Senator Love (16 page)

HE HAD come without a hassle, willingly. Nor did it
surprise him that she had asked him to her house.

"We want to keep this out of channels," she had
assured him on the phone, knowing that he would accept the conspiratorial
nature of the request. That was all the shorthand he needed.

Even when he was introduced to the eggplant, he showed no
signs of irritation.

"We want to keep the Senator out of it, is all,"
the eggplant told him. He had placed himself on the leather wing chair. Fiona
and Cates had taken the two upholstered chairs on the other side of the
cocktail table and they had maneuvered Bunkie to the center of the couch.
Nothing but space on either side of him. He was alone.

He had crossed his legs, showing his red socks with the
polo symbols coming out of his tasseled loafers. To illustrate, or feign, his
lack of concern, he had stretched both arms along the rim of the couch's back,
a casual gesture. He had found a way to keep his smile fixed, although his
wary, feral eyes roamed their faces in an effort to discover what they had in
mind.

She had made a pot of coffee and placed coffee cups and
Oreo cookies in a dish beside them. Only the eggplant and Cates took the
coffee. Bunkie declined.

"Makes me jumpy," he said cheerily, his polka-dot
bow tie dancing on his Adam's apple. He wore a blue striped shirt and a blazer
with gold buttons.

He was, of course, no pushover. Fourteen years in the
political arena surely had honed a great many useful skills. Fiona figured that
hair-trigger alarm bells were set to go off in his mind at the first faint sign
of danger.

"There was no way we could keep our commanding officer
out of this, Bunkie," Fiona explained.

"I understand." Bunkie nodded toward the
eggplant, who waved two ebony fingers in acknowledgment.

"Nothing is cut and dried," Fiona said. "No
question that the woman's jewelry is missing." The Ambassador had, indeed,
taken an inventory and acknowledged that to her in a phone call.

"Seems pretty obvious where the motive lies. She was
always a walking jewelry store."

"Even when she met the Senator at your place?"
Fiona asked.

"Always. I often told her that it was damned dangerous
in this city."

"She wouldn't listen?" Fiona asked.

"Apparently not. It finally killed her."

"You're absolutely certain about that?" the
eggplant asked. It was the opening salvo. Bunkie's guard went up. His smile
stayed but his eyes gave him away. He also had another habit, Fiona observed.
She had not seen it before. He swallowed nervously and the bow tie bobbed on
his Adam's apple.

"Is there any doubt?" Bunkie said, adopting a
slight tone of bemused arrogance. "You've just confirmed that she was
robbed."

"That's the way it looks," the eggplant said
calmly.

"How can you possibly say otherwise?" Bunkie
asked, bow tie bobbing.

"You saw her on the Senator's behalf one day before
she was killed?" the eggplant asked, his voice calmly modulated,
unthreatening.

"That again." He turned toward Fiona. "I'm
sure you've filled the Captain in on that."

"Such an assignment was part of your job?" the
eggplant asked, his tone unchanged.

His eyes speeded up their inspection of each face in turn.
In his mind, Fiona decided, he had begun to sound retreat, get back into the
castle, lift the drawbridge.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "The political
ramifications are obvious. Senator Langford is about to become a candidate for
President of the United States. I'm not, as Detective FitzGerald knows, trying
to hide anything. Helga Kessel was the Senator's mistress. It was decided that
the affair, which was clandestine, had to be ended. To avoid a scene, I was
designated to make it known to the lady that all was over."

"Forever or for the time being?" the eggplant
asked.

"I offered no time frame. She was quite understanding
of the realities. Her husband, too, is a politician." He uncrossed his
legs, shifted his position, removed one arm from along the back of the couch,
then recrossed his legs in the opposite direction. He was, Fiona observed,
getting antsy. "Why are we going over this ground?"

"Have you ever carried out such an assignment
before?"

