Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [84]
“I know what this is about,” Marbury said.
“Do you?” Crimley said.
“Yes. It’s about the murder of the senator’s wife, Mrs. Simmons.”
Crimley’s hard stare challenged Marbury to continue.
“I was there the day she was killed,” Marbury said. “I work for the Marshalk Group. I’m a lobbyist. My boss, Rick Marshalk, gave me an envelope to deliver to the Simmons house that afternoon. That’s what I did. I drove there and handed the envelope to Mrs. Simmons.”
“What time was that?” Crimley asked.
Marbury shrugged. “About four, give or take a few minutes.”
“You went into the house?”
“No. Mrs. Simmons answered the door. I told her who I was and gave her the envelope. It had the senator’s name written on it.”
“What did you do then?”
“I left.”
“You never went inside?”
“Never. Look, I know it was foolish of me to not come forward right away. I wanted to but…”
“But what?”
“It didn’t seem important—at the time. I planned to come here this morning, but your detectives arrived at my house before I had the chance.”
“What was in the envelope?” Chang asked. Round, rimless glasses magnified his small brown eyes.
“I have no idea,” Marbury replied. “It was sealed.”
Silence descended over the room.
Marbury broke it with, “You can ask Rick Marshalk whether he sent me with the envelope.”
“We have,” said Crimley.
“So?”
“He confirmed it. Let’s go back over why you decided to not come forward with this information.”
“Rick suggested that I…”
Crimley came forward. “He suggested what?”
“That I not tell the police I was there.”
“That’s not what he says.”
A cold sweat broke out over Marbury. “What did he say?”
“He says that he encouraged you to come forward.”
“That’s not true!”
More silence, more sweat.
“Why would he tell you that?” Marbury asked, more of himself than the others.
“Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Crimley said.
Marbury didn’t have an answer.
“Doesn’t make sense for him to tell you not to tell us you were there.”
“I don’t understand,” Marbury said, weakly.
“We would like a DNA sample from you, sir,” Chang said.
“DNA?” Marbury said. “Why?”
They didn’t elaborate.
“Am I suspected of something?” Marbury asked. “All I did was deliver an envelope and—”
“We can hold you for impeding an investigation,” Crimley said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Marbury snapped.
“About the DNA?” Crimley said.
“This is getting out of control,” Marbury said.
“We have reason to believe that you went inside the Simmons house that afternoon, Mr. Marbury. We have your fingerprints from the scene.”
Marbury fought to maintain control of his emotions, unsuccessfully. He slapped his hand on the table and said in a loud voice, “I have never been inside that house. Never!”
“Where were you last night?” Widletz asked from across the room.
“Last night? I was home.”
“Before that.”
“I was—I was at a party. Someone from the firm was leaving, and we had a party for her.”
“Camelia Watson?” Crimley said.
“Yes. Camelia Watson. What does she have to do with this?”
“You were with her last night?”
“Of course I was. I was at her party and—”
“What about after the party?” Widletz asked. She’d now come to the table and stood directly behind Marbury, and close.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Marbury,” Crimley weighed in. “You drove her home, didn’t you? You left the party with her, went to the Fly Lounge, had a few more drinks, and drove her home.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” Marbury quickly said.
“We are not talking about driving drunk, sir,” Chang said.
“Then what are you talking about?”
“About her death.”
Marbury felt as though a javelin had pierced his midsection. He searched for words, stumbled, and finally managed, “Camelia is dead?”
“You didn’t know?” Chang asked.
“No, of course not. She was alive when I last saw her.”
“When was that?”
“As you said, I drove her home from the Fly Lounge and walked her into the lobby of her apartment building. We said good night and I left. You can ask the doorman.”
“We did,” said Chang. “He says that he did not see you leave the building.