“He seemed very nice, said he was alone in the United States and wondered if I would meet him for lunch. I remembered back to how I felt in California, and so we met on my next day off. He said he worked for a Colonel Gilbert Morales.”
“That means he worked for a very controversial figure.”
“Yes, I know that now, but I didn’t know it then. I have read about Colonel Morales and the debate that surrounds him. Even though I work for a United States senator, I’ve never followed politics very closely. I don’t know whether Colonel Morales’s cause is the right one or not.”
“I don’t suppose it really matters, in a sense. What did this Miguel do for Colonel Morales?”
“He said he was an administrative assistant to him, that he was helping him return to power. He was very convincing, and during that lunch I did form an opinion of the colonel’s goals. I started believing in them.”
Smith looked at his watch. “Marcia, I’m going to have to get ready for Senator Ewald’s dinner. Did you continue to see Miguel, become friends?”
“Yes. We met a number of times, maybe four, for lunch, dinner, or just a cup of coffee. Then …”
“Then what?”
“Then he said he wanted me to tell him things about Senator Ewald.”
“What sort of things?”
“Things about conversations I might hear the senator having about Colonel Morales, telephone calls, people who met with Senator Ewald about Colonel Morales.”
“He wanted you to spy on Senator Ewald.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. He asked me if I would look through any files Senator Ewald might keep in the house about Colonel Morales. He wanted me to make copies and give them to him.”
“Did you?” Smith asked.
“No, I never gave him files, but I told him things about what went on in the house.”
“Why did you do that to Senator Ewald? He’s always been generous and good to you.”
If Marcia were going to cry during this confession, it was now. Her lower lip trembled. She said, “I did it because Miguel knew everything about me from Hilton, about my whoring, what I did to my husband, the drugs. He threatened to destroy me with the Ewalds. I took that seriously. Can you understand that?”
Smith stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Marcia, I understand it very well. The only important thing now is that you tell me the sort of information you gave Miguel that might have hurt Senator Ewald.”
Her eyes were wet. “I never gave him much. I even lied, told him about things that never happened. I tried very hard not to hurt the senator, but at the same time did what I thought I had to do to protect myself.” She almost smiled. “I became very good at that back in California, on the street.”
Smith stepped back. “Have you been talking to Miguel recently? Has this been an ongoing relationship?”
“No. I mean, yes, we did talk recently. He stopped contacting me about six months ago. I was relieved, and assumed I would never hear from him again. Then he called me on Friday.”
“This past Friday?”
“Yes. He wanted to know whether I knew Senator Ewald’s plans for today.”
“What did he mean, ‘plans’?”
“Whether I had access to an itinerary, knew where the senator would be at every minute.”
“Did you tell him what the senator’s schedule was?”
“No, because I didn’t know.”
“Why do you think he wanted to know that, Marcia?”
“I have no idea. Well, I did think that …”
“You thought he possibly wanted to know those things because he intended to harm Senator Ewald. Is that what you were thinking?”
“Yes.”
“You obviously know what this Miguel looks like.”
“Of course.”
“I’m glad you’re coming to the dinner with us tonight.”
“Mr. Smith, I couldn’t do that. I’m the housekeeper. I …”
“You may become a housekeeper who saves a senator’s life. Do you have any dressy clothes with you?” She was wearing a wrinkled lavender polyester pantsuit.
“Yes, I have a suitcase in the other room. I don’t know if I have nice-enough clothes for a fancy dinner, but …”
Smith said, “Marcia, you are a very beautiful woman. You must know that. Remember it. Whatever you choose to wear will be just fine.”
They arrived downstairs as the last guests from the cocktail party were entering the ballroom for dinner. Leslie Ewald stood at the ballroom door. She saw Smith and his group enter and went to them, stopping directly in front of Janet. She seemed to be struggling with what to say, then did the human thing that needs no words. She wrapped her arms around Janet and said, “I am very glad to see you, Janet. Welcome home.”
“I’m sorry, Leslie,” Janet said. “I’ve been a fool. I’m happy to be here.”
“Come on. The catering staff here is marvelous. They’ve set up the table you asked for, Mac.” She led them into the ballroom.
Their table had obviously been hastily set; the tablecloth and napkins were pink; the rest of the room was in red, white, and blue. “I did the best I could,” Leslie said to Smith after they’d been seated.
“You did fine, Leslie, thank you. We can make do with pink.”
Smith had instructed Marcia Mims to keep her eyes open for Miguel. He whispered it to her again as he excused himself and made his way to the front of the room, where he recognized a Secret Service agent, Robert Jeroldson. “May I speak with you for a moment?” Smith said.
Jeroldson scowled. Smith ignored his expression and said, “I’m Mackensie Smith, legal adviser to Senator Ewald. I have reason to believe that an attempt will be made on his life, either tonight or in the near future.”
“Where did you get that?” Jeroldson asked.
“I really don’t have the time, or the inclination, to explain.” Smith now placed Jeroldson as the agent Ken Ewald didn’t like. He asked, “Who’s in charge of the Secret Service detail here tonight?”
“I am,” said Jeroldson.
