"Did you tell him about the call from Mrs. Langford?"
"I didn't want to. But, for Sam's sake, I thought it wise."
"Did you ever call Mrs. Langford and ask her how she found out?" Cates asked.
"No, I didn't."
"Who do you think told her?"
"God knows. The fact was that our affair was so blatant that anyone with malicious intent might have done it."
"Are you sure it was Mrs. Langford who called?" Fiona asked.
Judy Peters' eyes opened wide.
"No, I wasn't." She paused, bit her lip. "Maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Brought me to my senses. It was time to go. I wasn't a damned fool. I had a great time. He was the best …" Her voice trailed off but her smile remained.
"Did Mrs. Langford, the voice on the phone, imply any dire consequences if you kept up the affair?" Fiona asked cautiously.
"Dire consequences?"
"Like cut it out … or else." Cates said.
"Or else? Sounds ominous." She thought about it for a moment. "No, she didn't. That would have ticked me off. Made me stick with it. The fact is I knew I couldn't compete with her, not in the real world."
"The real world?" Fiona pressed.
"The lady was loaded. Family in real estate, oil, precious metals. All those goodies. She was right out of central casting. Perfect mate for an ambitious young Senator. No contest." She lowered her eyes, reflected a moment, then said: "I went on into the sunset like a good little girl. Went off to Europe actually … the very next day."
"Is that what Farrington suggested?"
"I wouldn't listen to that prick. Fact is I understood why I had to go, even as a kind of plaything. Sam had little choice. A very rich and very pregnant wife. His political career. You know what it means. You have to pretend to be someone you're not. The great unwashed wants you to be a saint. What could I do? I was up there on the Hill. I knew the score."
"Do you think Sam, while you and he … do you believe he was unfaithful to you?" Fiona asked. It was, she was certain, a question that only a woman might ask another woman and get the correct answer. Judy Peters looked past her into the mirror that was behind the couch, studying herself. After a while, she said, "I don't think so. Maybe, but I don't think so."
She did not elaborate. It was an answer with many layers of meaning. Sam was, after all, unfaithful by virtue of his marriage. An old story, Fiona knew. A mistress rarely counted the wife as "the other woman." Judy Peters' revelation, Fiona noted, stopped at that point. What she
held back was hers — deeply personal and hers alone. In that moment, Fiona could tell that this was more than a lady who had just wanted to put a scalp of a powerful man on her belt. Despite her telling it now, there had been more to it. She had been, Fiona was certain, deeply hurt. She had loved the man.
"And that was that?" Fiona asked.
"Best thing that ever happened. Going cold turkey." She snapped her fingers. "Stayed in France for a year. Went to the Cordon Bleu cooking school in Gay Paree. As you can see" — her hand swept the room — "it changed my life."
"Have you seen him since you've been back?" Fiona asked.
"Sam?" She smiled and her gaze seemed to turn inward. "From a distance sometimes. Once we exchanged a look or two … as the song says … across a crowded room. Oh yes. My heart still goes pitter-patter." She snapped back to reality. "I wouldn't want to see Sam hurt in any way. That's why I'm tel ling you this. Politics is a sick business. Lots of people standing around ready to take potshots, especially now that he's moving up."
"Did it occur to you that it might have been someone other than Mrs. Langford who had called?" Fiona asked gently.
She grew silent, turning over a private thought. "That would be a laugh. Someone put up to do that. Never know with these bastards. I wouldn't put it past Bunkie Farrington." Fiona ted that she hadn't accused the Senator of such conduct.
"Or some scorned woman?" Fiona asked.
"Could be. Every woman that ever got caught in his aura might be suspect then." Her eyes locked into Fiona's. "Sounds incredible, doesn't it?" Her nostrils quivered as she drew in a deep breath. "You have no idea about this man's attraction."
_Oh, yes I do,_ Fiona thought. _Oh, yes I do._ ———— *19* IT NEVER failed to amaze Fiona how an important case mobilized her inner resources as well as that of those around her, especially the eggplant. Professionalism took precedence to pettiness. Even the masses of hidden agendas that gnawed at the eggplant's innards like maggots were repressed. Even his paranoia subsided and he no longer feared that he would not be fully "apprahzed" as the investigation progressed. Everything was put at the service of "the case."
They were, at this moment, plugged into a single wavelength. There was also tacit agreement between them that they would protect the Senator as long as it was feasible, meaning as long as it did not impinge upon the investigation or bend police ethics beyond what was acceptable, legal or promotion-friendly.
There was, however, one point about which all were in agreement. At the next interview with the Senator the eggplant would have to be present. The agreement might be subject to misinterpretation on the grounds of appeasing the eggplant's hidden agenda for collecting future chits, which it certainly did, but more important was the fact that the matter was now too nationally sensitive to be pursued without the top rung of the police establishment represented. The eggplant, whatever his strengths and weaknesses, was able to short-circuit the Commissioner. He was plugged directly into his own power source, the Mayor, who, in turn, had his own constituency and favor bank among the political elite. As public servants, Fiona knew, they were vulnerable without some political protection.
