Carter said, "So, when you moved in with him, you got him into shape." It was a statement. Not a question. And it was effective. Tom looked startled.
"Sure."
"Sure?" Carter asked quietly. He began to move the foot that was in the air around a bit, like he was stretching it.
Tom looked at it again. "Sure. His house was a mess. He had no order in his life. We need order."
That rang a bell. Montgomery had said something similar last night.
Carter laughed and looked at me. "I let Nick have a length of rope before I reel him in."
Tom looked at me. "But..."
Carter uncrossed his legs and leaned in across the table. "But what, boy?"
"But isn't..." He looked at me. "Aren't you..." I looked at him stonily. It wasn't hard.
"What's in writin', boy, and what's in hand are two different things. Doncha think so?"
Tom looked over at Carter with a look of respect and awe on his face. "So, you just..." He swallowed hard.
"Just what?"
"You just took over?"
"In a manner of speakin'," Carter said. "Not that it's any bidness of yours, boy. Doncha think you know better than to ask a question like that?" Carter snapped his fingers at me. I looked up, wondering what this new game was.
"When I snap, I want a Camel, boy." He glanced over at Andy.
I stood up. "I'm out."
"Then you better hustle and get more, right?" The more Carter talked, the deeper and more southern his voice got.
I nodded and walked towards Andy's table. I motioned in front of myself to indicate he should follow me.
The news stand was out in the main lobby of the hotel. I walked up and said, "Pack of Camels. Unfiltered."
I heard Andy say, "What is all that about?"
Without turning around, I said, "More of what happened on Monday night."
He whistled softly.
The man behind the counter handed me a pack and I paid him, leaving the change.
As we walked away I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Wanted to let you know that I heard that McCarthy is no longer looking into the Presidio."
"Great. You could have called. Weren't you supposed to be on a plane last night?" I looked at him closely.
"Yeah. But I decided to leave this afternoon. I don't really like overnight flights. I also wanted to talk to you alone before I go back to L.A."
I waited.
"I just wanted to say thanks, Nick. I don't know what you said to Carter--"
"Nothing."
He smiled at me. "Well, whatever it was, it was a miracle."
I smiled back and nodded in agreement. "Anything else?"
"After I had time to think about everything, I realized I never told you thanks. That's it."
I put my hand on his arm. "You're welcome." As I said this, I was facing the front door of the hotel. Right at that moment, I saw Runson walking through the lobby. I said to Andy, "Time for you to meet someone."
"Who?"
"Lieutenant Dawson Runson. Metropolitan Police."
He turned and whistled under his breath. Runson was walking towards us with a grin on his face.
"I like him. A lot. Just my type."
"Really?"
"Yes. I swore off the tall ones after one of 'em kicked my ass. I think you know the story."
I laughed as Runson walked up. "What's so funny?"
"Just liking how things are working out."
We shook hands. I said, "Lieutenant Runson, this is Agent Beauregard Anderson of the F.B.I."
Runson's grin broadened as they shook hands. "Beauregard?"
"Andy, if you don't mind."
"I'm Dawson."
I watched the sparks ignite between them. I waited for about ten seconds as they stood there, scoping each other out.
"What's new, Runson?" I finally asked.
He looked at me, confused for a moment. Then his face cleared. "Oh, yeah. I wanted to see if you'd heard from Montgomery yet."
I nodded. "He wants to 'borrow' me. Carter refused him again. He said the guy sounded desperate. I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up here."
Runson nodded. "Third time should do the trick."
I was still looking at the door and saw Montgomery walk in. "Jesus."
"What?" asked Runson.
"He just walked in." I thought fast. "You two are a couple. We're talking about last night. Tom Jefferson is in the restaurant where Carter is playing daddy. Got it?"
They both nodded. Montgomery spotted us and walked over.
"Hello, Mr. Williams."
I looked up at his grimacing grin. I tried not to shudder. "Hello."
"Who are your friends?"
Even though Runson was the shortest of us all, he was so broad that he could easily carry off a swagger. He looked Montgomery up and down. "Barker. Who the hell are you?" His voice was deeper and more aggressive than normal.
