Murder on Embassy Row by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online

I was told to vacate by none other than Trottier. I know nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing. They used the facilities, but brought their own people. Mind if I get back to the foreplay?”
    Morizio laughed. “Enjoy. Sorry to bother you.”
    “Don’t sweat it.”
    Morizio returned to the couch. The folds of Connie’s robe had fallen open. He was about to embrace her when the phone rang. He leaped up and went to it.
    “Sal, Paul Pringle.”
    “I was hoping you’d call. What’s going on?”
    “A great deal. He was poisoned, Sal. Ricin, not cyanide.”
    Morizio whistled. “That’s exotic,” he said. Ricin, Morizio knew, was one of the world’s most toxic substances, ranking right up there with botulinus. It was isolated from castor oil beans and had been considered for use as a chemical weapon during World War II. One-millionth of a gram was a lethal dose and one gram would kill almost 40,000 people. It was difficult to detect in the body—the lab boys had done a good job.
    Pringle asked, “Did you have any luck with Nuri Hafez and the limousine?”
    “I didn’t do anything about it. Things got hectic today and I was concerned about putting out an APB and prompting somebody to wonder where I got the information about Hafez and the limo. Nothing from your end on it?”
    “No. There’s evidently some debate about how to handle it, but I’m not privy to those conversations. Sal, I must tell you something.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “I think I’d best sever contact with you for awhile. There’s a lot at stake here and…” It sounded as though he’d been interrupted.
    “Paul?”
    “Yes, Sal, sorry. Someone was near. As I was saying, I’d best lay low for awhile. You understand.”
    “Sure I do, but before you go, who gave TV the story about the autopsy?”
    “Probably someone who owes a favor, like I owe you. I’ll be in touch later, but not very soon. Cheerio, Sal.”
    Morizio told Lake of the conversation. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like games like this. If the British have their reasons for covering up what happened to their ambassador, that’s fine, but why drag others in? Ship the body home, bury it, and forget about it.”
    “Sal.”
    “What?”
    “Let’s go to bed.”
    “You don’t want to talk about it?”
    “About going to bed?” She giggled.
    “About James.”
    “No. I want to go to bed, make love, have a good night’s sleep, and spend breakfast talking about murder.” She took his hands, pulled him up from the couch, and turned off the living room lights. He took a detour on the way to the bedroom to pick up a discarded Kleenex she’d tossed on a table and to throw it in the kitchen wastebasket. She watched him with a bemused smile. Sal Morizio put Felix Unger to shame when it came to neatness, and tissues especially nettled him. It was a running gag between them, her cavalier attitude toward disposing of tissues and his obsession with getting rid of them. He sometimes called her “the Tissue Queen” and she would say, “And you’re the Duke of Disposal.”
    They called each other quite different names ten minutes later, once they were in bed.

5
    Willard Jones was on routine car patrol for the State Department’s embassy security force. It was shortly after sunrise, but still dark enough for lights in buildings to be discernible. He’d made a pass along Massachusetts Avenue’s Embassy Row and was now on his way back. He was hungry and looked forward to pancakes and sausage at his favorite diner.
    Massachusetts Avenue was virtually without traffic. A stray dog crossed the wide boulevard and Jones slowed to allow him to make it safely. Jones was a dog lover and had two strays at home that he and his wife had rescued over the years.
    He’d put on weight recently and his pants pressed in on his stomach. His uniform was almost identical to that worn by MPD cops, except that it had a bright yellow stripe down the side of the pants. He’d been turned