Death of a Washington Madame by Warren Adler Read Free Book Online Page B

glance of futility as if he hadn't measured up to the
occasion. She watched as the Eggplant turned from the room and let himself out
the front door and into the maw of the media.

CHAPTER 4
    "I should have," Roy said. "It's my fault. I
guess I wasn't thinking."
    Mrs. Shipley's caretaker was a tall man, his posture an
ungainly slouch, even seated. The fat seemed to have melted off his face,
leaving it cadaverous. Behind knobby cheekbones, his eyes were colorless and
faded, the whites filled with tributaries of red veins like rivers and streams
on a map. But they struck Fiona as feral, alert and wary as they looked back at
her. His neck was scrawny and wrinkled and his Adam's apple slithered up and
down his neck as he talked.
    Despite his appearance, Fiona's intuitive sense told her
that he was not a dullard, although that was the facade he appeared to want to
project. His awkward feet encased in ugly black shoes with heavy rubber soles
were planted in front of him and his thick arthritic knuckled hands gripped
both thighs like claws.
    She noted, too, that the small finger of his left hand was
missing its nail and appeared severed to the top knuckle, a minor flaw that was
barely noticeable unless it was part of a complete inspection of the man, like
now.
    He wore two hearing aids, the kind with a half moon of
plastic flattening the gray hair above the ears. He hadn't shaven and the white
whisker sprouts gave his face a more ashen and hangdog look than he might have
had with a clean face.
    They were sitting at one end of a long heavy wooden table
in the large kitchen equipped with appliances that were at least three decades
old. The man's name was Roy Parker and he acknowledged that he had been in Mrs.
Shipley's employ for more than fifty years. His driver's license had revealed
his age as seventy-nine.
    They had only partially interviewed Gloria, the maid, a
heavy-set dignified gray haired black woman in her late sixties who still had
not recovered from the harrowing experience of discovering Mrs. Shipley's body.
She told them that she had gone up with a breakfast tray, knocked as she always
did and opened the bedroom door. Recounting the experience was too much for her
to continue and they had accompanied her back to her room, where she was
currently resting. They planned to talk to her again.
    "What exactly were your chores for Mrs. Shipley?"
Gail asked Roy.
    "Oh many things."
    "Such as?"
    "I drove. In the old days, when Madame was very
active, I drove a lot. Took her everywhere. Shopping. Parties. Visits. You
can't believe Madame's energy in those days. Last few years, she rarely went
out. I also helped with the heavy work. You know, the things that Gloria
couldn't do. Lifting. Fixing things." He raised his arthritic claws.
"Getting harder with these, but I manage. Years ago, I would also bartend
and help Gloria serve with the small parties. She always had the big ones
catered. I was a kind of all around helper, I guess. Anytime she needed me, I
was there." He seemed proud of his loyalty. His articulate manner
confirmed Fiona's earlier observations of his innate intelligence."
    "When did you first start working for Mrs.
Shipley?" Fiona asked.
    There was a moment of hesitation. Perhaps he was
calculating.
    "February 7th, 1952," he said.
    "My God," Fiona said. "That is well over
fifty years."
    The calculation following on the date, gave the
reaffirmation an incredulous twist.
    Roy nodded.
    "More than half a century?" Fiona mused.
"That's a very long time," Fiona said, instantly sorry. Retainers of
his type, she speculated, often served their employers for a lifetime.
    "I enjoyed every moment of my life here," Roy shrugged, sucking in a deep breath. "I guess it's over now."
    Earlier she had inspected his room just off the kitchen, a
cell really, with a narrow bed, tightly made with a khaki Army blanket and a
single pillow, a reading lamp and a telephone on an end table beside it, a
wooden chair, a slightly askew wardrobe, a