Murder at the Watergate (35 page)

Aprile leaned back to the microphone: “Congressman Curtain will hold his hearings, at great expense, and will find that the letter of campaign finance law was never violated. Have to run.” Questions trailed behind him as he left.

Mac turned off the TV.

“Chris Hedras may be dead, but his shadow will follow Joe throughout the campaign, probably for the rest of his life,” Annabel said, refolding a favorite sweater a third time.

“Unfortunate, but true. Have you seen my gold cuff links?”

“Top left drawer.”

“The press can be so cruel,” Annabel said. “Was there really any need to rehash Chris’s former troubles, that he was accused of rape in high school? And that reporter from Boston claiming Chris had been a drug user? Good Lord, Mac, you’d think that when you die, all that trash should be buried with you.”

“When you die,” Mac said, “what your life has been follows you. You
earn
any praise you get in your obit,
along with a reminder of the less sterling aspects of your life.”

“Even if you’ve never been convicted of anything.”

“Sure. With Hedras, prosecutors felt they couldn’t make a case for accomplice to murder, or conspiracy, based upon what they had. Chapas from the trade alliance didn’t have any direct evidence that Chris knew what they were doing with his information. Anyone else who could have testified against him was either dead or in Mexico. Besides, there’s the smell of a political deal having been cut.”

“Has Joe told you that?” Annabel asked.

“He’s hinted at it. What I get from him, and Herman Winkler, and others, is that to put Hedras through a drawn-out and highly public trial could only hurt Joe’s chances for the nomination. Get rid of him, quietly, seems to have been the operative solution. Of course, his murder will put him back in the news for a while.”

“The Mexican police say it was a random killing, probably robbery. His wallet was missing.”

“And Saddam Hussein is a nice guy. Chris Hedras was killed, Annie, because of who he was. No, correct that.
What
he was. He was programmed to become part of the Establishment, feed off it, suck it dry, and then laugh in its face. Add a healthy dose of greed, runaway ambition, immorality, and callousness, and you have someone ripe for a fall. I’m not pleased he was killed, but I’m not feeling any true sorrow, either. Finished with your suitcase?”

“No.”

Annabel took another stab at folding the sweater to her liking. “Has Joe also hinted, as you put it, at how
Chris was able to set up so many damaging photos of him in Mexico? Multimillionaire drug-money launderers. Government officials on the take—”

“Viviana Diaz,” Mac added. “I wonder what she’s being paid to claim she slept with Joe.”

“Carole was happy when I recounted for her your meeting with Diaz and Zegreda, although I don’t think she ever really distrusted Joe.”

“How were so many photos with bad guys set up? Simple, I suppose. Joe trusted Chris implicitly. So did I. Elfie paved the way with her contacts in Mexico.”

“Do you think—?”

“That Elfie knew what Chris was up to and deliberately chose photo situations to compromise Joe? I choose not to think that. Everybody trusted the charming Mr. Hedras. Someone in Joe’s position has to believe in the people he has around him. He can’t question every person he’s asked to pose with, any more than he can personally check the validity of every campaign contribution. What harm could come from some harmless photo ops? Besides, in Mexico, one never knows what lurks behind the masks people wear.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“At least the Mexican-American Trade Alliance is out of business,” Mac continued. “The revelations of that young man Jose Chapas make quite a case against his boss and others. But whether it ever comes to trial is another matter. The Mexican government is raising hell over their detention.”

“Finished.” Annabel closed and latched her suitcase.

“Sure your sweater is folded properly?”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

The intercom sounded. The lobby clerk announced that the young art student who worked part-time for Annabel at the gallery had arrived. “Send her up,” Annabel said. The young student had eagerly agreed to stay in the apartment for the long weekend to avoid them having to put Rufus in the kennel again. Annabel had no sooner hung up when the phone rang. Mac answered.

“Mac, darling, it’s Elfie.”

“Hello, Elfie. How are you?”

“Good, although the dreadful news of Chris’s murder certainly dampens one’s spirits.”

“Are you calling from San Miguel?”

“No. I left as soon as I heard about Chris. I’m back in Washington.”

“And we’re just leaving for a long weekend away from here.”

“Good for you. I won’t keep you, Mac. I’m calling to see whether you’d be willing to co-chair a fund-raiser for Joe next month. We’re holding it in the Watergate again now that the murder rate there seems to have slowed down.”

“Thanks for the offer, Elfie, but I have to pass. A very busy schedule the next few months.”

“How about Annabel?”

“Up to her pretty neck.”

“Oh, well, another time. Have you spoken with Joe lately?”

“Yes.”

“The rumor in Mexico is that Cadwell might resign as ambassador.”

“Really? I haven’t heard that.”

“ If that happens, I’ve been told President Scott has me on the list of possible replacements.”

“You must be pleased, Elfie.”

“Just asking what I can do for my country rather than what it can do for me. What a memorable line from JFK.”

“It certainly was. I have to cut this short, Elfie. Good hearing from you.”

“By all means. Whisk that gorgeous wife of yours away to some secluded, romantic place.”

“My intention exactly. Take care, Elfie. Good hearing from you.”

Later that night, Mac and Annabel sipped cognac on the porch of their getaway weekend cottage.

“Every time I think of that hired killer living in the same building as us, I shudder,” Annabel said, rubbing Mac’s leg with her bare foot.

“The only neighbors he’ll have for the rest of his life are fellow cons. When Chris Hedras was at the apartment laying out the plans for meeting Unzaga, I actually thought that if I had a daughter, he’d make a good son-in-law. Some judge of character, huh?”

“He fooled a lot of people for a long time, Mac. Do you think Elfie ever will become ambassador to Mexico?”

“Sure. Ambassadors aren’t chosen for their diplomatic skills. They get those jobs as rewards for loyalty.”

“And generosity to a party.”

“That, too. Know what I’ve been thinking, Annie?”

“What?”

“That I’d like to go back to San Miguel de Allende one
day and enjoy it the way you said I would. Obviously, I didn’t—enjoy it.”

“I wonder why. I’d like that, too. Shall I call Susan and book it?”

“Sure.” He took her hand. “Happy we sold the house and moved to the Watergate?”

“Yes. You?”

“Uh-huh. Nice rubbing shoulders with Washington’s rich and famous.”

“And infamous.”

“That, too.”

“Ready for bed?” Mac asked.

“Just as long as you’re there with me.”

By Margaret Truman

MUDER IN THE SUPREME COURT
*

MURDER IN THE SMITHSONIAN
*

MURDER ON EMBASSY ROW
*

MURDER AT THE FBI
*

MURDER IN GEORGETOWN
*

MUDER IN THE CIA
*

MURDER AT THE KENNEDY CENTER
*

MURDER AT THE NATIONAL CATHEDRAL
*

MURDER AT THE PENTAGON
*

MURDER ON THE POTOMAC
*

MURDER AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY
*

MURDER IN THE HOUSE
*

MURDER AT THE WATERGATE
*

Nonfiction

FIRST LADIES
*

BESS W. TRUMAN

SOUVENIR

WOMEN OF COURAGE

HARRY S TRUMAN

LETTERS FROM FATHER:

The Truman Family’s Personal Correspondences

WHERE THE BUCK STOPS

WHITE HOUSE PETS