Bunkie Farrington was still suspect number one, despite his protestations. But beyond gut instinct there was nothing to validate him as the perpetrator.
They had, Fiona knew, individual murder scenarios spinning in their minds, but it was too early for them to trade revelations. All agreed that the connection between the murders of Betty Taylor and Helga Kessel was inescapable, although a serial pattern had not totally emerged.
Another body killed and disposed of in the same manner would quickly have confirmed the theory. That had not yet occurred.
The next morning the _Post_ carried a follow-up story on the Kessel murder, quoting the eggplant as saying that "the police were still pursuing the robbery theory," which cut both ways and carefully signaled to the Senator and the Ambassador that they were not yet off the hook.
But the first surprise of the day was a call from Bunkie Farrington, who requested that they meet him at his townhouse "as soon as possible." Fiona and Cates were there within an hour.
They followed him into his kitchen, a jungle of unwashed dishes and general chaos. He appeared in the same physical state as the kitchen. His eyes were puffy, his skin pasty, his hair matted. A sour effluvium rose from his body. He poured oily coffee, which literally tasted fried, into chipped mugs.
He also appeared to have suddenly, as of a few hours ago, taken up smoking, which periodically sent him doubling-up into coughing fits.
"You people are making me a nervous wreck," he said.
He indicated that they should sit down at the table. They reluctantly accepted the invitation.
"Sorry for the mess." Bunkie said.
He shook his head and lit another cigarette, managing to get through a puff without coughing.
"Damndest thing," he said. They waited through a long pause. He squinted into the smoke, then looked up at them. "I found out what happened to Harriet Farley."
Fiona and Cates exchanged glances. They had planned, of course, to check it out themlves.
"Saves us the trouble," Cates said.
"Dead," he said flatly. "Killed in an automobile accident. I called Herb Frank in Florida. He had hired Harriet for the first Senatorial campaign. She was a beauty, six foot tall, one of those athletic, perfectly proportioned amazons. Sam went nuts for her. Right in the middle of the campaign. Three ye
ars ago. She had to go. Our opponent was gathering dirt and there she was, bigger than life, a perfect target. It didn't take a genius to see that Sam had reserved that for himself. And she was getting real hooked."
"So you gave her your best Dear-John," Fiona said.
"You make it sound like it's a crime. I did the best I could. Gave her a month's severance." He shook his head. "You may not believe this, but I felt real bad about Harriet. I really liked her, big blue-eyed baby."
"Boss got first dibs," Fiona said with a sneer.
Bunkie shrugged, but his silence told her she had hit a raw nerve.
"She was killed on a secondary road in the Middleburg area."
"Was she drunk?"
"No evidence. I got the report from the Loudon County Police. She was into horses, rode with the Hunts in Middleburg when she got a chance. Anyway, this was one of those winding country roads."
"When was it?"
"Did you have to ask? Three days after I spoke to her. Not a word in the Washington papers. Happened in broad daylight, too. Bang into a tree. Police could find no reason for it. She wasn't drunk, wasn't drugged. No sign of foul play. They simply shipped the body back to Oklahoma, where she was from. We never know how the end comes. Damned shame. She was something."
"We'll check it, you know," Cates said.
"I hope so." He punched out a half-smoked cigarette, then lighted another with a match, and puffed in a drag. He blew it out without inhaling.
Fiona studied him. In this business nothing was ever as it seemed. Could the killer have deliberately thrown them off the scent? Serial killers were crafty devils who, for the most part, understood their
aberration. It was Bunkie, after all, who had identified Harriet and Judy. They could have been merely two among many, two whose history belied the serial pattern. This did not rule out others who became entangled in the Senator's amorous escapades. A twinge of curiosity invaded her. Involuntary sexual images surfaced in her mind. With an admonishment to herself, she brushed them away and came back to Bunkie.
Indeed, if one were to carry suspicion to the outer limits, she reasoned that Bunkie could be covering for the Senator himself. It was the kind of thought one filed away for future reference.
"By my count," Fiona said, "you administered three Dear-Johns." She didn't count Judy Peters.
"All dead ladies," Cates snapped.
"Christ. Sounds awful," Bunkie muttered. "Remember, though, Harriet had an accident."
"Maybe," Cates said.
"Come on, guys. That's a big leap of faith," Bunkie countered. "And Judy Peters gave Sam the boot."
"You would have gotten around to her, Farrington," Fiona said.
"I guess so," Bunkie mumbled.
"Were there any others?" Cates pushed.
He took the question with resignation.
"That again?" he sighed.
"And again," Fiona said.
"I'm not counting the transients," Bunkie said. "You'd need a computer. I've only considered serious threats to his career."
