Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [83]
Marla headed for the shower. Dressed in his robe and pajamas, Jonell grabbed the newspaper from where it had been tossed on the tiny patch of front lawn and was on his way back into the house when two nondescript sedans pulled up in front. Marbury gave a cursory glance at the three men in suits, one green—green?—and one woman who exited the cars and was about to open the front door when one of them said loudly, “Mr. Marbury?”
Marbury turned and narrowed his eyes. The contingent, two abreast, came up the short walkway. One held out what looked like an official badge.
“Yes?” Marbury said.
“My name is Detective Chang, Metro Police, Mr. Marbury.”
“Yes?” Marbury said again.
“We would like to ask you some questions,” Chang said.
“About what?”
“We can discuss that once we are at headquarters.”
“Headquarters?”
“Please, sir,” Chang said, “just come with us.”
“Now wait a minute,” Marbury protested. It was at this moment that reality struck. They were there to ask him about having been at Jeannette Simmons’s home the day she was murdered. They’d beaten him to it. He’d intended to go to the police…
“May we come inside?” the sole woman in the group asked.
“Yes, of course. No! My fiancée is in there and—”
“Then you can come with us the way you are,” she said.
“What is this about?” Marbury asked.
Marla, who’d emerged from the shower, came to the front window and saw the scene transpiring outside. She opened the door. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“These are detectives,” Marbury explained. “They want to speak with me.”
“Why?”
Marbury faced the green suit. “I’d like to get showered and dressed,” he said.
“You can get dressed, sir,” Chang responded. “No shower.”
“All right,” Marbury said and led them into the house. Chang followed him to the bedroom. So did Marla.
“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Are we in some sort of trouble?”
“Please leave the room, ma’am,” Chang told her.
She looked to Jonell, who nodded that she should heed his advice. She left, confusion etched on her face.
“Is it really necessary that you watch me get dressed?” Marbury asked Chang when they were alone in the room.
“Yes, sir, it is. Please hurry.”
The thought of not starting the day with a shower was anathema to Marbury, and he asked again if he could.
“No, sir. Please dress quickly.”
He put on chinos, an open-neck white shirt, socks, and loafers, and placed items from a nightstand into his pockets. Chang opened the bedroom door and escorted him into the living room, where Marla waited with the other detectives.
“It’s okay,” Marbury said to Marla, kissing her on the cheek. “It’s all a mistake, that’s all. I’ll be home soon.”
She watched him get into one of the cars with the Asian American detective and his female partner, her fist jammed against her mouth to keep a cry from erupting. The minute they pulled away from the curb, she started pacing the room, myriad scenarios and actions racing through her head. As though someone had suddenly injected a dose of wisdom, she picked up the phone.
• • •
Marbury tried questioning the detectives during the ride to police headquarters but received nothing in response. He considered blurting out that he’d been at Mrs. Simmons’s home the day she was killed, and that he’d planned to tell them that morning. But something told him to wait until they were in a more formal setting. The backseat of an unmarked car didn’t seem appropriate, or useful.
He was taken to an interrogation room and told to sit at a table in one of three straight-backed, hard wooden chairs. A few minutes later, the detectives entered the room. Chang and Crimley took the remaining two chairs; Widletz leaned against the wall.
“I’m Detective Crimley,” the chief said to Marbury. “You’ve met detectives Chang and Widletz.”
Marbury didn’t bother correcting Crimley that he hadn’t been introduced to the woman. It seemed irrelevant.
“Why am I here?” Marbury asked.
“We