A Vote for Murder (27 page)

“Hello, Pat,” I said.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said.

“Oh, no,” I said, “not at all. I was hoping you’d join us.”

Her husband stepped toward her, but she turned her back on him and joined Christine and her fiancé, Joe Radisch.

I again addressed others in the room. “There are many here who assumed that the senator killed Nikki.”

“That’s preposterous,” said Nebel.

“Not really,” I said. “There were the rumors of your affair with her, and she’d written you a threatening letter. She had at her disposal the wherewithal to derail your run for a third term. No, it was logical to look to you as the prime suspect, Senator—or someone doing your bidding.”

He flashed a smile and took in the others in the room. “But you all know I treasured Nikki’s service to me and to the country. I certainly could never have killed her. Besides—and the press has already written about it—Nikki was a lesbian. An affair between us? Out of the question. Impossible.”

“I agree,” I said. “But she had other things to threaten you about, didn’t she?”

His smile faded to a scowl. “What does
that
mean?”

“That means money,” I said.

“Money? What the hell are you talking about?”

“She knew you’d been taking payoffs from special interests, and tried to force you to stop the practice.”

For the first time Nebel appeared flustered, at a loss for words. He licked his lips and looked around the room for support. “Lies,” he said. “It’s all lies. You must be working for my enemies.”

“Your affair with Nikki was a lie,” I said, “a lie your family believed until a reporter for the
Post
revealed Nikki’s sexual orientation.” I turned to Mrs. Nebel. “Isn’t that right, Pat?”

“If you’re suggesting, Jessica, that I killed Nikki because I believed she was having an affair with my husband, you’re terribly mistaken. I’ve adapted quite nicely to my husband’s peccadilloes.”

“Pat!” Nebel snapped. “That’s enough!”

“No,
I’ve
had enough,” Marshall-Miner announced. “I’m leaving.”

“Has Mom hit too close to home, Gail?” Christine Nebel said to the congresswoman. She got up from where she’d been sitting with her fiancé and approached Marshall-Miner. “I know all about you and Daddy dearest,” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marshall-Miner said.

For a moment I thought they were about to come to blows. Sandy Teller stepped between them and said, “Hey, hey, let’s calm down. Consider this a game, sort of like charades.” He looked at me. “I don’t know why you’re obsessed with slandering the senator and others in this room, Mrs. Fletcher, but you’re way off base.”

“Spoken like a true press secretary to a United States senator,” I said. “I appreciate your loyalty to your boss and to your job. But you might not be able to spin yourself out of this one, Mr. Teller. Don’t misunderstand. What I’m saying doesn’t give me any pleasure or satisfaction. I believe in my government and my elected officials. I trust them to do what’s right for the country, and that doesn’t include taking payoffs to support a lavish lifestyle.”

“Now, see here—” Nebel began.

I raised my hand to silence him. “Even so, I would not have pursued accusations of graft and payoffs were they not a pivotal element of Nikki Farlow’s murder. I’d make my feelings known in the voting booth back home in Maine.”

“Come on,” Grusin said to Marshall-Miner. “I’m out of here with you.”

“Me, too,” said Barzelouski.

“How fitting,” I said.

Grusin spun around and confronted me. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

“All the guilty parties want to leave together,” I said. “You’re not going with them, Senator?”

“Don’t answer that,” said Hal Duncan, Nebel’s attorney. Showing some life for the first time, he went to the buffet, picked up half a sandwich, and took a large bite. He swallowed, pronounced it tasty, and said, “I’ve found this all extremely entertaining, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s like one of those interactive dinner theater murder mysteries: great fun, a good story, but a serious waste of anyone’s time. I suggest we all have a drink, fill our plates, and enjoy the party.”

Grusin, Marshall-Miner, and Congressman Barzelouski walked to the door. I motioned to Detective Moody, who’d seemed content to take in the proceedings without comment. He stepped in front of the trio. “Don’t you want to hear the end of the story?” he asked. “I think you’d best stay a little longer.”

Barzelouski turned red in the face. “I’ve had enough of you,” he said to Moody. “Get out of my way.”