"Unfortunately, I have had to," Bunkie said.
"They tell me that years ago the media would have kept those secrets out
of the public eye. There's lots of screwing around in this business. It's
become fair game when you're running for office. Do I have to cite chapter and
verse?" His eyes flitted from face to face. When he got no response, he
continued. "The fact that the woman was murdered, frankly, scared the
living shit out of us." He looked toward Fiona.
No,
she cried
within herself. She could see it coming. He was poised to put a psychic knife
between her shoulder blades. "Thank God for Detective FitzGerald and her
ah ... friendship ... with Monte Pappas, our chief campaign consultant. She led
us through the mine fields."

To his credit, the eggplant kept his eyes fixed on Bunkie's
face. Fiona felt her cheeks grow hot. She knew she had reddened. But she was
thankful that her instincts had opted for confession.

"Mr. Farrington," the eggplant said, tugging at
his ear, his eyes deliberately hooded and seemingly indifferent. "Did you
know a Betty Taylor?" In the clinches, Fiona thought, he was beautiful.

Bunkie's reaction was merely to look at the ceiling as if
the shard of memory was embedded there. It did not strike Fiona as an untoward
or guilty reaction.

"Betty Taylor." His glance roamed the ceiling,
then moved to his hands. "Betty Taylor." He shook his head, bit his
lip.

"Go back say fourteen years. The Senator is a
Representative. He serves on the Judiciary Committee."

"Betty Taylor. Jesus." His face brightened
although his bow tie continued to bob. "A real beauty." He looked
toward the eggplant and his gaze lingered. "It's so damned long ago. I
think I was with Langford no more than six months." He laughed.
"Betty Taylor."

"You and she had one of your little talks."

"Had to. He was planning for the Senate."

He appeared totally without guile, showing amusement.

"And he was married," Fiona added.

"That was unraveling," Bunkie said. "The
downside for him was..." It had obviously occurred to him that he had
better be careful about the racial angle. "Florida is a southern state. In
some parts of the state it wouldn't be taken kindly. The Senator hasn't got a
bone of prejudice in him." He seemed confident, unwavering. "She was
gorgeous, what they call high yellow. She had actually passed as white ...
until we checked." He backtracked, turned his eyes away from the eggplant.
"It wasn't easy for me. It was my first time at this. I hated to do
it."

"You told her it was all over."

"Yes I did."

"And what was her reaction?"

"You're making me go back fourteen years.
Christ." He studied the faces surrounding him. The space on either side of
him must have appeared to expand. Undoubtedly, he was beginning to feel totally
alone and certainly suspicious. When they did not respond, he uncrossed his
legs again and took the other arm from the back of the couch. "I think she
bawled like hell. She was just a kid. He really liked her, treated her very
well. He always treats them well." Suddenly, arrogance surfaced again.
"Hell, they got value received."

"Did she go quietly?" the eggplant asked.
"Like Mrs. Kessel?"

His bow tie bounced on his throat.

"I can't remember. She might have called once or
twice. But the Senator never took the calls. Soon she got the message and was
gone with the wind."

"You never heard about her or saw her again?" the
eggplant asked.

"Never."

The eggplant let silence take over for a while. Fiona and
Cates knew the drill. Force him to break the silence, show his nervousness.

"You think I like doing this? It's the pissant part of
the job. The Senator likes girls. He can't keep his zipper closed. It's a
problem and he's the first to acknowledge it. Maybe he needs some kind of
therapy for it. Problem is how does a politician with Presidential aspirations
get therapy without the world finding out someday? It's another no-no. So we
hang on and hope for the best. It's an addiction, but somehow he manages to
keep things under control around election time. So far he's been lucky ... and
he's had me."

"You've done this often?"

"Not often," Bunkie sighed. "Only when it
gets out of hand."

"He falls for the lady?" the eggplant asked.

"Gets involved. I wouldn't say falls for. Hell,
they're all over him." His eyes met Fiona's. Remembering the Senator's
effect on her, she turned away in embarrassment.

"To keep all of them at bay would require a full-time
staff of dozens. Sometimes he got hooked. Only then did I have to get
involved."

"How many others?" the eggplant asked. "Not
counting Betty Taylor or Helga Kessel." Something had changed in the
calibration of his question. He was starting to push.

"Maybe two," Bunkie said, his comfort level
falling rapidly. "Not bad in fourteen years."