Montgomery got a pained look on his face and said, "Ronald Montgomery."
"Uh, huh. And does Mr. Jones know that you're talking to his sub?"
Montgomery looked impressed for a moment. "We've met already. So, permission is implied."
Runson said, "Implied, huh?" He shook his head. "No. Ain't good enough for me. No one, and I mean no one, goes near my Beau unless I've said so." He briefly put his hand on Andy's neck possessively. Andy kept his face neutral like he was so good at doing. "You keep that in mind, Montgomery."
The tall man nodded. His face took on the same pious and quiet shape that it had last night when Carter had begun to take over the conversation.
I asked compliantly, "Mr. Barker?"
"What?"
"Mr. Jones is in the restaurant with Mr. Jefferson."
Montgomery couldn't restrain himself. He asked, "Jefferson is here?" He sounded very put out by this news.
"Yeah," replied Runson. He pushed Andy's arm. "Let's go."
The two of them walked off in that direction. I waited for Montgomery who nodded at me approvingly. For a brief second his hand was on my shoulder but I sped up and he didn't pursue the gesture.
We came into the restaurant to see Tom standing, shaking hands with Runson and Andy as Carter tried very hard to look annoyed. He was splayed out in his chair, looking like the king of the castle. He saw me, however, and was up in a flash.
As Montgomery and I got closer, Carter whispered to me, loud enough for Montgomery to hear, "Sit down, dammit."
I quickly took my seat. Runson was getting a couple of chairs from a nearby empty table. Montgomery got his own.
In a moment, this bizarre table was set up. Carter and Runson were definitely in charge. I knew that Runson was going to position Montgomery the way we'd discussed the night before. Runson was trying to get him into a more compliant role. He'd started that in the lobby. But it was Carter who finished the job.
Carter snapped his fingers at me. I took my new pack of Camels out of my pocket, unwrapped it, tapped out a cigarette, and handed it to Carter. He put it in his mouth. Andy and Tom both came up with lighters. Carter didn't lean forward. He looked over at Montgomery, who had that same pious look on his face. After a couple of beats, he took out his own lighter and offered it to Carter, who put his hand aggressively around the other man's as he leaned in to light his cigarette.
Now, none of this would have looked odd to a casual observer. Carter was playing the rude, loud southerner to perfection. From the stories he'd told me, he had quite a cast of characters to draw on for inspiration. When we'd seen the movie Flamingo Road, which was all about corruption in a small town, he'd told me he was sure the screenwriter must have been from Georgia, because Sydney Greenstreet played the perfect corrupt southern sheriff.
Chapter 23
The Willard Hotel
Thursday, June 3, 1953
Mid-morning
Montgomery was staring at Carter. Tom was looking down at his coffee. Our waiter came by and took orders for more drinks.
No one spoke for several minutes. I thought Andy and I did a pretty convincing job of being compliant. Carter sat at the head of the table. He really needed a cigar but he pulled off his role as king of the castle damn well with a cigarette.
Finally, he looked over at Montgomery with a snide smile. "I suppose you're here to bother me about Nick. The answer is no." He snapped his fingers at me as he came to the end of that cigarette and stubbed it out.
I pulled my Camels out and tipped another one. I handed it to Carter who smiled at me. He looked around the table and then nodded at Tom, who took out his lighter. Carter pushed across the table, right in front of Montgomery, who was openly jealous, and held Tom's hand as he lit his cigarette.
Carter looked around the table again and settled on Runson. "Your boy is looking good these days." It suddenly hit me what a strange twist this was. Carter was in charge with Andy at the table. I wondered what this was doing to him on the inside.
Runson turned to Andy. "He's a work in progress, if you know what I mean." Carter smiled and pointed at me. "I think I have this one in line. Might be room for one more. You ever?"
Runson picked that up smartly. "Sure. Once." He looked appraisingly at Tom who was sitting up straight and trying to look available. "This one?"
