Senator Love (11 page)

"GODAMMIT, PAPPAS," Bunkie said, his heels
clicking along the marble floor of the Senate Office Building as he came to
intercept them. "I told you
no."
He looked around him
furtively, then faced them, talking between clenched teeth. "He doesn't
want any part of this. He told you that, for chrissakes."

"He can't duck it, Bunkie," Pappas said coolly as
Bunkie's feral eyes darted between Fiona and Cates.

"Now him," Bunkie said, pointing his chin at
Cates. He turned again to Monte. "You had to get her involved. Shit,
Pappas. All your brains are in your cock."

She fully expected Monte to explode and it took all her
discipline to keep herself under control. Monte's reaction was to smile,
although she noted a touch of malevolence.

"These are the police," Monte said. She had seen
him suck in a deep breath, pull in his stomach and square his shoulders with
that Boy-Scout pride that made him so loveable. "They are involved in an
official investigation of a murder." He paused and again exchanged glances
with Fiona. "And you are one of the primary suspects."

The blood drained out of Bunkie's face and his body seemed
to cave in on itself. He had all he could do to control his lip tremors.

"Me?"

His gaze danced everywhere. The long, wide corridors seemed
endless, deep caverns to nowhere. Occasionally, someone would emerge from one
of the large oversized doors that opened on to the corridors, but they seemed
dwarfed by the huge expanse.

They let him stew his way through a long pause. Of course,
he was a prime suspect, but he could barely comprehend it. She attributed that
to his lack of insight and his egoistic and therefore narrow focus. It was
obvious that the consequences of such suspicion was occurring to him now at an
exceedingly rapid rate.

"We can stand here and talk," Cates said,
prodding him. He seemed to be unable to make a decision. "Or we can take
you down to headquarters."

Movie talk, she knew, but effective. Bunkie managed to
muster his own movie retort.

"I'll call my lawyer."

"Be my guest," Fiona said pleasantly.

Bunkie stood rooted to the spot.

"Mulling it over, right, Bunkie?" Monte said.
"You want to expand the group go right ahead."

"All right, we'll talk," he shrugged. "But
not here. And not in the office, okay?"

"Geography wasn't our primary interest," Fiona
said.

Bunkie led them through the long corridor. They came to a
polished set of double doors, one of which was lettered "Committee
Room" in gold. He opened the door and they followed him in.

Dominating the room was a huge half-moon oval rostrum for
the Senators and theater-style seating in front of it for the spectators. Along
the side were loose chairs, which Monte drew into a circle for them.

By then, Bunkie had recovered somewhat, although his pallor
was still ashen. He was, as Fiona had suspected he did when she had first seen
him, wearing flashy suspenders with a garish duck pattern, a matching bow tie
and a clashing striped button-down shirt. On his feet were tasseled overshined
loafers over red polo socks. All in all, perfect casting for the preppy
political loyalist.

Without any more preliminaries, Fiona dived right into it,
her eyes fixed on Bunkie's, although he would not lock into her gaze.

"She was found this morning, apparently buried in a
hole behind a house in Cleveland Park. Medical examiner says strangled."

He muttered "shit" under his breath and nervously
scratched at one arm. Cates filled in additional details. His face became a
kaleidoscope of disgust, as if he were being dragged through a cesspool.

"The point is, hotshot," Monte added, after Cates
had finished his lurid story, "that Fiona and her partner here are going
to try and keep their investigation quiet. No guarantees." He cut a glance
at Fiona. "That is no small thing, considering the circumstances."

"Look," Bunkie said, trying to gather the
remnants of his courage. "It wasn't us. Not me. Not the Senator. Do we
look like murderers?"

"Murderers don't look like murderers," Fiona
said.

"Jesus, you were coming to the office. People have
eyes. Ears. They watch and listen."

"You refused any other options, Bunkie," Monte
reminded him. He looked down at his hands for a long moment, then lifted his
head and smiled. "Bunkie baby," he said, "you piss them off,
they can haul your ass in, also the Senator, make a big deal, lots of
noise." He puffed his cheeks and expelled the air. "Over. All over.
Finis. Presidential shot." He made a chopping motion across his neck.