"I don't want maybes," the eggplant thundered.
His manner caught Bunkie by surprise. He blanched.

"I know of two others, okay?" Bunkie said after a
long pause. He was genuinely alarmed, getting testy. His hands began to shake.
"What the hell is going on?"

"What were their names?"

"How can I remember—"

"Remember," the eggplant intoned. The color
drained from Bunkie's face.

"I do remember Harriet Farley. She was on our
publicity staff during the Senator's first campaign. He spent a week with her
in the Bahamas. I had to do that one quick."

"No repercussions?"

"Got a little messy. She got so involved she left her
husband. The Senator was actually single then, but the husband was getting
antsy."

"What does antsy mean?" the eggplant pressed.

"He kept calling. You know how it is. She had this
jiboni that she had married in college. He was a salesman somewhere. Then she
got a taste of the Senator, thought there was more to it and had to be set
straight. It all cooled off pretty soon."

"How so?"

"The husband stopped calling and we never heard from
Harriet again."

"And the other?"

"Judy something," Bunkie said. "She wrote
speeches for us. I can get her last name. She was really bright. Suddenly he
was spending lots of time writing speeches. He had married Nell by then, had
their first kid."

"Same pattern?" the eggplant asked.

"Not really. It was getting hot and heavy. I could see
that the time had come. Then before I could act she came to me. Said good-bye
and upped and left. Just like that."

"How did the Senator react?"

"The thing is," Bunkie said with a smile, "I
told him I had sent her away."

"That satisfied him?" Fiona asked.

"Look at it this way. I spared him the
rejection." He shook his head. "Sounds awful, doesn't it?"

"Did Nell know?" Fiona repeated, cutting a quick
glance at the eggplant, who nodded his approval.

"I would doubt that."

"Why do you think Judy something left so
abruptly?"

"I told you. She was smart as hell. Knew it wouldn't
work, I suppose. Jumped the gun."

Whatever her feelings about him, which were highly
negative, Fiona felt he had been forthcoming, almost too forthcoming. Indeed,
he seemed to go out of his way to leave that impression.

They gave him another treatment of extended silence.
Finally he said:

"I've answered all your questions. I've been a good
boy. Now tell me what the fuck is going on."

"You don't know?" It was Cates who asked. He had
been silent throughout the entire interrogation.

"Haven't got a clue," Bunkie said.

Suddenly, the eggplant took an envelope from the table
beside him and handed it to Bunkie. Fingers fluttering clumsily, he opened the
envelope. He looked at the pictures, his eyes squinting.

"Looks like a skeleton," he said hoarsely.

It was the pictures that had been taken at the site where
Betty Taylor had been buried.

"Betty Taylor, Bunkie," the eggplant said. They
were all watching his face. The color disappeared from it. His lips trembled.

"Betty Taylor?" He could barely say her name.

"Strangled," the eggplant pressed. "Not long
after you gave her the word. Buried in the backyard of an abandoned house. Same
MO as Helga Kessel. What do you make of this, Bunkie?"

"I ... I ... I'm speechless."

"So I see," the eggplant said.

"I can't believe it," Bunkie said, faltering,
gasping for air.

"Have we been leaving something out?" the
eggplant said gently.

"Leaving something out?"

"Still think it's robbery?" Fiona asked.

"I don't know what to think."

"It's over now, Bunkie," the eggplant said
gently. "It'll take some work on our part, but we'll get it right, Bunkie.
Why go through all that pain? It's all over now."

"What the hell is happening here?" Bunkie
exploded. He looked into their deliberately expressionless faces. "You
really believe it. You think that I did this." He waved the pictures in
front of him, then dropped them onto the coffee table.

"Gotta admit," the eggplant said. "It's an
idea with legs."

Bunkie seemed to have collapsed from the inside out. All
the bravado had disappeared and beads of sweat had broken out on his upper lip.

"Sam know this?" he whispered.

"We thought you'd like to be the first," Fiona
said.

"He'll go crazy," Bunkie said. "He'll think
I fucked everything up. All that we've been working for."

"Maybe you tried too hard," the eggplant said.