Murder at the Kennedy Center

by Margaret Truman

  Mac Smith had just slipped on his tuxedo pants and was pulling the suspenders over his shoulders when the phone rang. Annabel, he assumed, whom he’d be picking up in a half hour. “Hi,” he said.

  “Mac, this is Tony.”

  “I thought it was Annabel. What’s up?”

  “Mac, I think you’d better get here right away.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve got a couple of visitors.”

  “Who?”

  “Two lovely ladies. One is named Janet Ewald, the other Marcia Mims.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  36

  “I want to apologize for all the trouble I’ve put you through, Mr. Smith,” Janet Ewald said. She sat in the Watergate suite with Smith, Annabel, Tony Buffolino, and Marcia Mims.

  “That isn’t important, Janet, although I appreciate the sentiment. I’m just glad to see you here.”

  “Because of Marcia.” She managed a weak smile at her friend before saying to Smith, “I was going to go to Dr. Collins’s office, but Marcia convinced me to come here. I called Dr. Collins and told him I was back. I’ll call him again tomorrow and make an appointment. I think I could use it.”

  “What name were you traveling under?” Smith asked. He knew.

  Janet glanced at Marcia before opening her purse and pulling out a VISA card. She handed it to Smith.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, passing it to Annabel.

  “In Ken and Leslie’s house.”

  Annabel said, “I assume—and please pardon me if I sound insensitive—I assume you found this because of Paul’s affair with Andrea.”

  If Janet considered the comment insensitive, her face didn’t say it. There was some strength there now as she said, “No. Mr. Farmer had that card. He left it in an unlocked desk drawer, and I just took it when the need arose.”

  “Ed Farmer? Why would he have it?” Smith asked.

  “Because he and Andrea were close, very close.”

  “Are you saying that Ed Farmer had an affair with Andrea Feldman, too?” Annabel asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” Janet said. “I said they were close, in a business sense. Mr. Farmer approved the credit cards for staff members. Andrea had a lot of them.”

  “What do you mean by a lot?” Smith asked.

  “More than the others. Mr. Farmer gave her cards to department stores, house accounts at restaurants, American Express, VISA, MasterCard, all of them.”

  “He was the one who approved the use of them?” Annabel asked.

  “Yes. He never questioned Andrea’s charges.”

  “Go on,” said Smith.

  “I was in the house once when Andrea stayed overnight. She didn’t know I was there. I’d been sick and decided to spend the weekend at my in-laws’ house. I used the spare bedroom next to that small office on the second floor.”

  “Where was Paul?” Annabel asked.

  “Away on business. I forget where. It doesn’t matter. Sometimes when Paul is away and I’m not feeling well, I stay there to be close to Marcia.”

  Smith smiled at Marcia. “Go on, Janet, continue.”

  “That night, I heard them fighting. Andrea and Farmer. They were in the small office.”

  “Where was Senator Ewald?” Annabel asked.

  “Out somewhere. I know he came back later because I heard him, but he wasn’t there when the fight was going on.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “About …” She looked at Marcia and suddenly went back into the shell that Smith recognized.

  “Go ahead, honey, tell them,” Marcia said, patting her arm. “Remember what we talked about, that you would come back and tell everything you know, get it over with.”

  “They were arguing about files that Mr. Farmer had stolen from Ken.”

  “That Farmer had stolen from Ken? We thought Andrea stole files.”

  “I think she did, along with him. I mean, I think what happened was that they did it together. I didn’t pay much attention at first, and I didn’t make any kind of notes, but when they really started yelling, I sat up and listened as closely as I could. She was threatening him. She said she was going to tell Ken what he’d done, and that he had better be good to her if he didn’t want that to happen.”

  “ ‘Good to her’?” Annabel said. “Do you know what she meant by that?”

  “No.”

  Smith asked, “Did you get any hint of why the files might have been taken, who they stole them for?”

  “No. They kept talking about ‘they,’ but they never mentioned any names.”