"Damage-control is all, Monte," Bunkie said
helplessly. "I know we're clean. Langford wasn't even in the loop on this.
These people already know too much."

"Not nearly enough," Fiona interjected, showing a
flash of anger. This Bunkie, she thought, had to be cut down to size.

"Let's stop this bullshit, Bunkie. Where the hell is
the Senator?" she said.

"He'll really be pissed," Bunkie mumbled.

"Being a Senator doesn't make one immune to being a
suspect in a murder," Cates said.

"True even for a Presidential candidate," Fiona
added.

"Don't be an asshole, Bunkie," Monte said.

"Okay," Bunkie said. "I can see me as a
suspect. Crazy. But I can see it. I don't like it. But I do understand. Really.
I understand." He was being patronizing now, changing tactics. "I'll
answer anything you want."

"Will you?" Fiona chirped. "How noble."

She studied him. He was the quintessential Washington
cliché. The flunky zealot, ambitious to the point of aberration, who had
attached himself to the great man like a Siamese twin. The extent of his
dedication was total. No task was too demeaning. That had been confirmed the
other night. The perpetuation of Sam Langford on his journey to political power
was Bunkie Farrington's reason for living. But would he kill, if he had to?
Yes, she decided.

"How long have you been with the Senator?" Fiona
asked, telling him silently:
Assume the position, pal. Spread 'em wide
.

"Fourteen years. Right out of Yale. When the Senator
was in the House."

"How long did it take you to get this close to
him?" The implication that there was something rancid in the idea of it
was deliberate. Once again he showed his total lack of insight.

"Very quickly," Bunkie said with pride. "We
hit it off instantly. We have a compatibility of political ideals."

Whatever they are, she thought. Fiona, not wanting to deal
with the trite, did not pursue this. Monte had addressed the question with more
honesty and panache on their first date.

"You told me the other night that you had"—she
watched him gathering his concentration—"arranged things for him."

He turned to Monte.

"You had to bring her the other night. You couldn't
leave well-enough alone."

"That's the point, Bunkie. Nothing was well-enough. A
disaster was unfolding. We needed all the help we could get. Now we need her
more than ever."

"To sniff around? Accuse us?"

"You're pushing, Bunkie. They can get real
nasty."

"I'll bet."

She turned to Monte.

"One phone call we can sink this ship," Fiona
sighed. "This jaboni is going to blow it."

"Better listen, schmuck," Monte warned.

"Just want you all to know I'm not going to lay down
just because you're leaning on me." He was obviously hiding behind a
fairly flimsy macho facade. "So what was the question?" Bunkie asked.

"She didn't ask any question," Cates interjected.

"You've done this before?" Fiona asked.

"Now that's a question," Cates said.

"Done what?"

"And that's no answer," Cates shot back.

"Been a pimp, for chrissakes," Fiona said with
irritation.

"I resent that," Bunkie shouted. The sound of his
own voice apparently set off a retreat. After calming himself, he spoke again
in a lower tone. "Hell, he is a magnet for women. He didn't need anyone.
They love him. I just kept him out of trouble."

"Like with Helga Kessel," Cates pressed.

"She got all that the other night," Bunkie said,
shoving a thumbing toward Fiona. His voice was getting shrill again. "And
the Ambassador told her that she took it like a trooper. In fact, it didn't
seem to mean diddly squat to the bitch. Her being murdered had nothing to do
with us. Not with me and not with him." He pointed with his chin in what
was undoubtedly the general direction of the Senator's office.

"After your little Dear-John drink you never saw or
heard from her again?" Fiona asked.

"Why would I?"

"That's not what I asked, Farrington," Fiona
snapped.

"No. I never heard from her again." Arrogance was
becoming surly impatience.

"And the others? Did you hear from them again?"

"What others?"

"That's for us to ask and you to say," Cates
said.

"What the hell do you think I am?" he protested.

"We've established that," Fiona said.

Suddenly he shifted in his chair and turned to Monte,
pointing a finger in his face.

"You talk too fucking much, pal. The Senator's about
had it with you."

