“Hello?”
“Bruce, it’s Elton. I’m back home in Pennsylvania, and I just wanted to thank you again for your kindness to me last evening.”
“Elton, have you heard what happened at the hotel while we were there?”
“No, what happened?”
“A man named Creed Harker shot himself in the men’s room, about the time you were there.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Elton said.
“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Bruce asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I just wanted to thank you again. Oh, here comes my lunch. I’ll talk to you soon.” He hung up and sat down at his son’s desk. He was still sitting there when Miss Tozer returned to the office.
“I’m sorry to have left you alone for so long, but we had an incident in the members’ cloakroom that’s had us pretty busy for the past hour.”
“Not at all. I’ve enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere here,” Elton replied.
“The halls are clear now. May I walk you back to the garage?”
“Thank you, yes.” They returned to where Manolo sat in the Bentley, waiting. He gave her back the badge. “Thank you so much for your kindness, Miss Tozer,” Elton said.
“I’m so happy to have been able to meet you,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Your son was a wonderful man.”
“I know,” he said. Manolo opened the door, and he got into the rear seat. “Let’s go home,” he said, and relaxed into his seat.
His last thought before he dozed off was that, perhaps, he should have strolled over to the Senate and shot Henry Carson, too.
As he got out of the car in his driveway at home, he spoke for a moment with Manolo. “If anyone should ask, we got home about three hours ago,” he said.
“As you wish, Mr. Hills,” Manolo replied.
54
Late in the afternoon, Stone stepped into the office where Anna Fontana was working. “I read the first volume with great interest,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. It’s going quite well, I think.”
“I think I mentioned that Carla is coming up for the weekend.”
“Yes, you did. I’m seeing her for lunch tomorrow.”
“Well, she just called from a cab, and she should be here in half an hour or so. Would you like to have a drink with us before you go back to Brooklyn?”
“Why, yes, that’s very kind of you.”
“If you’re finished for the day, I’ll walk you upstairs to my study.”
She gave him her work papers for the day, and he locked them in his safe, then went upstairs with Anna, settled her on the sofa in his study, where she asked for a martini.
“Runs in the family, I guess,” Stone said, pouring one and handing it to her.
“Quite a lot runs in the family,” she said. “More than you know.”
Stone poured himself a Knob Creek on the rocks and took a chair opposite her. “Oh?”
“I’ve had a peek forward in the journals,” she said, “and I’m afraid they will cover a period when Eduardo’s life and mine overlapped.”
“Afraid?”
“It’s a subject that I’ve been avoiding for many years.”
“How did you meet?”
“In an Italian grocery store downtown,” she replied. “I went there once a week to stock up on sausages, cheese, and other things the supermarkets didn’t carry. We had both been offered a taste of some bresaola in the aisle, and we compared notes. He was charming, well-spoken, and beautifully dressed. I suppose it helped that he was older than I, since I had always been attracted to older men.”
“And what came of this meeting?” Stone asked.
“Carla,” she said.
That stopped Stone in his tracks. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I was married, of course, and we had a perfunctory sex life, but it was quite something else with Eduardo.”
“So, Carla’s father could have been either of the two men?”
“It seemed so. I told Eduardo of my dilemma and asked his advice. I had been considering an abortion, which, at that time, was illegal but available if you knew someone. He talked me out of the abortion and said that he would be quite happy to have another child, if I would, and that he would take on a father’s responsibilities. My husband and I had been childless up until then, and I had wanted a child, but he had not. I went home and told him I wanted a divorce. He moved out the next morning, and he agreed to a Mexican divorce, since it would save him a lot of money on legal fees. When Carla was born, Eduardo was there, and when he saw her he knew Carla was his, no doubt, and from that moment on, he saw that we had a comfortable life and that Carla was well educated.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No, I never have. She met him, perhaps a dozen times. After his wife died he proposed to me, but I thought it was too late for such an upheaval in both Carla’s life and mine. But the dilemma is back. Now you know, and depending on what use you make of the journals, a great many other people could soon know.”
“I suppose that’s a possibility. In that unlikely event, I’ll take steps to be discreet.”
“I’m going to tell her as soon as she arrives,” Anna said, “and I’d appreciate it if you would be with us when I do.”
“If that’s what you wish.” The doorbell rang, and Fred went to get it. A moment later, Carla walked in.
“What a surprise,” she said, kissing her mother. “Did you change your mind about dinner?”
“No, I just stayed for a drink, and I have something to tell you, so get a drink and sit down.”
Stone made them all a drink, then sat down and shut up.
Anna began to tell the story again, while Carla listened, transfixed. When her mother had finished, Carla took a swig of her martini and set it down. “I knew it,” she said.
“How could you have known?”
“Because Eduardo was the only father I ever had. I met your husband only a couple of times.”
“Well, he moved to the West Coast.”
“Those times when we visited Eduardo were like going home to my father. I always thought of him that way. We saw quite a lot of him until I went to Yale.”
“That’s right, we did,” Anna said. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy with the knowledge.”
“I’m perfectly happy with it,” Carla said.
Anna looked at her watch. “Time for me to go. Dinner is uptown, near Columbia University.”
“I’ll have Fred drive you,” Stone said, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”
They both said good night to her, and Fred took her down to the car.
“Wow,” Carla said when she had gone. “I feel different somehow.”
“I can see how you might.”
“I want to read those journals when she’s through translating them,” she said.
“I think you have the right,” Stone replied.
Still, he wanted to read them first.
55
Sergeant Avery Morris was at his desk in the homicide bureau of the DCPD when a television set in the corner of the room caught his eye — something about a shooting at the Capitol. A couple of other people moved to where they could see the TV better, and somebody turned up the volume.
Morris came over and watched long enough to hear that the minority leader of the House of Representatives had been found dead in the House chamber cloakroom with a handgun nearby. He whistled at his partner. “Jimmy, let’s get out of here.”
Jimmy Clark came over. “For this?” he asked, nodding toward the TV. “That’s at the Capitol — not our jurisdiction. Let the Capitol Police and the FBI handle it.”