Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [70]
Now tears came. Rotondi pulled her close and held tight until the sobbing had ebbed. “I’m sorry,” she said, accepting a tissue from him. “I must look a wreck.”
“You look just fine. How much money does this guy want?” he asked.
“He didn’t say. He told me he’d be in touch after I received the package. I haven’t heard from him again.”
They sat in silence. It was now dusk; without lights on, the living room had grown dim, as though an emotional thermostat had sensed the mood and made adjustments.
“Where’s the package?” Rotondi finally asked.
“In the trunk of my car. I hid it under a lot of stuff.”
“I’ll look at it, Jeannette. I don’t know what good that will do, but maybe I’ll think of something.”
“It’s all so evil,” she said quietly.
Rotondi tended to view evil as having a religious basis, which he eschewed. He’d put away plenty of bad people during his career as a prosecutor, men, and some women, for whom human life was irrelevant. In many of those cases, defense lawyers brought in psychiatrists and psychologists to testify that the accused were mentally ill and therefore not responsible for the heinous acts they’d committed. Rotondi frequently brought in his own shrinks to counteract their testimony, including one in particular with whom he’d forged a close relationship. She’d been a practicing psychiatrist for many years, and possessed what Rotondi considered a healthy disdain for much psychiatric theory, including the definition of insanity. As she often told him, “We’re too quick to label people who do bad things ‘sick.’ The truth is, there are plenty of people who aren’t sick at all. They’re just bad people, and labeling them as sick gives legitimate mental illness a bad name.”
As Jeannette had spun her tale of the call from a man with a raspy voice, and the threat he’d issued, Rotondi couldn’t help but focus on the genesis of the problem, his college roommate, Lyle Simmons. Had Simmons’s lust for power carried him over that line separating unbridled levels of ambition from unlawful behavior—a descent into evil?
“Look,” Rotondi said to Jeannette, “I’m sure this will work out. I’ll take a look at what this guy sent you and figure out where to go with it.”
“I have to talk to Neil.”
“And you should.”
“I don’t know if he’ll listen to me, Phil. If he doesn’t, will you try to get him to see the light? He’s always admired you.”
“I’m sure he’ll listen to you, Jeannette. Ready to go back? I’ll drive you to the hotel and we can get that package for me.”
She didn’t respond.
“Jeannette?”
“I want to stay with you, Phil.”
He sighed. He’d wondered from the moment he’d received the call from her whether they would end up together. It wasn’t what he intended. But he certainly recognized that such a possibility existed, and had given considerable thought to what his response might be. In a sense—and he wasn’t especially proud of this thought—making love to Jeannette would represent some sort of sweet justice where Lyle was concerned. But that wasn’t Phil Rotondi’s style. Nor was taking advantage of someone’s vulnerability, and Jeannette had certainly joined the ranks of the vulnerable over the past couple of years. She’d confided her unhappiness to him before, never as directly as this evening, but her message was easily read by someone who knew her when—and now.
He’d finally concluded that no matter what transpired during her visit, it would not involve sex.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” she repeated.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeannette.”
“Should my feelings be hurt?” she asked.
“No. You know I love you and have since the first day we met. But things didn’t work out.”
Her laugh was rueful. “And how did they work out, Phil? God, I was such a fool,