She wondered if they had gone too far, jeopardized Monte's
relationship with the Senator. To keep that cool had been her primary objective.
But she could see that the relationship between Monte and Farrington was tense
at the best of times.

"You're overreacting, Bunkie," Monte said calmly,
illustrating to them that he knew how to unload Bunkie's wagons. Nevertheless,
Fiona decided to take a new tack. No sense throwing the baby out with the bath
water.

"Let's get down to the cream cheese, Farrington. We
figure that Helga was strangled sometime during Monday. She was probably buried
during the night, probably that same night..."

He seemed to brighten with optimism.

"Monday." He offered a wry chuckle. "I was
with the Senator the entire day. From eight until nearly midnight."

"Just you and him?" Cates asked.

"Most of the time with a roomful of people." He
looked around him. "In this committee room as a matter of fact. He was
taking testimony on waste disposal. I was with him the whole time, including
lunch. We ate in the Senate dining room."

"And after?" Cates pressed.

"Back at his office. We were with his AA in the office
until nearly nine. Then we went over to The Monocle for dinner and hung there
until midnight." Calmer now, he cut a glance at Monte. "Never stops,
does it, Monte?"

"You're a very dedicated man." Monte harrumphed.

"And then?" Fiona asked, still in pursuit.
"After The Monocle."

"Sleepy-bye. Remember Bonnie at the Pepsi thing? She
was up at her place waiting for a cuddle. Doesn't talk much, that one, but,
boy, is she expressive in other ways." He was gloating now, changing his
tone yet again. He seemed relieved.

"And the Senator?"

"Back to home and hearth. I called him at seven in the
morning. He was there. Nell will back that up. It pisses her off."

"What does?"

"Our ... well, the closeness of our working
relationship."

He was getting to her.

"Jealous of the office wife," Fiona snapped.

"Sorry, I won't be baited. Call it what you want, lady
cop. Fact is I'm clean as a whistle on this."

"We'll be checking it out, Farrington," Cates
said.

"Clean may be too strong a word," Fiona said,
annoyed at his final return to arrogance. He had probably seen her back off.
Yet she was certain that his story would check out, although she had hoped for
more intimidating leverage to cut through the bullshit. Now he would feel more
confident about stonewalling.

"They do have an alibi," Cates said, picking up
the rhythm of her thoughts.

"I'm relieved," Fiona said. "Aren't you
relieved, Monte?"

Monte was confused. His gaze washed over the other three.

"He really had me worried," Fiona said.

"Me, too. I would want nothing to reflect on the
integrity of a dedicated public servant."

"I think Captain Greene would be proud to make that
announcement." She smiled pleasantly. "Chief of Homicide. Loves
publicity."

"What do you mean, 'announcement'?" Bunkie asked,
his brow wrinkling.

"About how clean you and the Senator are," Fiona
said.

"No longer suspected," Cates echoed.

"You're kidding," Bunkie said, struggling to emit
a laugh. "This is a joke, right?" They watched him squirm. "You
know we're not without recourse. Senator Langford is very powerful. I wouldn't
fuck with him if I were you."

"Above all, I wouldn't let you be me," Fiona
said.

"No way," Cates said, meaning himself as well.

They got up from their chairs and started for the door. At
the door, Fiona turned.

"Coming, Monte?"

He got up, totally confused.

"I want to catch Captain Greene in time. Might make
the evening news."

"You're bluffing," Bunkie shouted.

"Put a little pancake on Farrington. He looks a little
peaked for TV."

They went out through the double doors, exchanged glances
then started down the corridor. They heard his footsteps clattering behind
them. They accelerated their pace.

"I'll make a deal," Bunkie said, breathing
heavily. They stopped.

"I'm all ears," Fiona said.

"Give us a break, will you? I've handled this
badly."

Monte, who had followed Bunkie along the corridor, reached
them.

"He's a good man," Bunkie begged. "All
right, he's got this problem with the girls. But this is just a coincidence.
Something outside our orbit. Be fair. That's all we ask." He turned toward
Monte. "Right, Monte? All we want is them to be fair."

"They've agreed to that, Bunkie. That was the
point," Monte said.