Murder at the Kennedy Center (34 page)

He slowly turned and fixed his eyes on her, the cigar
firmly wedged in the middle of his mouth. He removed it and said, “Things end. Nothing is forever. We’re still free, still with a chance. They don’t know where we are. We need money, that’s all. We can get it from Ewald.”

“How? Call that attorney, Smith? Waste of time.”

“I don’t need advice from you. Look what you did to us.”

“What did I do? All I did was put the money in a box, and somebody stole it. That isn’t my fault, Herbert. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You
always
do things wrong, Mae. You should have hidden the money in different places, spread it out. That would have been the smart thing to do. The files and papers, too. All in one place so they could pick it up and walk off. You’re so stupid.”

There was pleading in her voice. “I tried to do the right thing, Herbert. Don’t be mad at me. I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

“That money and those files were ours.”

“That money was blood money, our daughter’s blood money.”

“She’s dead. She can’t use the money.”

Mae Feldman slumped back against the headboard and closed her eyes against the tears that seemed always to be forming.

Greist said, “We call Ewald direct. We call and tell him that if he doesn’t hand us the money in cash, we go to the press, we tell them that he was screwing Roseanna and our daughter, too, for Christ’s sake, who’s now dead because of him. You don’t think he’ll pay a hundred thousand dollars to keep that quiet?”

She sat up in bed again and said, “Herbert, if we go to the press and tell them this, they’ll quote us, run our pictures, and then the FBI will take us away for the rest of our lives, maybe even hang us for treason.” Before, she’d been talking with sleepy slovenliness. Now that Mae was fully awake, her words had a sharper edge. “The one good thing that ever came out of my meeting you is dead. All she did was to come to me with information from Ewald. She left it with me so that it would be safe and so that she could secure her own future. What did you do when you heard
about it? You said, ‘Give it to me, and I’ll make us rich.’ How? Sell what Andrea worked so hard to get to your supposed friends, the losers you’ve hung with all your life? Get rich how, Herbert, by trying to blackmail a U.S. senator for a half-million dollars? Oh, my God, Herbert, you may be a lawyer, but that doesn’t mean you’re always smart.”

He hurled the cigar at her. It bounced off the wall and fell to the threadbare rose-colored rug. “You’ll set the place on fire,” she said, leaning over and picking it up.

“Let it burn. Call him.”

“Why should I call him?
You
call him, or get your tootsie to call him.”

“You’re sick, Mae.”

“No, I am just tired of being used by you. I’ve loved you ever since the day I met you, and I have never done anything to hurt you. But you hurt me every day. You have that blond pig here in New York and you flaunt her, make sure I know you have other women.”

“She’s smart.”

“Then go to her for money.”

“She doesn’t have any money.”

She went to the bathroom. When she returned, she said defiantly, “Why should I call him? You’re the lawyer, the negotiator, the one who is going to make everything work and everybody rich. Why should I call him, put my neck out, get linked up with you? As far as everybody knows, I don’t even exist, because that’s the way you wanted it.”

“Shut up, just shut up and let me think,” he said, turning once again to the window.

An hour later, they left the hotel. She went first, stepped out onto Forty-seventh Street, and casually looked up and down the block. Few people were up this early on a Saturday morning. She gave him a motion with her head and he joined her. They walked half a block to a coffee shop and had Spanish omeletes, French fries, and coffee.

“Maybe we should just get on a plane and go,” she said. “I have enough for tickets.”

“No. Ewald is the one who should bankroll us. He owes.
You’re so sad about Andrea? She’s dead because of him. Let him pay.”

“You’re talking about our daughter in these terms? You never cared about her. You left your sperm in me and walked away. I had her. I brought her up. She is my daughter, not ours. How dare you think you can—”

He reached across the grimy Formica table and gripped her wrists. “Don’t push me more, Mae.”

Fear flooded her eyes. She winced against the pain of his fingertips and pulled away, striking the back of her seat, causing people in the adjoining booth to turn and glare. He relaxed his grip and sat back. He now wore the black suit jacket, a soiled white shirt, and green tie. He brushed the lapels of his jacket. “I need a good cigar. You won’t call Ewald? I will.”

