surprised?”
Rotondi’s laugh was sardonic. “Why would I be surprised? You’ve been running for the White House since poly sci one.”
“What do you think?”
“About you running for president? Sure, why not?”
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement.”
“I’m not into ringing endorsements these days—for anything.”
“You know the problem with you, Phil?”
“I have a leg that doesn’t work the way it should.”
“Besides that. Your problem is that you know me too well. That should make me uncomfortable.