Carter shrugged. He took another puff. Then, almost savagely, he stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. He stretched his arms as though he was in his own house. "Well, boys. We have to get home." He stood. As he did he motioned at me. I stood up as well.
Runson looked momentarily confused. "Home?" he asked, his voice not quite as aggressive as before.
Carter nodded. "Sure. You know. Like I told you. I don't like being away from the house too long." He cracked his knuckles. "We have so many things to manage there, don't we, boy?" He looked at me. I nodded. I was lost. I knew I wasn't the only one.
Montgomery stood up. "But, surely you aren't going all the way back to San Francisco today?"
Carter nodded. "Sure are."
Tom stood up. "But..."
I looked at Tom sharply. "But what, Tom?"
He looked at me and then down. "Nothing."
Carter pulled Runson to him, like they were old war buddies. "You come upstairs. Bring the boy. I'll show you that thing I was tellin' you about." They were walking towards the elevator. I looked over at Montgomery, who had an expression of regret mixed with anger. He looked at me for a moment and then said, "Don't leave him waiting." He turned, without another word, and stormed off.
I heard Carter snap his fingers. I turned to Tom and said, "I'll call you at the office, Tom. You better get to work." I looked at my watch. It was 9:30. "Don't want to keep the senator waiting." He nodded and walked away, looking very dejected.
Andy and I stood there for a moment. I wanted to make sure they were both gone before we left. After Tom left the restaurant, I turned around and said, "Let's go."
Andy, who was obviously bewildered, said, "Sure."
. . .
After we got into the suite, I said, "I'm gonna call down and get a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and four glasses." I glanced at Runson and Andy and said, "I don't care what time it is and who's on duty right now. We all need a drink after that."
I picked up the phone, placed the order, and put it back. As I did so, I saw Carter looking at me meaningfully. He said, "I don't like those mental games."
I nodded.
Runson said, "But damn, Carter, you're so good at it."
"I had to stop. Once I had half of that second cigarette, I was ready to puke."
"That was a great move, by the way."
Andy asked, "All of that was a performance?"
I looked at Runson. "Most of it."
Runson pointed his finger at me and said, "Pow. You got me."
I shrugged. "We all have our thing. Mine is a certain sweet-talking tall southern man." I turned to Carter, who said, "Mine is a certain private dick with a heart of gold."
I turned to Andy who was looking nervous. "Well?" I asked.
He swallowed. "Mine is short tough guys who look like they're about to bust out of their clothes." He was looking right at Runson when he said that. Runson turned beet red, pulled at his shirt collar, and said, "But, I'm such a mean S.O.B. sometimes. Not all of that was playacting." He paused and said, softly, "Andy."
I said, "And he's really abrupt on the phone. You gotta watch out for that."
Carter added, "And he's a little cynical."
Andy smiled and said, "Nobody's perfect."
Right then, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and let the waiter bring in the booze. We were gonna need it.
. . .
Runson took a sip of whiskey. "Why did you stop, Carter?"
"Because I was about to be sick. I knew if I stood up, it would pass. That gag about leaving town was the only thing I could think to say."
Andy said, "You had that tall one on a hook. He'll do anything you want."
I nodded in agreement. "So, Runson, who do you make now for the murder?"
He looked at me thoughtfully. "I'm thinking Montgomery now but it really could be any of them. We don't have any more hard evidence than we did last night."
As I took a sip of whiskey, I asked, "Has Montgomery been interviewed by anyone?"
Runson laughed cynically. "Hell, no. He's gotten the white glove treatment. My captain took care of that. Gave him a courtesy call this morning. That's why I came by."
"Did he have an alibi?"
"Who knows? All my captain said was that we could cross him off the list. I'm being frozen out."
Andy took note of that. He asked, "Why?"
Dawson smiled at Andy. More fireworks. After a moment he said, "Seems like there's gonna be stings set up in Rock Creek Park. It's a notorious spot for that kind of activity, no doubt. But I don't want any part of that kind of thing. Captain knows that. He wants me to quit."
Andy asked, "Do you want to quit, Lieutenant?"