"Just four?" Fiona asked.
"I don't have eyes in back of my head." He lit another cigarette, inhaled, hacked then said, "He's a bull loose in a cow pasture. What can I say?"
"Ever recommend a psychiatrist?" Fiona asked.
"In this business?" he shot back.
Cates looked at her, not understanding.
"It's a public antishrink prejudice," Fiona explained. "Shows a politician's clay feet."
"You've got to admit, Farrington," Cates said, "the evidence is compelling. They get serious, then they die. Except for Judy Peters."
"It wasn't me," Bunkie said"And certainly not Sam. He may be a terror in the sack, but at heart he's a pussycat."
"Okay then. We're open to suggestions," Fiona said.
"I haven't any. It's too weird," Bunkie said. "I can't figure it out. Why?"
"Easy enough for us," Fiona said. "Had to be someone who had a great deal to lose, personally or careerwise, by these continuing affairs." She suddenly remembered Judy Peters, the one who had gotten away. "Maybe Mrs. Langford." It was a stab in the dark, she knew.
"Nell? No way."
"Why not?"
"She's on the team is why. But Sam is a good family man. Loves the kids. Nell never rocks the boat."
"You mean all's well on the home front?" Fiona asked.
"Believe it or not."
"She doesn't bug him, threaten to leave?"
"He keeps the other separate."
"With your help?"
"I try," Bunkie said with self-deprecating sarcasm. "It seems I fucked it up."
They left him with that idea hanging in the air.
"We've talked to Judy," Fiona said.
"I figured," Bunkie said. "Proof positive. She corroborated what I told you."
"More or less," Cates said.
"Jeez. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm trying to help you, help clear the air." He puffed deeply, coughed, then, catching his breath, spoke again. "What do you mean 'more or less'?"
"Who told Mrs. Langford about the Senator and Judy?"
"Beats the shit out of me," Bunkie said. He puffed again, coughed, bringing a fist up to his mouth.
"You never asked?"
Bunkie looked at them. His tongue flicked along his lips, moistening them.
"I stayed out of that one. I didn't even tell Sam about it."
"What _did_ you tell him?" Fiona pressed.
"She cut out. Had enough. Good riddance."
"How did he take it?"
"Like all of them. He really liked the kid, but he got over it."
"You think Mrs. Langford brought it up to him?" Fiona asked.
"Probably not. I told you. She doesn't rock the boat. The fact is we don't discuss his family life. I told you. The woman doesn't exactly care for me."
"Maybe she's the one? That ever occur to you?" Cates asked cautiously.
"Nell. A killer. You crazy."
"Why crazy? She could have set it all up herself," Fiona suggested. Such an idea had both precedent and logic. A rich jealous wife had the means and motive to put a private dick on the Senator's tail. And worse. Hiring someone to ice the offending ladies was not unknown in the annals of crime.
"Never." Bunkie said. She could tell that the thought might have crossed his mind. Even if he was the perpetrator the idea had good possibilities in terms of shifting suspicion away from himself. She pressed him further.
"Never say never," Fiona said.
He blew a gust of breath through his lips, making an obscene sound.
"Cops always ask the question, 'Who profits?'" Cates said.
"Bimbos killed, career saved," Fiona added.
"That goes for all of us," he acknowledged. "He goes down. We go down."
If he had any admirable qualities at all, it was absolute loyalty to the cause.
"So you don't really know if Mrs. Langford ever brought up the matter of Judy Peters?"
"And I didn't ask," Bunkie reiterated.
"You expect us to believe that bullshit?" Cates snapped.
"I deal in the irregular. Not the regular. Problem with Sam, he only goes wrong when he gives pussy an identity, recognizes the whole woman."
Odd, Fiona thought, how being a cop made her sometimes appear asexual at times, especially to macho assholes like Bunkie. Worse, he was so insensitive, he couldn't even acknowledge his statement as a gaffe. The man had a real problem with the gender. Not so the great swordsman Senator. He knew the way to a woman's heart, all right. And apparently every other part, as well, including what went on in their collective heads.
"So you say Nell Langford is innocent?" Fiona asked. They were going round and round now, gettingowhere.
"I do."
"And the Senator?"
"No way."
"Monte Pappas?"
"You're kidding. Not a chance."
"Ambassador Kessel?"
He shook his head.
"Leaves you," Fiona sa
id, watching as he attempted to inhale a cloud
of smoke. They left him in the kitchen, hacking away.
———— *20* NELL LANGFORD sat in the sunny living room of her spacious Spring Valley home showing all the confidence that was not apparent when Fiona saw her last at the dance. Through large floor-to-ceiling windows, they could see brightly colored swings, a seesaw and sliding pond planted on the grass. A high cedar fence surrounded the yard and a large dog lay sleeping under a tree.
Adler, Warren - FitzGerald 03 - Senator Love Page 18