  “Janet, there must have been something else said. Didn’t they discuss why they’d done it, how they got started, who had the idea?”

  Janet shook her head. “No, they didn’t. I learned more from Paul than from what I heard that night.”

  “What did Paul tell you?”

  “We were arguing one night about his affair with Andrea, and he told me that he hated her and was sorry he ever brought her into his father’s life. He said she was no good, evil, cared only about money and her own success. He told me that files his father kept had been stolen, and he said she did it.”

  “I thought you said Farmer did it with her,” Annabel said.

  “Yes, that’s what I heard that night, but Paul didn’t know that.”

  “Didn’t you tell him?” Smith asked.

  Janet looked sheepishly at her lap. “No, I didn’t. I wanted him to think it was all Andrea. I wanted him to hate her, so that he wouldn’t see her again.”

  Smith took a walk around the room to stretch his legs—and his mind. When he took his chair again, he said, “You told me in Annapolis that your father-in-law had slept with Andrea.” He looked at Marcia. “And you agreed with her, Marcia.” He almost mentioned the diary, but didn’t want to bring it up in Janet’s presence.

  Janet sat folded into herself, a blank expression on her face.

  “Well, didn’t you tell me that, Janet?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Smith waited for more. When it didn’t come, he asked, “Were you lying to me?”

  “Yes,” she said in a low voice.

  “Why?” Annabel asked.

  “Because I’ve always hated him. I talked about it with Dr. Collins, and he said I loved Paul so much that I actually wanted to shift the blame to his father, to make it seem that the only Ewald who’d been with Andrea was him, not my husband. I know better, of course, always did, but I suppose I was playing some kind of game with myself.” She sighed and stood, a person purged, rid of a poison. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’ve caused a great deal of trouble. I never meant to, but I suppose people like me always do.”

  Smith said, “I think you ought to stop considering yourself unworthy, Janet. You’re a good person, and I’m glad we’re all here.”

  He asked Marcia why she’d gone along with Janet’s story about Ken Ewald having slept with Andrea Feldman. Her answer was, “I suspected he did, but never knew for sure. When Janet said he had slept with her, I believed her. I’m … sorry.”

  “You said you were afraid to come back,” Smith said, “that something terrible would happen to you. Who are you afraid will do something to you?”

  “Mr. Farmer.”

  “Afraid Ed Farmer will physically hurt you?”

  “I don’t know what he would do. I don’t like him, don’t trust him, never did. I think Paul’s father made a big mistake in trusting him. And when Marcia told me about the tape and what happened the night Andrea was murdered, I knew I had to get away.”

  “Wait a minute,” Annabel said, “are you suggesting that … Ed Farmer murdered Andrea?”

  “Yes.”

  “What tape?” Smith asked. “What happened the night of the murder?”

  “Here.” Marcia pulled a reel of tape from her purse and handed it to Smith. “There’s a tape recorder in the second-floor office that goes on automatically every time the phone is picked up. M
r. Farmer had it installed. This is the tape that was on the machine the night Ms. Feldman was killed.”

  Smith weighed the tape in his hands, asked, “What’s on it?”

  Marcia said, “The telephone conversation I had with Ms. Feldman. She’d called looking for Senator Ewald. I told her he wasn’t there. She said to me that she would wait outside the Kennedy Center for exactly an hour, and that I was to tell him when he came home to meet her there. She said it was urgent. She sounded very angry, very upset.”

  “Did you give Senator Ewald the message?” Buffolino asked. It was the first thing he’d said since Smith and Annabel arrived.

  “No, he didn’t come home. He’d called from his office to say he had an appointment. I told Mrs. Ewald that, but I never had a chance to give him the message from Ms. Feldman.”

  “That was all?” Annabel said. “I don’t understand why her conversation with you is so important.”

  “Because after I hung up on Ms. Feldman, I saw Mr. Farmer go into the upstairs office, and heard him listening to the conversation on tape.”

  “What did you do then?” Smith asked.

  “I didn’t do anything, but Mr. Farmer left the house immediately.”

