Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [94]
“I’ll call him when we get off,” Rotondi said.
And he did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mac Smith had spent that afternoon grilling Jonell Marbury. His fiancée, Marla, tried to not interject but failed enough times to prompt Smith to ask her to leave the room on one occasion. They were joined later in the day by Annabel, who’d been at her gallery in Georgetown processing recent purchases of several pre-Columbian artifacts.
“Go over it again,” Mac said to Marbury. “I know, I know, you don’t feel there’s anything left to tell. But sometimes repetition generates information that was forgotten in previous versions.”
Marbury sighed.
“More coffee?” Annabel asked.
“Please.”
Marla, who’d returned, paced the room as a substitute for intervention into the conversation.
“I’ll start from the beginning again,” said Marbury. He recounted his visit to the Simmons house to deliver the envelope given him by his boss, Rick Marshalk.
“Mrs. Simmons answered the door?” Mac said.
“Right. I’d never met her, so I introduced myself and said I had an envelope from Rick Marshalk for the senator. She thanked me, took the envelope, and closed the door.”
“And you don’t know what was in the envelope?” Annabel asked.
Marbury said, “I have no idea.”
Annabel said to Mac, “Do we know whether the police took that envelope from the house?”
It was Mac’s turn to indicate a negative response with a shake of his head. “I’ll ask,” he added.
Marbury continued chronicling his activities on that afternoon. When he was finished, Mac shifted the topic to Camelia Watson and her plunge to death the previous night.
“Like I said, I saw her walk into the elevator at her apartment building, and I left. That’s the last time I saw her. She was fine, maybe a little tipsy. No, let me correct that. She was tipsy when she left the Fly Lounge. But after we sat and talked for a while, she’d sobered up. At least that’s the way I remember it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you drove her home?” Marla asked.
“Because—because I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, Marla. I just wanted to square things between us after our spat at the party. Driving her home meant nothing. There never was anything between us.”
“You should have been honest with me,” Marla countered.
“This is a subject that you two can hash out later,” Smith suggested. He said to Marbury, “If what you say is true, Jonell—and I’m not questioning your veracity—it means that someone has framed you regarding the Simmons murder. This tragedy with Ms. Watson represents lousy timing and coincidence. Who would do that? Frame you?”
“Whoever killed Mrs. Simmons,” Marbury replied, stating the obvious.
“Who has it in for you?” Annabel asked.
“I can’t think of anyone,” Marbury said. He asked Marla if she had any ideas.
“Someone from Marshalk?” she said.
“Why?” Marbury said.
“Who else?” Marla said.
“Someone from when you were on the congresswoman’s staff?” Mac suggested.
Marbury scrunched up his face in thought. “You always make a few enemies in Congress,” he said, “but I can’t think of anyone who would both murder Mrs. Simmons and try to set me up like this. Sorry. I can’t come up with anyone who makes sense, Mac.”
“It has to be someone from Marshalk,” Marla said with conviction.
“If that’s so,” said Annabel, “it means that the murderer is from Marshalk, too.”
They continued their discussion until late in the afternoon. Mac informed Jonell and Marla that while he’d been happy to jump into the breach and represent him that day at police headquarters, he wasn’t prepared to handle his defense should things progress to that stage. “But I’ll bring in a top defense lawyer, Jonell. I’ve worked with the best.”
Marla cried, and Annabel put her arms around her. “Chances are what Mac said won’t be necessary,” she told her, “but it’s always prudent