Moody held his ground, but glanced back at me as though seeking a reason for the stand he was taking.

“Mr. Grusin,” I said, “of everyone here, I think you have the most reason to stay.”

He looked at each person in the room, laughing away what I’d said, hands in motion, head shaking, shoulders hunched, making the point without stating it that I was obviously and overtly demented. When he was finished posturing, he again faced me. “So, Mrs. Fletcher, tell me, what exactly am I accused of? I barely knew the woman. Surely you don’t think I killed the senator’s aide.”

I realized the others were poised for my answer.

“There’s an old saying, Mr. Grusin. ‘Follow the money.’ You were the source of payoffs to Senator Nebel, Congressman Barzelouski, and Congresswoman Marshall-Miner. Nikki Farlow learned about the payoffs and started to pressure everyone, including you.”

“Prove it!” he challenged.

“It’s not my role to prove governmental corruption. Hopefully a congressional committee will look into what I’m charging and take appropriate action.”

He glared at me.

“Why did you lie about your relationship with Nikki?” I asked.

“Relationship? What are you, nuts? Nikki was a dyke.”

“Oh? I thought you barely knew the woman. Isn’t that what you said?”

He smiled. “It was in the papers, Mrs. Fletcher. You said it yourself.”

“I’m not suggesting a romantic relationship, Mr. Grusin. You knew Nikki a lot better than you claimed to me. At the party, when you approached me and my friend Inspector Sutherland at the bar, you ordered two drinks: wine for you, Wild Turkey bourbon with a splash of soda for her. You obviously knew her preference in drinks.”

“I may have taken her for drinks once or twice. So what?” Grusin was less brazen now in his stance. “Look,” he said, “you didn’t know how capable Nikki was of impeding progress.”

“Do you mean she was tenacious in wanting honesty in government?” I asked.

“She was about to—”

“You’ve said enough, Walter,” Hal Duncan said. “I suggest that—”

“That no one here say something incriminating?” I said.

“You’re treading into an area you know nothing about,” the attorney said.

“When it comes to the way Congress works, and how lobbyists use money to influence votes on legislation? You’re right, Mr. Duncan. But I do know something about murder.”

I returned my attention to Grusin. “You made a big mistake,” I said, opening my hand to reveal a piece of white paper folded into a small square. I closed my fist. “You lured Nikki down to the dock with a written note, signed ‘W.’ ”

Grusin paled. “Where did you find—” He stopped. “It’s not from me. It must have been Warren. His name starts with a W.”

“You must have been in a terrible rush to have left it there.”

“That note doesn’t prove I killed her.”

“Whether she thought it had come from Senator Nebel is conjecture. You share the same first initial. But it was you. And a handwriting expert will confirm it.” I prayed Jack Nebel would keep quiet while I bluffed in this high-stakes game.

Grusin looked around the room desperately.

“The question I can’t answer,” I continued, “is whether you killed Nikki of your own volition, or were asked to kill her by the senator or his Congressional accomplices, who were also recipients of your payoffs. If I had to guess—”

“You don’t have to guess, Mrs. Fletcher,” Grusin said. “If I’m going down, I’m not going down alone.” He turned to where Pat Nebel stood with her son and daughter. “Tell them, Pat. Go on; tell everybody why I did it.”

A viselike knot twisted in my stomach.

Pat looked directly at me, her eyes wide with fear, and nodded slowly.

“Did you believe all the rumors about Warren and Nikki?” I asked her softly.

She shook her head. Her eyes never leaving mine, she said, “I had every reason to want her dead. Didn’t I?”

I didn’t reply.

“I didn’t care about Warren’s extracurricular sex life. If he wanted to sleep with her, go ahead. But she was about to expose the payoffs. I would be humiliated in the press again. I would lose my home, my standing in the community. My husband would go to jail. She was going to ruin my life and the lives of my children. I wanted her gone. I couldn’t do it myself, and asked Walter to do it for me—for us, for this family. Despite Warren’s indiscretions, my family means everything to me. So yes, I suggested to Walter that we would all be better off without Nikki.” She faced Grusin. “I didn’t mean for you to kill her. I thought you might be able to buy her off, use her sexual secret to blackmail her into dropping her plan to expose the payoffs.”