“And I am going to leave,” she said. “You’re crazy, don’t you know that? We don’t need money from Ewald or anyone else. Let’s make our own way.”

He grinned and picked a glob of green pepper from between two front teeth. “Suit yourself. You’ve always been a loser, Mae, and the only decent things you’ve ever had are what I gave you.”

He stood at the side of the booth. She continued to sit, her fingers laced together as she tried to keep from crying. He was right. She’d never been anything, a pathetic and weak woman who failed at almost everything she did. Except, she thought, giving birth to and raising that beautiful young woman who went on to graduate from law school, and to work with powerful political figures. No one could ever take that away from her.

She looked up and watched him ogle a short, shapely Hispanic waitress who wiggled past them. She wanted to ask, she’d wanted to ask a thousand times since that night, whether he’d killed Andrea. Each time, she stopped herself because she reasoned that a father would not kill his own flesh and blood. No father would.

Mac Smith was about to head for the Yates Field House for some exercise when the phone rang. It was Ewald. “Catching you at a bad time, Mac?”

“No, I was going to the gym. That’s always easy to put off. What’s up?”

“Two things. First, I received a call from Herbert Greist.”

“Greist called
you
? The FBI is looking for him.”

“I know. He told me that he desperately needs a hundred thousand dollars. In return, he’s promised not to …” Smith knew the sudden silence was Ewald making sure he wasn’t being overheard. “He threatens to tell the public about Roseanna and me. He also claims I slept with his daughter.”

“Andrea. Greist
is
her father. Where was he calling from?”

“He didn’t say. He told me to give it some thought for an hour and that he would call back.”

Smith leaned against the edge of his desk and sighed. “I wonder how Greist knows about your affair with Roseanna Gateaux,” he said. “A few days ago, he was trying to sell back to you the information on Garrett Kane that Andrea stole from your house. Now, he’s not offering that, just a simple request for money to keep his mouth shut about Roseanna and Andrea.” Ewald said nothing. “Okay, we’ll try to figure that out later. You said there were two things. What’s the second?”

“Marcia is gone. She came back after taking some days off, then disappeared again.”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“Leslie was concerned about her this morning. We hadn’t heard a peep from her. She went to Marcia’s room and found that Marcia had packed a bag. One of the gardeners said he’d seen her leave the house early this morning. She was picked up by a cab.”

“Ken, I think I’d better come over right away. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, of course, but please continue to use discretion with this Roseanna thing. Leslie’s out now, but she may return while you’re here.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me, Ken. I almost had the feeling that … I had the feeling during our conversation last night that Leslie might already know about Roseanna.”

“Suspects, doesn’t know for sure. No smoking handkerchief with lipstick on it.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

As Smith walked into Ewald’s study, Ewald said, “You look like you’re ready for the big game, Mac.” Smith hadn’t bothered to change out of his gray sweats and white sneakers. He wore a George Washington University windbreaker, and a rumpled tan rainhat that was a particular favorite. Ewald was dressed in a beautifully tailored Italian-cut gray suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie.

“Well, the saga continues,” Ewald said as he carefully sat on a chair and made sure the crease in his trousers wasn’t in danger of being crushed. “What do you think?”

“Let me find out first what
you
think, Ken. How do you feel about this?”

Ewald sat back and stretched his neck as though to work out a kink. He said, “I just wish the bastard would go away so I could focus on the campaign. The convention is in front of us, the National Committee is on my neck. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.”

“Wishing Greist away won’t do the job,” Smith said. “Still, my instincts tell me he’s bluffing. Think about it. He’s being hunted by the FBI for traitorous acts. Someone like that isn’t likely to go to the media to tell a story about a presidential candidate having slept with a woman other than his wife.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Ewald, seemingly relieved at Smith’s corroboration.

“On the other hand,” Smith said, “you never can predict what people like Greist will do. The chances are good that he’s with Mae Feldman, Andrea’s mother. She could be the one behind this desperate grab for money, and she may be willing to do anything. We’ve found out that Mae Feldman had a sizable bank account, and that it was closed down the other day by a close friend in San Francisco. I wonder why they’re not getting money from
her
.”

