Murder at the Kennedy Center by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online Page A

father’s pistols.
    Smith realized Ed Farmer was still standing by the window. He’d forgotten Farmer was in the room. He turned and looked at the campaign manager, then asked Ken and Leslie whether there was any other information.
    “Janet knew about Paul’s affair with Andrea,” Leslie said. “It caused a tremendous rift in the marriage, naturally, and I know Janet had issued an ultimatum to Paul.”
    Farmer started to leave the room. “Drink, anyone?” he asked.
    Smith and Ken Ewald passed, but Leslie asked him to refill her glass. When Farmer was gone, Smith said, “Have you called me here as a family friend, as a lawyer, or for my reaction to this in terms of your campaign?”
    “All of that, but especially number two, Mac,” Ewald said. “If Paul is charged, we want you to defend him.” Leslie sat up straight, closed her eyes tight, and started to cry convulsively.
    Ewald moved to her side and put his arm around her. “Take it easy, honey; chances are Paul’s not going to be charged with anything. Mac, we just need your advice.”
    “I think I ought to say something right now,” Smith cautioned. They both looked at him. “I’ve been a quasi-legal adviser to this family on a very informal level, and I
used
to be a practicing attorney. I am now a contented college professor, teaching law at a major university. I’m sorry, but I could not take on Paul’s legal defense.”
    “We know how you feel, Mac, but if we’ve ever asked a favor of you, this is it. Please, at least consider it.”
    “Of course I’ll consider it. But you have to know where I am. And I just got there in recent years. Look, I want tomake a few informal phone calls, maybe pick up some information that will be helpful to you whether or not I have anything more to do with this officially. You know I’ll help if I can. I’ll get back to you later this morning.”
    They walked him to the door. As he shook Ken’s hand and kissed Leslie on the cheek, he found himself gripped with a sense of pathos and concern. Obviously, the three of them knew that if Paul was charged with the murder, not only would it be a tragic personal experience, it could have a severe impact on Ken Ewald’s drive for the White House. And though it seemed unthinkable, a conviction could end that drive. As far as Mac Smith was concerned—despite some reservations about Ewald—that would not be good for the country. He chewed on that thought as he drove back to his home in Foggy Bottom.

6
    While Mac Smith made phone calls from home the next morning, Colonel Gilbert Morales entered the White House through the Diplomatic Reception Room. He was accompanied by an aide. Two members of the Secret Service had escorted them from the gate, and they were all greeted inside by Richard Morse, an undersecretary from State whose area of expertise was Central America. “The president will be with you shortly, Colonel Morales. Please have a seat. Would you like coffee, tea, a soft drink?”
    “No, thank you.” Morales surveyed a variety of spindly chairs until settling his large body into the one that appeared to be the most substantial. Even at that, he was uncomfortable. His aide, a young man in an ill-fitting brown suit whose face was deeply pitted, walked to the far side of the room and looked closely at the wallpaper.
    “President and Mrs. Kennedy brought that paper to the White House,” one of the Secret Service agents said. “It was made in France in 1934 by Jean Zuber and Company.” He and his partner were often assigned to conducting public tours of the White House, and were well versed in its decor and history. The agent added to his description, filling thetime: “The painter had never visited the United States, but he used engravings he’d seen as a model for his work. That’s Niagara Falls,” he continued, in the voice he used with tourists. “That’s Boston Harbor.”
    The aide said nothing and took a chair next to Morales.
    Undersecretary Morse