of—”
“That’s the only time I’m free for the next six months.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll have to work overtime. Any preference in restaurants?”
“Is the committee buying?”
“I suppose.”
“Good, make it Petitto’s, on Connecticut, Northwest. See you there at seven.”
Ginger reported her conversation with Hughes to Lydia. “Dinner? Protect your flanks, he’s a dedicated womanizer.”
“By me that’s not all bad, Lydia. The way things are going… or not going… with Harold.”
“Forewarned is… Did you ask him about getting the videotape of his last interview with Senator Caldwell?”
“I didn’t have a chance but I’ll bring it up at dinner. You said you wanted to discuss the Jimmye McNab murder before I interviewed Hughes.”
Lydia nodded. “The rumor is that Jimmye and Hughes had an affair. That wouldn’t be so unusual, but some people say she represented one of the few real, two-way relationships he’s ever had. I’ll tell you what I know at lunch. Come on, my treat.”
***
As Lydia and Ginger left the office to go to lunch, Quentin Hughes entered his apartment in the Watergate,placed the brown package in a fireproof, locked chest in the bottom of a closet and returned the key to its hiding place on a nail behind the refrigerator. He lay back on the couch, kicked off his shoes and thought about the last twenty-four hours. After a while he got up and called his mother in Des Moines.
“I was worried about you,” she said. “You said you’d call when you got home safe. You know I hate airplanes.”
“Yeah, I know, Momma, but I got busy. It was good seeing you.”
“You don’t visit enough.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll have more time in a couple of months. Thanks for keeping the package safe.”
“I did just like you told me. I kept it under all the blankets in the closet and never told nobody it was here. I don’t even ask anymore what’s in it. That’s your business, I guess. Thanks for the money. It costs so much to heat the house these days. I called the furnace man but he said—”
“I have to run, Momma. Thanks again. I’ll call soon.”
“You say that but you never do, son, except when you need somethin’.”
“Goodbye, Momma.”
Now he slept until Christa called him at five. He showered, shaved and left for his dinner engagement with Ginger Johnson, wondering as he drove to the restaurant what she looked like. All right, so he was a rat… but at least he liked women, which was more than you could say about most of the men in Washington.
12
Although Lydia had the power to issue subpoenas, she chose to make one final effort to obtain Horace Jenkins’s voluntary cooperation at the Washington MPD. She called and asked to see him. Evidently she caught him in a good mood because he immediately invited her to visit his office at her convenience….
“What can I do for you, Lydia?” Jenkins asked after she’d settled in the green vinyl chair and was served coffee by a clerk. Good and hot. Jenkins and the MPD had their points.
“Tell me what sort of progress you’re making in the Caldwell case.” She sipped the coffee.
“Happy to oblige. Let’s see, we’ve finally interviewed everybody who was at the party.”
“And?”
“And we’ve ruled out about half.”
“On what basis?”
“Instinct, connection or lack of it to the deceased, known attitudes about him, proximity to where he got it, witnesses who said somebody was with them when it happened, that sort of thing. How’s the coffee?”
“Delicious.”
“Well, we public servants aim to please… I suppose you want to know who’s still on the list.”
“I suppose.”
He called out to a clerk to bring him the latest Caldwell file, looked across the desk and smiled. “That’s a nice dress you’re wearing. I wish my ever-loving wife had one like it…” He shrugged. “She’s getting a little thick through the middle, if you know what I mean.
“That’s the only time I’m free for the next six months.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll have to work overtime. Any preference in restaurants?”
“Is the committee buying?”
“I suppose.”
“Good, make it Petitto’s, on Connecticut, Northwest. See you there at seven.”
Ginger reported her conversation with Hughes to Lydia. “Dinner? Protect your flanks, he’s a dedicated womanizer.”
“By me that’s not all bad, Lydia. The way things are going… or not going… with Harold.”
“Forewarned is… Did you ask him about getting the videotape of his last interview with Senator Caldwell?”
“I didn’t have a chance but I’ll bring it up at dinner. You said you wanted to discuss the Jimmye McNab murder before I interviewed Hughes.”
Lydia nodded. “The rumor is that Jimmye and Hughes had an affair. That wouldn’t be so unusual, but some people say she represented one of the few real, two-way relationships he’s ever had. I’ll tell you what I know at lunch. Come on, my treat.”
***
As Lydia and Ginger left the office to go to lunch, Quentin Hughes entered his apartment in the Watergate,placed the brown package in a fireproof, locked chest in the bottom of a closet and returned the key to its hiding place on a nail behind the refrigerator. He lay back on the couch, kicked off his shoes and thought about the last twenty-four hours. After a while he got up and called his mother in Des Moines.
“I was worried about you,” she said. “You said you’d call when you got home safe. You know I hate airplanes.”
“Yeah, I know, Momma, but I got busy. It was good seeing you.”
“You don’t visit enough.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll have more time in a couple of months. Thanks for keeping the package safe.”
“I did just like you told me. I kept it under all the blankets in the closet and never told nobody it was here. I don’t even ask anymore what’s in it. That’s your business, I guess. Thanks for the money. It costs so much to heat the house these days. I called the furnace man but he said—”
“I have to run, Momma. Thanks again. I’ll call soon.”
“You say that but you never do, son, except when you need somethin’.”
“Goodbye, Momma.”
Now he slept until Christa called him at five. He showered, shaved and left for his dinner engagement with Ginger Johnson, wondering as he drove to the restaurant what she looked like. All right, so he was a rat… but at least he liked women, which was more than you could say about most of the men in Washington.
12
Although Lydia had the power to issue subpoenas, she chose to make one final effort to obtain Horace Jenkins’s voluntary cooperation at the Washington MPD. She called and asked to see him. Evidently she caught him in a good mood because he immediately invited her to visit his office at her convenience….
“What can I do for you, Lydia?” Jenkins asked after she’d settled in the green vinyl chair and was served coffee by a clerk. Good and hot. Jenkins and the MPD had their points.
“Tell me what sort of progress you’re making in the Caldwell case.” She sipped the coffee.
“Happy to oblige. Let’s see, we’ve finally interviewed everybody who was at the party.”
“And?”
“And we’ve ruled out about half.”
“On what basis?”
“Instinct, connection or lack of it to the deceased, known attitudes about him, proximity to where he got it, witnesses who said somebody was with them when it happened, that sort of thing. How’s the coffee?”
“Delicious.”
“Well, we public servants aim to please… I suppose you want to know who’s still on the list.”
“I suppose.”
He called out to a clerk to bring him the latest Caldwell file, looked across the desk and smiled. “That’s a nice dress you’re wearing. I wish my ever-loving wife had one like it…” He shrugged. “She’s getting a little thick through the middle, if you know what I mean.
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