Ewald pressed his lips together in anger. “If Greist knows about my affair with Roseanna, that means he must know
her, or someone who fed that information to him. That’s cause for real concern, wouldn’t you say?”

Ewald got up and paced. “Well, learned counsel, what do I do now?”

“Greist hasn’t called again?”

“No. If he sticks to his promise to call within an hour, the phone should ring any minute.”

“Obviously, Ken, you can’t pay blackmail or runaway money to a fugitive from the FBI. It seems to me your only course of action is to turn him down and take your chances.”

“Or try to reason with him.”

Smith laughed. “Greist isn’t the kind of creature you reason with. Annabel tried that on two occasions. Obviously, we should be on the phone right now to the FBI letting them know we might be able to help them find Greist and Mae Feldman. If you make a date with him to hand over money, that establishes where he is in New York. The Bureau can move in and arrest him.”

Ewald walked across the room. As he stood at the window, and Smith sat in a chair observing him, the phone rang. Ewald turned quickly. “Could be him.”

“I’d like to listen in.”

“Go upstairs to the small office on the second floor. It’s—”

Smith stood, “Yes, I know where it is. Is it open?”

“Probably not. Here.” He handed Smith a key.

The door to the study opened, and a secretary informed Ewald that he had a call from Mr. Greist.

Smith bounded up the stairs, opened the door, and entered the small office. He waited a moment to give Ewald time to pick up, then gently lifted the handset and heard their voices. As he listened, the reel of tape on the top shelf silently began to turn.

“Mr. Greist, you put me in a very difficult position,” Ewald said.

“Yes, I know that, which is why I’m confident you will do what I say. Have you considered my offer?”

“Yes, I have. It goes against everything I stand for, but
I am willing to meet your request in return for your total silence.”

Greist’s sigh of relief was audible. “Good. Here’s what you do.” He started to outline a meeting strategy when Ewald interrupted. “Mr. Greist, I have a few questions first.”

“No idle talk here. I’m no fool. This call could be monitored. Here’s the way it works, no questions asked.”

“Go ahead.”

“I want you to meet me tomorrow night in New York.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ewald said. “I’m not exactly an unfamiliar face. I’ll send someone.”

“Just as long as that someone has the money in cash.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Greist, you will have your cash. Now, where and when?”

Greist gave him the address of a hotel in the theater district of Manhattan. Ewald’s emissary was to come to room 7 at precisely nine o’clock Sunday night.

“You’ll be in that room?” Ewald asked.

It was a low rumble of a laugh. “Don’t take me for a fool, Senator. I won’t be there for the same reason you won’t be there. There will be someone waiting to accept the money.”

“What assurances do I have that you will live up to your part of the bargain, Mr. Greist?”

“You don’t, except that I have bigger things on my mind than tattling on you and your mistresses. I need the money. That’s it.”

“Fine, you’ll have it.”

The conversation ended, and Ewald and Smith met up once again in the downstairs study.

“What do you think?” Ewald asked.

“I think you handled it well. The question now is whether to bring in the FBI at this point and have them go to that room. If they do, you’re going to have to tell them why you’re being blackmailed by this cheap hustler. You may not want to do that.”

“I’d give anything not to have to do that, but I don’t see any choice. If I don’t, I’m withholding information from the FBI. If I do … that could mean my affair with Roseanna
getting out, maybe not to the public, but the Bureau would know.”

“The FBI doesn’t care about who you sleep with,” Smith said.

“That’s a little naive, isn’t it, Mac?”

Smith smiled ruefully. “Yes, guess it is. The old FBI, Hoover’s, would smack their lips. Even now, the Bureau works for whatever administration is in power. I suppose that kind of information would be of interest to Raymond Thornton.”

“And/or to Jody Backus.”

“Yes, to him, too.”

“A rock and a hard place.”

“Afraid so. Look, Ken, my advice is to let me handle things from this point forward.”

“I can’t let you do that, Mac. This is my mess. I made it.”