Murder on Capitol Hill by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online Page B

evenings she’d spent in the den with the Caldwells and their friends—warm, casual moments full of laughter and good talk. There had been, of course, not such good moments, too, like when the first son Mark Adam had dropped out of college to join thatcult he still belonged to. The family’s bitter disappointment about that often broke through. And of course Jimmye McNab’s death had left a lingering hurt that, in spite of Cale’s and Veronica’s attempts to submerge it, never was really far from the surface.
    Photographs of Jimmye that once hung in the den had been removed. The only tangible reminder that she’d been a member of the family was a leather-bound copy of the book she’d written about brainwashing and mind control that resulted from her research into the use of those manipulative techniques by government agencies.
    Lydia took the book from the shelf, opened it and read the inscription scrawled on the title page:
For Mom and Dad, who chose to love and believe in me. Love, Jimmye
. She closed the blue leather cover and was about to replace the book on the shelf when Veronica came back.
    “It was a good book, wasn’t it?”
    “To tell the truth, Veronica, I never read it. I always meant to get a copy but, like they say, the road to hell…”
    Lydia sat on the couch, and Veronica went to stand at the window. “Winter again…”
    “Soon… Veronica, I’ll really have to think very carefully about what you asked—”
    “Of course. Besides, I can’t guarantee you’d be accepted as special counsel. I mean, I suppose someone could say you’re not exactly impartial, being a family friend…”
    “I could be, I think. I like to think I’m fair, and the family and I would share a desire to see justice done…”
    Veronica smiled, came around behind Lydia and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Well, my dear, give it some serious thought. If you agree, I’ll suggest you to the people who’ll be spearheading the committee… Now, will you stay for lunch?” Veronica asked as she went to the door and observed Cale and Joanne in the living room.
    “Thanks, no, I’ve got to get back to my office… God, I really admire your strength, Veronica. I doubt I’d have as much under the circumstances.”
    “We do what we have to do, Lydia. Besides, some of it’s for Cale, and of course his brother… they deserve not to have me fall apart.”
    Lydia kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She left the house and got into her car. Jason was nowhere to be seen. The state patrolman nodded to her, went back to his newspaper as Lydia turned her car around and headed toward the highway.
    Had she looked in her rearview mirror she would have seen Jason come around the corner of the house. He stood on the porch and watched her disappear into the grove of trees, then emerge on the far side. His boyish, handsome face framed by a helmet of loose, thick brown curls was now a tight mask of undisguised anger. He looked up into a slate gray sky, squinted against its uniform brightness, clenched his fists and entered the house.

7
    At four o’clock the next morning Quentin Hughes glanced up at the clock in the studio from which he conducted his nightly radio talk show on WCAP. He’d dismissed that evening’s guest moments before because he felt the show had bogged down, preferring instead to take calls from listeners during the final hour.
    “To you after this spot,” his producer said through the intercom.
    Hughes looked at the multi-line telephone instrument on the table in front of him. All the buttons were lit, which meant that there were still people waiting to be heard. A red light flashed above a large expanse of window that separated the control room from the studio.
    “Quentin, what ever happened with that Jimmye McNab murder? I never heard any more about it. That was two years ago, even more, huh?” said a caller.
    Hughes pointed a long, slender finger at the control room. The caller was