Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [82]
She slid open the doors and stepped out onto the balcony. A breeze was only hinted at as she placed her hands on the railing and drew a deep breath. A wave of calm settled over her. It was over—silly flirtations with a man she couldn’t have, and working for Rick Marshalk. A smile crossed her face as she looked up at a crescent moon that came and went behind low, gray, fast-moving clouds. Tomorrow would represent a new phase in her life.
She never heard the man who’d been hiding just inside her open bedroom door as he silently crossed the living room, came up behind her on the balcony, gripped her neck with his left hand, and brought his right hand up between her legs. She went over the railing headfirst and never made a sound as she fell eight stories to her death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Oh, my God! Phil, come quick!”
Rotondi looked for his cane, remembered he’d left it in the bedroom, and hobbled to where Emma was standing in front of the television. Half his face was clean-shaven; foam obscured the other half. A towel covered his torso.
“…Ms. Watson, who was found on the ground beneath the balcony of her eighth-floor apartment, had just returned from a party celebrating her leaving a Washington lobbying firm, the Marshalk Group. Police are treating it as a possible suicide. Stay tuned for further information as we receive it.”
“She’s the one they threw the party for last night, Phil.”
“Did you talk to her?” he asked, grabbing the towel as it started to slip, and reknotting it.
“No. She might have said hello or something when she was served, but I don’t recall it.”
“Did you have a chance to observe her? Did she look suicidal to you?”
“How would I know whether someone I don’t even know looked suicidal?”
“Strike that,” he said.
“The only thing I did notice was her reaction when Rick Marshalk greeted her with a bear hug. She didn’t look pleased.”
“I’ll be back.” He returned to the bathroom to finish shaving and put on a robe.
“You said her name came up in that conversation you overheard between Jonell and his fiancée,” he said upon returning.
“Right. She accused him of getting too cozy with this Watson woman and left the party.”
“Who did Ms. Watson leave with?”
“I have no idea. No, strike that, as you lawyers say. I saw Jonell go out the door with her. I think she was drunk.”
“Which could account for falling off her balcony.”
“It could. Then again—”
His raised eyebrows asked the next question.
“I don’t know what to think. Someone told me at the party that she used to work for the Justice Department, and was leaving Marshalk to go back there. What time do you leave for Chicago?”
“Eleven.”
“I have to go unpack the van and get ready for tonight.”
“Who are you feeding now?”
“A bunch of foreign dignitaries visiting the Department of Agriculture. Strictly organic, no trans fat, lots of soy. Inspiring, huh?”
“Makes me look forward to a Chicago porterhouse. I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll have to cuddle up with Homer tonight.”
“He snores worse than you. Love you. Got to run.”
• • •
Jonell Marbury and Marla Coleman woke up that morning twisted around each other in bed. They