Murder Inside the Beltway by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Truman
in the Maryland senate. Rollins’s role in Colgate’s run for the presidency was unofficial, but everyone in the campaign knew that each important decision had to be cleared through him. Colleagues called Colgate and Rollins the “policy twins,” although their differences were obvious aside from parallel political beliefs. Colgate was movie star handsome, tall and trim and with a full head of sandy hair, penetrating blue eyes, and a boyish smile. He was also one of the best public speakers politics had seen in decades, someone who connected almost instantly with his audiences and who made each person in the audience feel he was talking directly to them. His grasp of the issues and their subtleties was impressive, as was his ability to turn every question, friendly or combative, into a positive for him.
Rollins, considerably shorter than Colgate and reed thin, was quiet and introspective; no one ever applied the term “gregarious” to him. A lawyer, he’d forged a career in D.C. as a smooth negotiator and confidant, someone who kept secrets but who knew how to use them if necessary to advance a client’s agenda.
“He’s due back anytime now,” Colgate said. “We’re meeting with people from the Congressional Black Caucus.”
Deborah, who’d picked up a copy of the
Washington Post
from a table next to her chair, glanced up and said, “Good.”
Colgate had been dressing for the evening. He finished adjusting his tie in the mirror and said, “You’ve got the night off. Lucky you.” He came to where she sat and leaned over to kiss her. She turned her head so that his lips only grazed her cheek. He started to say something, thought better of it, said he’d be late, and left the room.
She sat staring at the newspaper, its words a blur as tears welled up. Soon, those tears rolled freely down her expertly made-up face. She got to her feet, threw the newspaper to the floor, went to the bedroom, where she stripped off her clothes, and got in the shower, the water as hot as she could stand it.
SIX
T he meeting with six members of the Congressional Black Caucus was held at the home of one of Washington’s most influential African-American business leaders. Jerry Rollins was a half hour late and apologized. He’d come directly from the airport, with his luggage.
They met for almost two hours. When it broke up, Colgate invited Rollins back to the house for a nightcap.
“Another time, Bob. I need to get home and wash away the flight.” He smiled. “Ah, for the good old days before deregulation, when the airlines didn’t treat you like cattle, or worse. It’s disgraceful, an issue you might consider attacking. Deborah got back okay?”
“Yeah. She said you two crossed paths this morning in San Francisco.”
“She did? That’s right. In the hotel lobby.”
“How did it go out there?”
“Fine. Looks like things will run smoothly when you arrive next week. Everything’s in place.”
“Good. Thanks, Jerry. If I pull this off, it’ll be because of you.”
“I think you might have had something to do with it,” Rollins said. “Let’s go. I still haven’t been home.”
Colgate’s limo, followed by a car containing two Secret Service agents, dropped Rollins in front of his home in Foggy Bottom before depositing the presidential candidate at his townhouse.
“Is Mrs. Colgate still awake?” Bob asked one of the household staff.
“No, sir. She said she was dog-tired from the trip and was going to bed early. Can I get you anything, sir?”
“I’d love bourbon in a snifter,” he said. “I’ll be in the library.”
Jerry Rollins unpacked in his bedroom, showered, dressed in pajamas and robe, and padded downstairs to the kitchen, where his wife, Sue, sat drinking decaf tea and reading that day’s
Washington Post
.
“How was the trip?” she asked.
“Successful but tiring. How was your day?”
“The usual. Busy. I spent most of it chauffeuring Sammy from one
Rollins, considerably shorter than Colgate and reed thin, was quiet and introspective; no one ever applied the term “gregarious” to him. A lawyer, he’d forged a career in D.C. as a smooth negotiator and confidant, someone who kept secrets but who knew how to use them if necessary to advance a client’s agenda.
“He’s due back anytime now,” Colgate said. “We’re meeting with people from the Congressional Black Caucus.”
Deborah, who’d picked up a copy of the
Washington Post
from a table next to her chair, glanced up and said, “Good.”
Colgate had been dressing for the evening. He finished adjusting his tie in the mirror and said, “You’ve got the night off. Lucky you.” He came to where she sat and leaned over to kiss her. She turned her head so that his lips only grazed her cheek. He started to say something, thought better of it, said he’d be late, and left the room.
She sat staring at the newspaper, its words a blur as tears welled up. Soon, those tears rolled freely down her expertly made-up face. She got to her feet, threw the newspaper to the floor, went to the bedroom, where she stripped off her clothes, and got in the shower, the water as hot as she could stand it.
SIX
T he meeting with six members of the Congressional Black Caucus was held at the home of one of Washington’s most influential African-American business leaders. Jerry Rollins was a half hour late and apologized. He’d come directly from the airport, with his luggage.
They met for almost two hours. When it broke up, Colgate invited Rollins back to the house for a nightcap.
“Another time, Bob. I need to get home and wash away the flight.” He smiled. “Ah, for the good old days before deregulation, when the airlines didn’t treat you like cattle, or worse. It’s disgraceful, an issue you might consider attacking. Deborah got back okay?”
“Yeah. She said you two crossed paths this morning in San Francisco.”
“She did? That’s right. In the hotel lobby.”
“How did it go out there?”
“Fine. Looks like things will run smoothly when you arrive next week. Everything’s in place.”
“Good. Thanks, Jerry. If I pull this off, it’ll be because of you.”
“I think you might have had something to do with it,” Rollins said. “Let’s go. I still haven’t been home.”
Colgate’s limo, followed by a car containing two Secret Service agents, dropped Rollins in front of his home in Foggy Bottom before depositing the presidential candidate at his townhouse.
“Is Mrs. Colgate still awake?” Bob asked one of the household staff.
“No, sir. She said she was dog-tired from the trip and was going to bed early. Can I get you anything, sir?”
“I’d love bourbon in a snifter,” he said. “I’ll be in the library.”
Jerry Rollins unpacked in his bedroom, showered, dressed in pajamas and robe, and padded downstairs to the kitchen, where his wife, Sue, sat drinking decaf tea and reading that day’s
Washington Post
.
“How was the trip?” she asked.
“Successful but tiring. How was your day?”
“The usual. Busy. I spent most of it chauffeuring Sammy from one