Murder in the White House (Capital Crimes Book 1) by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online Page B

“I met him one day about six months ago when he asked me about a word in a translation, whether the Russian word could have been translated in a slightly different sense. We talked. Later he would stop in to say hello when he was in the White House. Then he asked me to dinner. And since about four months ago I have… had an intimate relationship with him. He stayed overnight in my apartment a few times. Then I began to go to his.”
    Ron nibbled the hair on the back of his hand as he listened to her too intimate recital. “How old are you, Miss Kalisch?”
    “I am twenty-seven.”
    “You were in his apartment at the Watergate last night?”
    “He called me during the afternoon and told me to go there. I had—have—a key. I put my child to bed, left her with a babysitter, and went to Lan’s place about nine o’clock. I prepared a snack in the kitchen and chilled a bottle of wine. That is the way it was with us—late suppers… He called about ten to say he would be late, maybe as late as midnight. It wasn’t unusual. I watched television while I waited. He called again… the call that was interrupted. He said he had been in a meeting with the President and was ready now to leave the White House. He asked me what I was wearing—I mean, was I wearing something… intimate? I said Iwas. Then I heard him… I suppose you could say, sort of, grunt. Then the line went dead.”
    She was carefully controlled, not without rigid effort. Ron wondered if her control would come through on the tape. “What time was this?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “The eleven o’clock news was still on, on television. The late movie had not begun.”
    “You say he sometimes hung up on you without a word when interrupted while he was talking to you?”
    “Yes. Maybe last night… maybe someone came in. Maybe he just hung up. Maybe I didn’t hear…”
    “How long between this grunt and when the line went dead?”
    She shook her head again, biting her lower lip. “A long time,” she whispered. “They say… I heard he was strangled with some wire or something. Probably he grunted, or choked or… oh, God… I don’t know… but that probably was the sound I heard… then I guess whoever killed him hung up…” She was crying now.
    Ron watched her closely. “I’ll turn off the Dictaphone,” he said quietly.
    She wept for a minute, then sucked in her breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
    Ron glanced around the shadowed office. “I have to ask you…” he said. “About the relationship. Did you love him?”
    “Yes…” she whispered. “…and no.” She drew in a breath and found her voice. “I am not a fool, Mr. Fairbanks. You have to be realistic. I had a sense of being a little part of history. I knew there were others. The newspaper says there was another even… even recently. Maybe I was only one of… at the same time.”She swallowed. “I didn’t know about that, but I knew I had no claim on him. I knew there had been others and would be still others. I knew what he wanted. I was willing to give him what he wanted, for what I got in return.”
    “What did he want?”
    She lifted her chin a bit and spoke more crisply. “A fresh, young… vigorous woman. One who would be available whenever he wanted her. One who wouldn’t argue with him or make demands on him. One he could drop when he got tired of her. I understood all that. That’s my realism. In return I… He was a fine man… kind, thoughtful, generous. He talked with me about his duties. I shared some little part of the history he was making. I told myself it would end, and I told myself I would remember it and treasure the memory all my life.”
    “You have a security clearance, don’t you?” Ron asked, following a sudden random thought.
    “Yes. But not for diplomatic and political secrets.”
    “Did he talk to you about resigning?”
    “Yes. He said he was tired of Washington and thought he might return to the campus or find a