The neat living room was expensively decorated with lush fabrics. Framed Currier and Ives prints, obviously of collectible quality, hung on the walls. There were also nests of family portraits intermingled with silver-framed political photographs on every available flat surface.
True or not, the ambience offered the feel of deep family roots, symbols of what modern politicians were now calling "values." Dropped from the sky without a historical context for the Senator, one might infer from his home that he was a faithful and devoted family man, a loving husband and father. Knowing what she knew, Fiona felt offended by the hypocrisy. Even Sam's little Nell could not escape responsibility for the charade.
Nell Langford was wearing black slacks and a white turtleneck sweater, which showed the lines of a well-endowed female body. The gown she wore at the Mount Vernon dance had muted those lines.
Fiona and Cates had, by design, imposed themselves on her, flashing their badges. If Nell recognized Fiona from the Mount Vernon dance, she gave no sign. It was clear that she had not expected them, had not been forewarned by Bunkie or the Senator. This was good. They had been counting on the element of surprise.
"It's that important, Mrs. Langford," Fiona had pressed, much like a door-to-door salesman about to put his foot in the door. Nell had hesitated, her eyes searching their faces. Her instincts, Fiona observed, from the flash of anxiety that passed across her face, were certainly correct. An enemy was at the door.
"Just routine," Cates said pleasantly, in a poor version of a dissimulating movie cop. She could tell that Nell Langford was not fooled.
It had to be done, of course. There was no avoiding it. If Nell refused, they would have to threaten. She seemed to be weighing the alternatives. Nor could Fiona detect any signs of guilt or innocence, only the palpable fear of the unexpected. The wife of a potential Presidential candidate had to be cautious. In that context anything remotely controversial was to be avoided. Nell chose to speak with them.
Leading them into the living room, Nell was cautious and not unpleasant. Also not hospitable. Her consent had been strictly business and no frills were to be expected.
"You have a lovely house, Mrs. Langford," Fiona said with sincere admiration.
"Thank you," Nell replied coldly.
"Like an oasis," Fiona pressed.
"We worked quite hard to create it," Nell said with an air of haughty dismissal. "Now what can I do for you?" She was, Fiona felt, being deliberately patronizing, but she could not completely hide her wariness.
"It's about the murder of Helga Kessel," Fiona began. No small-talk now, she had decided. Plunge right in. Despite a desire to be objective, she could not chase a feeling of irritation based on Nell's not remembering her from the Mount Vernon party. So she wasn't important enough to remember, was she?
Fiona, her expression deliberately stern, focused hostile eyes in Nell's direction. She wanted her to feel under scrutiny, intimidated. It was quite clear that Nell, for her part, had marshaled all her forces to resist them.
It struck her suddenly that this same attitude marked all the others. Like turtles, they had ducked their heads inta protective crust. Kessel, Bunkie, the Senator. Now Nell. And although there were elements of a conspiracy, they all seemed to be holding back pieces of the puzzle for their own purposes.
"Poor woman," Nell said. "But she had no business walking around wearing all that expensive jewelry."
"Did you know her well?" Fiona asked.
"Does anyone in Washington really know anyone well? She was on the circuit. I was at a dance with her just a few days ago. At Mount Vernon."
Still, she showed no recognition that she had ever met Fiona. Nor was Fiona moved to remind her.
"How well did the Senator know her?" Fiona asked. The question was direct, with no attempt to deflect its real meaning.
Nell caught the message. Her eyes unlocked themselves from Fiona's and turned to look through the windows. The grass's sudden reflection turned her hazel eyes a luminous green. Her recovery took place in a flicker as she turned toward Fiona again.
"No more than I did," Nell said with a feeble attempt at a smile. A frown line broke on her forehead, giving away an increasing anxiety. She didn't know about the affair, Fiona decided. Not for sure. Behind the facade, she is steeling herself for the blow. It might have occurred to her, of course. Fiona had seen the suspicion in her eyes the night of the dance, when the Senator and Helga cavorted on the dance floor together.
Satisfied that the message had been received, Fiona was ready for a combination punch.
"Is the name Judith Peters familiar to you, Mrs. Langford?"
Nell's eyes narrowed as she appeared to search her memory for a recollection.
"Go back eight years," Fiona urged, knowing it was a gamble, that Nell might not have made the call after all.
Part of the reality of the political life was the "play dumb" role assigned to wives and children of politicians. Nothing was to be revealed about a politician's private life without first passing through an image-making screening process. Was Nell playing this role with flawless precision? Fiona studied her intensely, waiting for the dice to fall.
"I'm sorry," she replied. "It escapes me."
