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

“It wasn’t that, I guess. Not really.”
    “A sexual relationship?”
    She nodded.
    Ron sighed. He did not want to cause pain for this young woman but he felt he had too little time for subtlety. “Why you, Judy?”
    She lowered her eyes. “Because I was willing, I suppose. I mean… with
him
! He was so great, the things he did… he was making world
peace
. I… I would have done about anything for him. And I did, too—just about…”
    “Did he take you to Le Lion d’Or?”
    She nodded.
    Ron glanced around the shabby room. “Do you know anything about his death?” he asked casually.
    She shook her head. “No,
nothing
. I swear it.”
    “When did you see him last?”
    She drew in a long breath. “I was with him Sunday afternoon.”
    “Where?”
    “In his apartment, at the Watergate.”
    “How long?”
    She sighed. “All afternoon. We had champagne and caviar and pâté. That’s the way it was with him. No… quickies. He was a wonderful lover, I’ve never known anyone like him—”
    “Did he talk to you? Confide in you?”
    She nodded—but without conviction. “He didn’t talk about his official life, his work for the government. He talked about his ex-wife and about his personal life… I was surprised at how much he told me.”
    “Such as?”
    “About his… preferences. About his experiences. Unless he was a liar—and I don’t believe he was—he’d certainly been, well, around. Which isn’t surprising, considering who he was and where he traveled.”
    “Could he back his words with performance?” Ron asked bluntly.
    “Yes.” Her voice was very low.
    “Did he say anything about resigning?”
    She shook her head. “As Secretary of State? No. It was the biggest thing in his life, what he’d always wanted. He was
proud
of being Secretary of State. He was a proud man, a
great
man.”
    “Did he spend much money?”
    “On me? Expensive dinners. Wine…
one bottle
, forty years old, a hundred dollars! Checks at the Bagatelle… He gave me some lovely… lingerie—”
    She paused abruptly. “Oh my God… that
stuff
… it’s all in a drawer in his apartment…”
    The State Department, Office of the Secretary of State, Thursday, June 14, 11:30 AM
    “It was Dr. Blaine’s. It does not belong to the government,” said Mary Burdine. She was Blaine’s secretary, the only person Ron Fairbanks had ever heard call Blaine by his academic title. She was talking about a Louise Nevelson wood sculpture mounted on the office wall.
    “Do you have any idea what he paid for it?” Ron asked.
    “No, sir.”
    It seemed inappropriate to sit behind Blaine’s desk. Ron sat on the couch. Jill Keller sat beside him. They faced Mary Burdine, who sat in a chair—a woman in her fifties, gray, sitting stiffly erect, conveying, maybe unintentionally, an air of building hostility. She had ordered coffee brought in, and all three of them had cups in their hands.
    He had already covered all the inevitable questions… No, she had never heard the Secretary of State threatened; no, he had not seemed nervous or worried the day of his death; no, he had not told her he was considering resigning. She knew nothing that suggested any reason at all for his death.
    “All I’m turning up so far,” said Ron, “is one young woman after another who seems to have had a love affair with him. What do you know about his personal life?”
    “Mr. Fairbanks,” said the woman primly, “I was Dr. Blaine’s secretary. I made it a point not to know anything about his personal life.”
    “But if a Judith Pringle called, you put the call through.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And if a Marya Kalisch called, you put the call through.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he told me to,” she said crisply.
    “Well, who did you think they were?”
    “That was none of my business.”
    “Unfortunately, Mrs. Burdine, it’s become
my
business. What about the others?”
    She stared for a moment at the carpet, shook her head. “I