  “To meet Andrea Feldman,” Annabel said.

  Janet Ewald just looked straight ahead.

  “Marcia, why didn’t you come forward with this, especially when Paul was taken in as a suspect?” Smith asked.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do. When Janet disappeared, I decided to wait to discuss it with her before doing anything else. I told her about it, and she told me about the fight she’d heard between Mr. Farmer and Ms. Feldman.”

  “And neither of you did anything,” said Buffolino.

  Both Janet and Marcia shook their heads. “We were afraid,” Janet said.

  “I didn’t even write it in my diary,” Marcia added.

  Smith looked at his watch. “I want the two of you to stay here. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, we will,” Janet said.

  “Forgive me for being skeptical, Janet,” Smith said, “but you’ve promised me things before. I want you to trust me, to know that the advice I’m giving you is good, that you won’t be hurt, and that you have nothing to fear. Annabel and I are going to be leaving shortly, but Tony will stay with you.” He said to Buffolino, “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  They went into the bedroom, where Smith told Buffolino not to let either woman out of his sight, and to do anything short of shooting them to keep them in the suite.

  They returned to the living room. “Janet, Marcia, just relax,” Smith said. “Order up room service if you’d like. Just let Tony know what you want. He knows the menu by heart. We’ll be back.”

  “Is Mr. Farmer downstairs?” Janet asked.

  “I assume so, but don’t worry. Whether you’re correct or not about him, I assure you he won’t have the opportunity to do you any harm.”

  Smith and Annabel went to the cocktail party, spotted and cornered Leslie. “Leslie, we need additional seating tonight.”

  “Mac, I can’t do that at this late date.”

  “It’s important. I have special guests with me. Can you arrange for a separate table for us at the rear of the room?”

  Leslie sighed. “I’ll try. Who are these ‘special’ guests?”

  “I wish to bring my investigator, Tony Buffolino, to the dinner. He’ll be joined by your daughter-in-law, Janet, and your housekeeper, Marcia Mims.”

  The shock value of his words registered on her face. She composed herself quickly. “You can’t do this to me, Mac. I mean, I’m delighted Janet is back, but having her at dinner under these circumstances will … well, I mean, everyone knows she’s been missing. It will take away from Ken, from the focus of the dinner.”

  Smith smiled, although without complete sincerity. “Leslie, let me invoke the saying of Hollywood agents. Trust me. It’s important that they be at the dinner.”

  She was angry, no doubt about that, but she backed off. She nodded. But her parting words were, “Please, don’t allow anything to spoil this evening. We’ve worked so hard. How is Janet?”

  “Fine. She wants very much to be part of this evening, part of this family again.”

  “I wish Paul were here.”

  “Why isn’t he?”

  “He’s in Taiwan. An unnecessary trip. He’s distancing himself from us. People! Families! Life would be so simple without them.”

  Smith half grinned. “And dreadfully empty. Thanks, Leslie.”

  When Mac and Annabel returned to the suite, it was clear that Tony Buffolino hadn’t wasted time in entertaining his guests. He’d ordered up shrimp cocktails, chicken liver pâté, an obscene mound of beluga caviar, spareribs, and an assortment of sandwiches. Janet seemed considerably more relaxed than when she’d arrived.

  “Looks like you’re taking good care of everyone,” Smith said to Buffolino. “Expecting the Cabinet, too?”

  “Just trying to be a good host,” he said. “Help yourself. I think I overdid it.”

  “How are you feeling, Janet?” Annabel asked.

  Janet managed a small, wan smile. “Better, thank you. He’s funny.” She looked at Buffolino.

  “Yes, he can be amusing,” said Smith.

  “I was just tellin’ ’em some of the old war stories from when I was on the force. That’s one good thing about being a cop, huh, you always got a good story.”

  Unlike Janet, Marcia Mims was visibly on edge as she stood at a window and vacantly looked through it. “Marcia, could we talk for a minute?” Smith asked.