"Shall I refresh your memory?" Fiona asked cautiously. She glanced at Cates, who gave her a quick supportive blink. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought.
"You called this woman …" Fiona began, halting deliberately to check the impression she was making. Nell's face was expressionless.
"Did I?"
Never volunteer. That was the axiom of the stonewaller. Apparently Nell was quite good at it. Okay, lady, you asked for it, Fiona decided.
"She was having an affair with your husband, Mrs. Langford. You called her and told her to back off."
Only the slightest tremor in her cheek gave her away. But it was there. Loud and clear.
"Why are you asking me these questions?"
"I could explain it better if you cooperated," Fiona rebuked. At that moment, Nell's mind had to be filled with options. She could throw them out. She could call her husband f or his immediate advice. Or she could tough it out, hoping that whatever was happening would not spill over to hurt her husband's, and her, aspirations.
The question behind the question, of course, was her culpability, if any. With undoubtedly a great effort of will, Nell managed to keep her features composed, although the little nerve in her cheek offered a tiny
betrayal.
"If I remember correctly I merely responded to a rumor. I was a newlywed. I had not yet learned that a public figure was a prime target for any crazy with the price of a telephone call."
Well put, Fiona thought. A half-confession.
"So you did call this woman?"
"For which I was soundly admonished," Nell said, offering a tight smile.
"I take it your husband denied it."
"We were married six months and I was pregnant. It was an ugly rumor and I overreacted. My husband, as you can see, is a very attractive man, an easy prey for designing females." Hehand went up to her single strand of pearls and the tiny tremor in her cheek subsided.
"So he did deny it?"
"I would not ever put him in such a position. I have since learned to discount such rumors."
"Have there been others?"
"Countless." She smiled, still playing with her pearls. "We are, you see, a very close family. A political family must expect those things." She turned her eyes full-glare on Fiona, telescoping that she was determined to show her superior credentials. "You have to be there to fully understand. Families of major figures in the political world are subject to these stresses. We grow used to them. It is very difficult to transfer this experience to others." She meant Fiona, of course. As for Cates, he might have been a piece of furniture for all the attention she paid to him.
It was time to throw the bomb, Fiona thought. The woman's attitude made it easy to do.
"Then I take it you did not suspect tha
t your husband was having an affair with Helga Kessel."
Her eyes went into a repetitive nervous blink and her fingers, instead of caressing the pearls, began to pull on them.
"That is quite absurd," she managed to say. But she was having some difficulty keeping her cool.
"Not only is it not absurd. It is a fact. The Ambassador knew. Farrington knew. I know. My partner here knows. The point to be made is that Helga Kessel was murdered by someone, person or persons unknown. We do not believe robbery was the motive."
"What, then?" she asked, her voice quivering.
She apparently had chosen to skirt the issue. Obviously she was still denying it to herself. But the turmoil within her was apparent.
"Jealousy, perhaps," Fiona said pointedly.
"There, you see? Even you suspect another crazy. Now do you get my point?"
It was a valiant effort to take a mental detour.
"We make no conclusions," Fiona said. "Helga was strangled in the same fashion as another woman, years earlier."
"Now you're losing me," Nell said, reaching for a haughty air. But her nervous tension kept her from achieving it.
"This was fourteen years ago."
"I hadn't even met him then," Nell interjected.
"We know that."
Since the serial aspect had been discounted, they could speculate that the two murders were unconnected, although it stretched credulity. The present murderer could have simply come up with the same modus operandi by coincidence.
"The point here is that both women were having affairs with your husband."
"He was somebody else's husband fourteen years ago," Nell protested. She was lashing out now. A slight flush broke out on the cheeks of her well-scrubbed skin.
"But you do see the connection. Why we have to ask you these questions. Believe me, Mrs. Langford, we are not here to harass you."
"This is a very good imitation of it," she said testily. "My husband, I can assure you, will be quite upset about this confrontation."
True to form for these types, Fiona thought. She had expected the threat earlier.
"Mrs. Langford," Fiona said, adopting a deliberately weary tone. "We are trying to protect your husband's reputation and career. But the inescapable fact is that we cannot turn away from the obvious. There are only a few motives that make any sense. One of them is jealousy."
"Are you suggesting …" Nell began. She shook her head, trying hard to control any display of anger.
"We're investigating. Not suggesting. We're doing what needs to be done. If you knew about this affair you had every reason to get rid of this woman."
"This could be actionable, you know," Nell said frostily, still stonewalling. Again, Fiona ignored the threat.
"Neither your husband, yourself, Ambassador Kessel nor Bunkie Farrington is off the hook. You all had your reasons."
