Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [66]
“It looks like she made only one trip out of town during those two months.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she went down to the Eastern Shore.”
Crimley cocked his head as though waiting for Rotondi to respond. When he didn’t, Crimley added, “Looks like she made that trip to spend time with one Philip Rotondi.”
“Let’s be a little more accurate, Morris. She came to the Eastern Shore for reasons other than seeing me. While she was there, we had dinner together. Shocking? As you said, Jeannette and I were close friends.”
Crimley pulled a receipt from a folder on his desk. “Nice restaurant,” he said, handing the receipt to Rotondi.
“The best crab cakes in the area.”
Crimley rubbed stubble on his face with the palm of his hand, and shifted to his eyes with his knuckles. “Phil,” he said, “why are you in Washington?”
“I’m here as Lyle Simmons’s friend.”
“No interest in the case beyond that?”
“Not at the moment.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Phil.”
“We sure have.”
“You asked me to keep you informed of how the investigation is going. I’m willing to do that. But it would be nice if it were a two-way street. You were probably closer to the family than anyone else around.”
“You’re probably right.”
“We’re holding a suspect.”
“So I see on TV. The drifter. What’s his name?”
“Lemón.”
“He’s convenient, but he didn’t do it. It wasn’t some down-and-out stranger who killed Jeannette Simmons, and you know it.”
“Give me an alternative.”
“I don’t have one at the moment.”
“At the moment?”
“I have some ideas.”
“For the first time I feel you’re leveling with me. We have prints.”
“Anyone I know?”
“We don’t have a match yet. Maybe by tomorrow.” He slid an eight-by-ten photograph in Rotondi’s direction, a close-up of a water glass. A fingerprint processed at the crime scene was evident on the glass.
Rotondi examined the photo before pushing it back to Crimley. “Sounds like you’re making progress,” he said.
“Slow but sure.”
A shooting pain stung Rotondi’s leg from hip to foot, and he grimaced against it. “Look, Morris, I have to leave,” he said. “A lunch date. I promise I’ll get back to you in a day or two and we can discuss this further.”
“Sure, Phil. Thanks for stopping in. Oh, one more thing. After you and Mrs. Simmons enjoyed your crab cakes together, where did you go next?”
Rotondi knew what was coming.
“You’ve got alert neighbors in your condo complex, Phil. Real crime stoppers. It seems one of them saw you and Mrs. Simmons go into your condo unit in the evening and not come out till morning. They identified Mrs. Simmons from photos. Detective Chang and his partner not only interviewed that neighbor, they talked to a second one who confirmed what the first one said.”
Rotondi stood, stretched, picked up his cane, and smiled at Crimley. “You missed your calling, Morris. You should be working for a tabloid.”
“Just part of a routine investigation, Counselor.”
“You should add me to your suspect list.”
“I already have, but don’t sweat it. I’ll take you up on your offer to come back. In fact, I’ll be damn upset if you don’t.”
• • •
He’d been exercising early one morning a month ago when Jeannette called.
“Hi, Phil, hope I’m not waking you.”
“I’ve been up for a while.”
“You sound out of breath.”
“Doing some light weight lifting. How are you?”
“All right.” She didn’t sound terribly convincing.
“How’s the family?”
“Everyone is fine. I’m coming down your way in a few days.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I just need to get away. One of my classmates, Josie Williams, lives on the shore with her husband. He’s retired. It would be nice to see her again.”
“I remember her. A sorority sister.”
“I thought maybe you and I could have lunch or dinner together.”
“Love it. Are you staying with her?”
“No. I’ve booked a room at the Marriott. It’s not very far from you.”
They arranged a date for dinner, and he went back to his weight lifting. It would be good to see her. They hadn’t spoken in a while. He’d been in Batavia visiting family and had returned only a few days earlier. He kept up with Lyle Simmons’s activities through