Grusin looked disgusted. “Yeah, right.”

Pat turned her gaze to me. “Jessica, you must believe me. I was horrified when Nikki turned up dead. It was my worst nightmare. I haven’t slept in days. But I know somehow I’m responsible, and I’m willing now to acknowledge my role in it.”

She pulled herself to her full height, took in each person in the room, and walked through the door, flanked by her son and daughter.

“Pat, I’ll take care of you,” Nebel said, starting to follow his wife.

Grusin grabbed his arm. “You wanted her gone, too. Nikki could have brought you down.”

Nebel brushed him off. “I never said a word to you about killing Nikki. I’m totally innocent. For too long money has controlled the legislative agenda in Congress. I’ve done nothing illegal, and the facts will bear that out.” He turned to me. “Congratulations, Jessica, on solving another murder. I’m sure this entire sordid episode will provide gist for one of your future novels.” He smiled at Moody. “Detective, you’ve got your man. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important matters of state with which to deal in the Senate.” With that proclamation, he motioned for Teller and Duncan to follow him from the room, which they did.

“I won’t take the rap alone,” Grusin yelled after them.

“We’ll see about that,” Moody said. Two uniformed officers quietly summoned by Moody into the house appeared at the detective’s side. “Mr. Grusin here is under arrest for the murder of Nikki Farlow.” As the officers pulled Grusin’s arms behind his back and applied cuffs to his wrists, Moody pulled a card from his pocket and read the lobbyist his constitutional rights. Grusin was led away, and Moody said to me, “Nice job, Mrs. Fletcher. Anytime you want to join the department, give a call.”

I laughed. “I may just do that, Detective.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Keep in touch,” he said, and left.

Richard Carraway came to where Seth had joined me.

“You did a brave thing,” I said. “I know you’ll lose your job because of it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the senatorial aide said, smiling. “I’ll find another job on the Hill. There are plenty of honest senators and congressmen and -women to work for. I have one favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“An autographed copy of one of your books?” He handed me a card with his home address on it.

“It’ll be in the mail as soon as I get home,” I said.

Jardine came into the room carrying the day’s newspapers, which he carefully arranged on a table.

“Jardine,” I said.

He came to me.

“I’m sure what you did won’t land you in legal trouble,” I said. “But if it does, I’ll be happy to stand up for you.”

“Thank you, madam,” he said. “I am leaving here.”

“Where will you go?” Seth asked.

“To family in California. My uncle has a job for me there.”

“Well,” I said, “I wish you all the best. Thank you for helping me.”

“It was my duty, madam.” He bowed out of the room.

It was, I knew, the last time I would see him.

“Ready to go, Jessica?” Seth asked.

“Yes, Seth, I’m ready to go.”

I stopped at the table where Jardine had placed the day’s papers. A tease at the bottom of the front page caught my eye: RANKING SCOTLAND YARD INSPECTOR VICTIM OF VICIOUS MUGGING.

“Oh, my,” I said. “Poor George. I almost forgot. He said he might be released from the hospital this afternoon. Let’s go there now.”

“Whatever you say, Jessica. Whatever you say.”

“That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there, Inspector,” Seth Hazlitt said to George Sutherland.

Seth and I had arrived at the hospital just in time to pick up George, who, despite his embarrassment at my seeing him so bruised, agreed to join us for dinner at a branch of Morton’s of Chicago, a wonderful steakhouse that satisfied my two male companions. Seth had joked that a big slab of porterhouse was exactly what George needed for his blackened eye.

“I’d rather eat it than wear it,” George had said, laughing. “Is that an approved medical treatment?”

“Sometimes the simplest things work best,” Seth said.

George and Seth were in especially good moods, which was to be expected. George had survived his mugging, although his battered face, and the bandage covering stitches where his scalp had been cut ensured the incident wouldn’t soon be forgotten. Seth seemed to revel in my successful resolution of the Nikki Farlow murder, and having the corruption in Senator Nebel’s office exposed, regaling George with a long tale of what he’d “missed.”

“Do you think anything will come of it?” I asked.