"Dawson."
Andy nodded. "Dawson."
More fireworks. Carter winked at me over the rim of his glass. I smiled.
"I don't know."
"I'm heading to L.A. in a few hours to resign from the Bureau."
Dawson whistled. "How's that?"
"I'm being frozen out, too. Was just a matter of time."
Dawson nodded. They sat there for a moment. It was a beautiful thing to watch.
Finally Dawson said, "Well, boys, I told you it was gonna be fun working on this case together, didn't I?" Carter and I both laughed.
I said, "We have three viable suspects and no hard evidence. What are we gonna do?
Runson looked surprised. "We? I thought you and Carter were going back to San Francisco today?"
I shrugged. "Maybe." I turned to Carter. "Well?"
"I wanted to get home last week, so another day or so isn't gonna kill me."
I turned back to Runson. "So, what are we gonna do?"
He leaned in and said, "Well, it's like this, boys."
Chapter 24
137 Hartford Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Friday, June 4, 1953
Half past 11 in the morning
Late Friday morning, I woke up and looked around the room. The clock said 11:30. I'd had about five hours of sleep. We'd taken the overnight flight from Washington and arrived home around 6.
"Good morning."
I turned and looked at Carter. His sandy blonde hair was pointing all over the place. He looked very handsome in a bedraggled sort of way.
"Good morning. Happy to be home?"
He stretched out his arms, turned, and pulled me into them. "You bet, son."
We stayed that way until Marnie called up from downstairs saying, "Breakfast!"
. . .
Some time later, we were up, dressed, and downstairs eating a feast of a breakfast for lunch. Mrs. Wilson, Marnie's mother, had been cooking. We had flapjacks, link sausages, fried eggs, corn mush, and toast with red plum jam.
Mrs. Wilson looked at Carter as she spooned some jam on her toast. "Your mother makes this?"
Carter said, "Yes, ma'am."
"She's a proud woman, I suppose."
I stepped in. "You could say that."
"Well, you give me her phone number and I'll call and talk some sense into her. A woman who can make jam like this ought to know better."
Marnie, Carter, and I all started talking at once. Mrs. Wilson waved us off. "Fine. Don't give me her phone number. I know how to call information in Albany, Georgia, Carter Jones. You just wait. Once she's heard from me, there's gonna be a change."
I just sat there. It was like being flattened by a steam roller. My turn came next.
She took a delicate bite of the toast and shook her head. "This is really tasty." She had a sip of coffee and then looked at me. "As for you, Nick. You're coming with me to mah jong this afternoon at Mrs. Benedetto's over on Collingwood."
Carter gasped aloud. Marnie said, "Mother. You know that would make Nick uncomfortable. What's he gonna do with a bunch of hens?"
Mrs. Wilson dismissed that outright. "Nonsense." She looked at me over her glasses and said, "Your trouble is you're letting the press tell people who you are. George Hearst is out to crucify you and what do you do? Run off to Mexico. Buy a boat. Then go to Washington. I swear! I don't know what you're thinking!"
I just sat there. I looked over at Carter who was eating his toast and smiling. "What?"
"Look who's on the hot seat now."
I said, "Mrs. Wilson, did you tell Mrs. Benedetto that I was coming?"
"Tell her? Of course, I told her. Then she got on the phone and started clacking away in that Eye-talian and, before I knew it, there was eight for tea, not including you and me."
Marnie looked at me, "Sorry, Nick. You know how Mother is."
Carter said, "Might be a good thing. We've kept to ourselves all these years. Might be good to go out and meet the neighbors."
Mrs. Wilson looked at Carter for a moment. "You're right at that, Carter. I'll press that light gray suit of yours. Don't you think the sapphire tie goes best with it?"
I picked up my toast, bit off a big piece, and smiled at my husband.
. . .
We were dressed to the nines, all four of us. Marnie said she was coming, no matter what. Mrs. Wilson said something about how we might be one too many. Marnie ignored that. I was beginning to see how to handle Mrs. Wilson.
The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3) Page 16
