Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [76]
Simmons was poised to reveal that he, too, intended to leave the firm, but thought better of it. Although he trusted Marbury, he also knew that even the most closed-mouthed people in Washington ended up spilling things said in confidence, perhaps not deliberately, but inadvertently.
“Maybe you should” was the way Simmons put it.
“You mean that?”
“Look, Jonell, I’m as aware as you are of things here getting out of hand. I hear the scuttlebutt as clearly as you do. Do you have something else lined up?”
“No, but I’m not worried about that. I had a long talk with Marla about it. She’s all for me leaving.”
“Well,” Simmons said, “Marshalk will obviously miss you if you decide to resign. You have to do what’s right for you.” Simmons rubbed his eyes and added, “We all do.”
Marbury looked at Simmons quizzically but didn’t say what he was thinking: that Simmons’s final comment was intriguing, and troubling. He changed the subject: “Things shaping up for your mom’s memorial service?”
“Yeah, I think so. My sister and I tied up some loose ends today.”
“Going to Camelia’s bash tonight?”
“Sure. You?”
“Right. I’m leaving now and stopping at home before the party. Is your wife coming?”
“No. Tough getting sitters these days. Teenagers don’t want to bother anymore making a few bucks watching somebody else’s kids. Mommy and Daddy give them all the money they need.”
Marbury got up and laughed. “I know what you mean, Neil. If I have kids someday, I intend not to spoil them.”
“I wish you well in that, Jonell. See you at the party.”
Marbury left the building, and Neil Simmons went through a sheaf of papers without focusing on any of them.
At the other end of the long corridor, Jack Parish sat in his office with Rick Marshalk. He activated a small digital tape recorder he’d taken from a locked cabinet that had recently been delivered. Inside the cabinet was other electronic equipment all tied in to a system that delivered conversations from a series of offices in which listening devices had been installed simultaneously with the sweeping of those same offices for other bugs. Parish activated the recorder.
“What’s going on?”
“About what?”
“About this place, Neil. Marshalk and Parish have turned it into an armed camp. You’d think we were some Defense Department think tank with top-secret information about where the next war will be.”
“I don’t know, Jonell. I’m just the president.”
“You’ve heard the rumors.”
“Which ones?”
“About Justice investigating us. You must know something about it, Neil. I’ve even heard it might involve money laundering for the mob.”
“Just a rumor, Jonell.”
“I’m getting really worried, Neil. I had a conversation with Camelia the other day. She’s bailing because she’s concerned about what’s coming down. I’m thinking of doing the same thing.”
“Maybe you should.”
“You mean that?”
“Look, Jonell, I’m as aware as you are of things here getting out of hand. I hear the scuttlebutt as clearly as you do. Do you have something else lined up?”
“No, but I’m not worried about that. I had a long talk with Marla about it. She’s all for me leaving.”
“Well, Marshalk will obviously miss you if you decide to resign. You have to do what’s right for you—we all do.”
“Things shaping up for your mom’s memorial service?”
“Yeah, I think so. My sister and I tied up some loose ends today.”
“Going to Camelia’s bash tonight?”
“Sure. You?”
“Right. I’m leaving now and stopping at home before the party. Is your wife coming?”
“No. Tough getting sitters these days. Teenagers don’t want to bother anymore making a few bucks watching somebody else’s kids. Mommy and Daddy give them all the money they need.”
“I know what you mean, Neil. If I have kids someday, I intend not to spoil them.”
“I wish you well in that, Jonell. See you at the party.”
Parish looked at Marshalk after turning off the recorder.
“Play that recording of Marbury and Camelia again,” Marshalk said.
“Something wrong?