“Then listen to me. There is a young Panamanian named Miguel in the vicinity, probably in the hotel. My information is that he might be here to attempt an assassination of the senator. I haven’t told Senator Ewald about this, nor do I intend to until the dinner is over.” Smith pointed across the room to his table. “The black woman with me knows what Miguel looks like, and she’s keeping her eyes peeled for him. I suggest you and your men stick especially close to the senator and his family until they’re safely out of here. At that time, I’ll get together with you and make a fuller report.”
Smith didn’t know whether Jeroldson resented being told what to do by someone outside his service or was simply a surly, unresponsive individual. Either way, Smith now shared Ewald’s dislike for him. “Well?” Smith said.
“I’ll discuss it with my superiors.”
“I thought you were in charge.”
“I have to call them. Excuse me.” Jeroldson walked away from Smith and left the ballroom.
Dessert was served, and when it had been consumed the evening’s MC stepped to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a very warm reception to the next president of the United States, Senator Kenneth Ewald.”
The room erupted into an ovation as Ewald came to the microphone. He held his hands high until the guests, most of whom were now standing, resumed their seats and quieted down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you apparently think I’m okay, but you are wonderful!”
The applause started all over again, and most people jumped to their feet. Funny, Smith thought, how a simple declaration could trigger a reaction in a crowd. Politics. Strange game.
After the guests were again seated, Ewald began to speak spiritedly of his unbridled optimism for America, of the value of restraint in foreign affairs. He was well into it when Smith, whose back was to the main door to the ballroom, sensed that som
eone had entered. He turned and saw Jody Backus. Smith quietly left the table and went to where Backus was standing. “Senator Backus, Mac Smith,” Smith whispered.
Backus acknowledged Smith’s greeting but did not take his eyes off Ewald at the podium. The smell of liquor was heavy on his breath, but he wasn’t drunk. Intense was more like it.
Why was he here? Smith wondered. What would bring Ewald’s leading opponent to a fund-raiser? Smith slipped his hand in the crook of Backus’s elbow and led him to the darkness against the rear wall. “What a surprise to see you, Senator. What brings you here?”
“Conscience.”
“Conscience about what?” Smith asked in a whisper.
“About your friend up there, Mr. Ewald. I came up with some information—it doesn’t matter where I got it—that says to me that your friend might get himself killed. Lots a’ people don’t like him much, includin’ me. The difference between them and me is that I believe in the system.”
“We’ve been alerted to a possible threat on Ken’s life tonight,” Smith said. “I’ve primed the Secret Service, and I intend to tell Ken the minute his speech is over.”
“That’s good, Mac. You tell your friend up there to watch his ass. You know, I’ve played lots a’ political games in my life, and nobody’s ever been better at it. I’ve made lots of deals, sold out to lots of people because I believed the result was good for America. But every man has his limit, and I reached mine today. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Mr. Ewald is goin’ to be the next president of these United States. I don’t like that idea much, and I’ve made no bones about it, but if he’s the one the party and the people want, then I’ll work my fat ol’ Georgia butt off to help him, hear?”
“Yes, Senator, I hear,” Smith said. “Please, join us at that table over there.”
Smith took a chair that was against the wall and brought it to the table for Backus. Everyone at the table recognized him, but no one said anything. They were all tuned in to what Ken Ewald was saying at the front of the room.
When Ewald’s speech ended, on a rare quiet note, and the room had again applauded at length, Smith said into Backus’s ear, “Please, don’t leave, Senator. I’ll be right back.” He skirted tables until reaching the dais where Ken and Leslie sat. Smith motioned for Ken to lean forward. “Ken, Jody Backus is sitting with me.”
“What is he doing here?”
“I won’t go into it now, but I believe, and so does he, that someone is about to make an attempt on your life tonight.”
Ewald’s face turned ashen.
“Ken,” Smith continued, “I don’t know what your plans are for the rest of the evening, but change them immediately. Take another route, leave this dinner early, and get to somewhere safe. I’ve told the Secret Service about it.”
“Who?”
“All that later, when you and the family are safe; By the way, Janet is with me.”
“Christ, is she involved with …?”
“Ken, Janet is back because she wants to be. I’ll see you later. Come to our suite upstairs, room 1117.” He repeated it.
The band began a two-beat medley for dancing. Ewald, his face expressing his mixed emotions, turned and deftly handled the swarm of well-wishers flocking around the dais, each anxious to press important flesh.
Smith returned to his table. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening, Senator?”
“To tell Ken Ewald I think he’ll make a fine president.”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that, especially from you, but how about delivering that message up in our suite? I want him out of here as fast as possible. We can all go up together. I’ve told Ken about the possibility of an attempt on his life, and he’s trying to wrap this up faster than usual.”
“You know somethin’, Mac Smith, Kenny-boy is right. You’d make a hell of an attorney general, maybe even chief of staff in his White House.”
Smith’s proclamation that he was committed to returning to teaching law was on the tip of his tongue, but he decided it was the wrong time and place to make it. He smiled, said, “We’ll all be leaving in a minute.”
“You say the Secret Service has been alerted?” Backus asked.