  She followed him to the bedroom, where, the moment the door was closed, he asked, “Why did you give me your diary?”

  “To protect myself,” she answered.

  “From what?”

  “From the same things Janet is afraid of, the same people. Mr. Smith, because I’ve been with Senator Ewald and his family for many years, I know a great deal. I’m always there. I see, I hear. I never thought much about what that meant until Ms. Feldman was murdered. Then I knew it had to be because she knew something, too. I thought that if I gave the diary to someone else, people wouldn’t have any reason to kill me. I could tell them you had it, knew everything. Does that make sense?”

  Smith sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes. “From what you and Janet have told me, Marcia, it’s very possible that Ed Farmer murdered Andrea Feldman. But there are others who had reason to kill her, powerful people, powerful organizations whose goals could be damaged by some of the things Senator Ewald has learned over the years and that he kept in his files. People like that stop at nothing, allow no one to get in their way. They justify what they do by claiming a ‘greater good.’ ”

  “Are you speaking of the DAF?”

  “How do you know about that organization?” Smith asked.

  Marcia took a deep breath. She walked across the room, leaned against a desk, and said, “I’ve made a mess of my life, Mr. Smith, and almost made a mess of everyone else’s life around me. It’s time to explain.” She paused, then continued with what was obviously a difficult tale. “I tell you this for the same reason I gave you my diary. I think you’re the only person I can really trust, aside from Janet and my cousin.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “Before I came to work for the Ewalds in California, I had lived a shabby life. I was many things, including a whore. I was a whore because it helped me survive. I used drugs when they weren’t even common, except in the jazz musicians’ world. I was married twice—no children, thank God—and I assaulted one of my husbands with a knife. He almost died, and I didn’t care. The drugs saw to that.” She drew in more oxygen to keep the fire going. “I reached the end, I suppose. I saw it that way, the end of my life. But I was lucky. A few good things happened to me, and I began to realize my life didn’t have to end, that it could begin with something new, and decent, and clean.”

  “From the years
I’ve known you, Marcia, I’d say that’s exactly what did happen with your life. You know how respected you are by the Ewalds. They obviously place tremendous faith in you.”

  “Not deserved, I’m afraid.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When I was so low, I naturally spent my time with others like me. Then I began meeting people in California who seemed to offer me the kind of support I needed. These were people who understood what it was like to be lonely and black and strung out in a strange place. One of the people who was so good to me was a man from Panama named Garcia.”

  “Garcia?”

  “Yes, Hilton Garcia. Like the hotels.”

  The first name of the Garcia who’d set up Tony for his fall was Hilton. How many Hilton Garcias could there be?

  “He was very kind to me. People said he was involved in drugs, but he never displayed that side to me, never offered any to me. He loaned me money, even found me an apartment. Then, one day, he disappeared, and I heard nothing from him again.”

  “Marcia, are you aware that the man in the next room, Tony Buffolino, was forced to resign from the police department because of a drug dealer named Hilton Garcia?”

  She lowered, then opened her eyes. “Yes, I knew when I heard about that case that it must have been the same man. I was so uncomfortable in the other room with Mr. Buffolino. He doesn’t know that I was friends with the man who hurt him.”

  Smith said, “I don’t see how what you’ve told me so far would cause you to feel you’ve betrayed Senator Ewald.”

  “There is more, Mr. Smith. When I was hired by Mrs. Ewald in California, you can’t imagine how happy I was, how joyous. It didn’t mean that my past did not exist, but I felt different. All of a sudden, I was part of a regular and important American household, and I liked it. It made me feel important.”

  Smith felt considerable compassion for her. Marcia Mims was obviously an intelligent and decent woman who’d made some serious mistakes but had managed to rise above them. Certainly, nothing she’d said caused him to think less of her.

  “One day—it was maybe a year, a year and a half ago—I got a call from a man who said that Hilton Garcia had suggested he contact me. His name was Miguel. He was Panamanian, too.” She looked to Smith for a reaction; he gave her none. The name meant nothing to him.