"How utterly despicable of you …" She could not go on. Her voice broke. To her credit, the anger never quite got the best of her. When she got control oher voice again she said, "Are you accusing me of murdering this woman?"
"Did you?" Fiona asked.
"You're not serious?"
"Dead serious," Fiona said from between clenched teeth.
"My husband will be appalled."
Off the high-horse, lady, Fiona thought.
"You're not getting this message, Mrs. Langford," Cates said suddenly. He had been patient. Perhaps he was tired of being ignored, treated as if he weren't there. The woman turned to face him.
"What message, Officer?" she asked coyly, as if she were poised to intimidate him.
"A woman your husband was seeing has just been murdered. You can't ignore either fact. Would it be better if we invited your husband to attend this interrogation and put the question to him directly?"
"He has already admitted it and Bunkie Farrington has confirmed," Fiona added.
"Bunkie." she said coldly. "That man makes my skin crawl."
"Well, we all agree on something," Fiona said. The hint of alliance was not appreciated by Nell.
"That mutual feeling changes nothing," Cates said, clearly assuming the role of bad cop. In this case, badder cop. "Can you account for your time on Tuesday, day and night?"
She started to protest, obviously thought better of it, then paused as if to recall the time frame. Then she nodded.
"Of course I can. And you will find it can easily be confirmed." They assumed as much, but did not pursue it. Time for that later. The psychological aspects seemed more to the point at the moment. It was time to increase the pressure.
"I'll ask you again, Mrs. Langford. Did you know about your husband and Helga Kessel?" Fiona pressed. Surprisingly, she was beginning to show some admiration for Nell. She was fighting it all the way, refusing to be drawn in, although defeat in this regard was inevitable.
"I never asked," she said after a long pause.
"Why not? Didn't it matter?"
"There would be only one way to be sure," she said. "To observe for myself. Everything else would be hearsay."
"Photographs, too?"
"They could be altered."
"And if your husband admitted it, would you believe it then?"
"Not necessarily," she said, defying all logic. "He might have his reasons."
It was exasperating. Nell Langford had the great facility of skewering reality, bending it to her will. She remembered Bunkie's words. "Not Nell." He was dead wrong. Nell could easily hire a hit man to eliminate Helga or anyone else, then cavalierly dismiss it from her mind.
"All right then," Fiona said, as if it were an announcement of a changing tack. Ready about. "Were there any other women rumored to be having an affair with your husband?" The use of the word "rumor" was an obvious placebo. Nell grabbed for it like a life preserver.
"There were always these rumors," she replied with some eagerness, as if the question had been some sort of a cue. "I put no credence in them."
"What about names?"
"If I heard them, I put them out of my mind. The Senator is a good and faithful husband and father. I resent these rumors, not for myself, but for my children. I have explained to them that they will hear them. Children will bring them to school. And I have instructed them to pay no attention. Like me. These rumors are manufactured by his enemies and those that are jealous of his success. He is a national political figure. We are conditioned to expect such things."
She delivered this speech flawlessly, as if it were by rote, to be trotted out for just such occasions. It was, unquestionably, a summation and signaled that she was on the verge of dismissing them. Not so fast, lady, Fiona thought.
"Did you think the Helga thing was a rumor?" Fiona asked, determined not to be deflected.
"I never heard it. If I did, I would have dismissed it as such. Yes."
Fiona's level of exasperation was rising. The woman had an enormous talent for obfuscation.
"You're not helping your husband, Mrs. Langford,Fiona said. In her mind, she decided, she would give the woman the presumption of innocence. At least for the moment. Nell listened silently. "This case stinks of scandal. The media would have a field day and in their environment rumor becomes truth. So let's stop all this bullshit and get to the point."
Still stonewalling, Nell glared at her.
"I have nothing to say," she said haughtily.
"Next thing you'll be calling for your lawyer," Cates interjected.
"Better believe it."
"More people to tell," Fiona sighed. "Keep spreading the word until you destroy your husband's career. He's in real political trouble, Mrs. Langford. Somebody, for reasons that are directly related to your husband, killed those women."
"So you say," Nell said, as if to furt her prove her resilience. "But it is obvious that you haven't got an iota of evidence to back up that contention." She stood up, pulling back her shoulders, illustrating what Fiona supposed was her sense of aristocratic authority.
"You realize, of course, that you're forcing us
to widen the circle."
The threat could not be made any clearer. In fact, the potential demise of Senator Langford's career might be considered the theme of the meeting. It apparently had not fazed Nell, which, for Fiona, was the heart of the puzzle. Why not?
Adler, Warren - FitzGerald 03 - Senator Love Page 19