“Yes.” Smith saw Jeroldson standing with a colleague and pointed to him. “He’s in charge,” Smith said to Backus.
“That don’t necessarily mean anything, Mac.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s … well, not to be trusted.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just believe me. We goin’?”
“Yes.”
Smith told Tony Buffolino to stay as close as possible to Ewald, and to keep his eye on Marcia. If she showed any sign of recognition, he was to act.
“My piece is upstairs,” Buffolino said.
“Then you’ll have to do without it. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Smith took Janet’s arm, and with the others from the table, including Jody Backus, melded into the flow of people surrounding Ken and Leslie Ewald, moved them through the large doors, crossed the room in which the cocktail party had been held, and entered the lobby. A large crowd was waiting. The sight of Ewald, who stood taller than most of those surrounding him, triggered applause. Smith glanced at Ewald; he was doing his best to smile, but there was unmistakable concern on his face. A wedge of Secret Service agents led the way, and slowly, gently but firmly, parted the crowd.
They were halfway across the lobby when Marcia Mims stiffened. “There he is, over there,” she said.
Smith stood on his toes and looked in the direction she was pointing. It was the same slim young man he’d noticed waiting for an elevator and lingering in the hallway upstairs. Of course.
Tony Buffolino saw what was going on and asked Smith, “Who’s that?”
“I think it’s our man.”
Buffolino moved quickly, his cane leading the way. “Excuse me, sorry,” he said, pushing people aside. “Come on, come on,” he said to those impeding his progress. “Move, Tony, move,” he heard Smith say from behind.
Buffolino was no more than twenty feet from Miguel when he saw the slender Panamanian remove his hand from his jacket, the modular Pachmayr Colt in it. Tony glanced back, saw Ken and Leslie Ewald moving quickly as the agents opened up a straight path for them to the elevators—and directly toward Miguel.
“Hey, dirtbag!” Tony yelled as loud as he could. He shoved a matronly woman to the floor, pushed two men aside, and flung himself at Miguel, knocking up the arm with the weapon. A shot shattered dozens of small pieces of crystal dangling from a chandelier. Tony rammed the tip of his cane into Miguel’s midsection. The Panamanian doubled over, and the revolver discharged again, this bullet kicking back up off the marble floor and passing through an agent’s shoulder.
With his cane in both hands, Buffolino brought it down sharply across the back of Miguel’s neck. He crumpled to the floor, and Tony held him there. The revolver had slid away, stopping at the feet of a hysterical woman. Secret Service agents and uniformed security guards stood over Tony as he pinned Miguel to the ground. Tony looked up. “How ’bout this guy? This guy wasn’t goin’ to vote for the next president of the United States.”
37
The atmosphere in the suite was charged with confusion and horror.
“Who was he?” Ewald asked Smith.
“His name is Miguel, Ken, and he works for Colonel Gilbert Morales.”
Ewald looked at Smith. “Morales put a hit out on me?”
“It looks that way. He must have taken your speeches seriously, about trying to avoid returning tyrants to power. Even ‘our’ tyrants. We can thank Marcia for recognizing Miguel.”
Ewald looked across the room to where Marcia stood with Leslie, Janet, and Tony Buffolino. He then spotted Jody Backus standing alone in the opposite corner, glass in hand. Ewald said to Smith, “I need some quick explaining, Mac. Let’s go into the other ro
om.”
They started to make their way through a cluster of people when Ed Farmer stopped them, locked eyes with Smith, and said, “I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” said Smith.
“What’s going on?” Ewald asked.
“Ed and I will talk first, Ken,” Smith said. “I don’t think we’ll be long.”
Smith and Farmer entered the empty bedroom, and Smith closed the door. “I think I know what you want to say, Ed.”
“Yes, I suppose you do, Mac. Interesting cast you assembled tonight. I can see we have the missing neurotic daughter-in-law with us, and the faithful minority housekeeper. They must be filling you with tantalizing stories.”
“Tantalizing? That’s tabloid talk. I prefer to think of what they’ve told me as useful, illuminating.”
Farmer smiled. “Mac, obviously I’m going to need your help.”
“For what?”
“To defend me, of course.”
Smith looked steadily at the man. “For the murder of Andrea Feldman.”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘murder.’ To me, murder is an act that accomplishes nothing more than the death of an individual. I did not murder Andrea Feldman.”
“I’ve never been a fan of semantic games, but go ahead, Farmer, use your definition. You did kill her.”
“Yes, but it certainly wasn’t premeditated.”
“You took Ken’s gun with you when you went to meet her.”
“Only because it was handy.”
“Why take a gun at all if you didn’t intend to use it?”
“For emphasis.” He smiled again, which rankled Smith. “Andrea was bright enough, but sometimes didn’t get the point. Do you know what I mean? She’d latch onto a way of thinking about something, and nothing, not even the most reasoned argument, could get her to see it differently.”
“And she didn’t see things your way when you met her outside the Kennedy Center.”
“Exactly.” The expression on Farmer’s face seemed to indicate that he thought Smith not only understood what he was saying, but was sympathetic to it.
Murder at the Kennedy Center Page 32
