“As I said, not well at all. We corresponded about my trip to Washington, and we spoke on the phone a few times. I really only met her in person the day she died.”
“Then you probably didn’t know,” said Mr. Farlow.
“I don’t think it’s necessary to go into this, Greg,” Charlotte said.
“Why not?” he replied. “Nikki was never embarrassed about it, nor were we.”
I took in each of them, hoping for an explanation. It came from Nikki’s father.
“Nikki was a lesbian,” he said, checking his wife for an angry reaction.
She looked down at the table, then up at me. “I was upset at first when she told us, Mrs. Fletcher, as I’m sure you can understand.” Her smile was more of a grimace. “Funny what goes through your mind at a time like that. My immediate thought was a selfish one—that I’d never have grandchildren.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I wasn’t thinking of Nikki. I was thinking only of me.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. But my mind was racing. Any affair between Nebel and Nikki was highly unlikely—unless Nikki had magically become heterosexual—and the blackmailing Pat Nebel spoke of didn’t make any sense.
“I don’t mean to pry,” I said. “But I have to admit to you that I’ve taken it upon myself to assist the authorities in helping identify Nikki’s murderer, and bringing him—or her—to justice. That’s why I came here today.”
Mr. Farlow said, “I know you write murder mysteries, Mrs. Fletcher, but I didn’t know you worked with the police to solve real ones, too.”
“I’m not an official investigator,” I said, not wanting to give them the wrong impression. “Was your daughter’s sexual orientation known to others? I mean, to a wide range of friends and colleagues here in Washington?”
“Oh, no,” her mother answered. “It wasn’t that Nikki was ashamed. Far from it. And you must know that we weren’t ashamed, either. Once the initial shock was over, we supported her fully. But did her friends know? A few back home, that’s all, and Nikki told us she kept it a secret here in Washington, again not because of any embarrassment, but because she felt it might hamper her work in the Senate. It pained her to be the subject of the rumors about her and Senator Nebel. She could have put an end to them in an instant by publicly announcing that she was a lesbian. But she never did, just discussed it with us whenever she came home, or when we visited her here.”
“Actually, Nikki found the whole situation amusing,” said her father. “I remember once when she expressed concern about how the rumor could negatively affect his run for a third term. I suggested that if she was seriously worried about that, that she make her lesbianism public.”
“What did she say?” I asked.
“She said that she’d discussed it with Senator Nebel, and that he urged her not to for her own sake.”
“Then Senator Nebel knew,” I said.
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
I tried to keep up with my racing thoughts. If the senator knew that Nikki was a lesbian, he could have headed off the rumors about their affair by leaking that fact—and Washington’s penchant for leaks to the press was well-known. If Greg Farlow was correct that his daughter had confided in Senator Nebel about her sexual orientation, why had Nebel not used it to quash the rumor? Was it simply the honorable act of an honorable man, who placed loyalty to his aide above his political future? That was the most palatable of reasons. Then again, something more nefarious could have been behind it. The person who knew the answer was Senator Warren Nebel. But I didn’t know if he would ever be willing to shed light on it.
I asked Greg and Charlotte, “Did Nikki have a partner here in Washington?”
“A romantic interest?” her mother said. “I don’t believe so. At least, she never told me about one. I would have liked her to develop a relationship, someone she could love.” A few more silent tears flowed.
“Did she ever mention anyone she considered an enemy, someone who might have hated her enough to want to kill her?” I asked.
Her parents looked at each other before her father said, “Nikki often spoke of how intense things were in Washington between opposing sides on an issue. She—”
“She talked about how hatred sometimes developed between political rivals,” the mother said. “In fact—”
Greg Farlow jumped in: “Nikki told me that there were people in Washington who hated Senator Nebel, and carried that feeling over to anyone who supported him and believed in his politics.”
Which meant there might have been a few hundred individuals in Washington who carried a grudge against her, I thought.
Charlotte added, “Nikki sometimes spoke of the corruption that’s rampant in Washington, payoffs to politicians from lobbyists, under-the-table deals, things like that. Not that everyone here operates that way. She was always quick to point that out. But she hated corruption and dishonesty, truly detested it.”
“Was she intimately involved with legislation?” I asked. “I assume she would be, being a senator’s top aide.”
“Oh, yes. Nikki had a keen interest in legislation. She was passionate about certain issues,” Charlotte said.
I hesitated before asking, “What about Senator Nebel? Did she ever say he was among the corrupt?”
They looked at each other. Greg answered, “I don’t remember her ever mentioning Senator Nebel in that regard.” His wife agreed.
I sensed I’d intruded on them long enough, and got up from the table. “Will you be staying in Washington long?” I asked.
“We’d hoped to bring Nikki back with us for burial,” said the mother. “But the police told us that because it’s a homicide, her body won’t be released for a while. Whether we stay depends upon how long that will be.”
“Of course,” I said. “Where are you staying?”
“Capitol Hill Suites. It’s very nice, and not too expensive. We thought of staying here at the apartment, but . . .”
“I plan to be here for the week,” I said. “I’d like to stay in touch.”
“Sure,” Greg Farlow said. “It was good of you to come by, and to be taking an interest in Nikki’s case.”
I left the building with my brain swirling with questions and emotions. Nikki’s parents were lovely people. Their acceptance of their daughter’s sexual orientation was admirable, as was their strength in dealing with her premature death.
But uppermost in my mind as I walked away from the building was the revelation that Nikki was homosexual, hardly interested in an affair with a male United States senator. Nebel knew that about her, yet did nothing to use that knowledge to put an end to rumors of an affair with her. He’d obviously not even confided in his wife that her suspicions about Nikki and him were groundless. Why?
If I’d developed an interest earlier in helping solve Nikki Farlow’s murder, that interest was now intensified. I stopped at a corner, pulled out my cell phone and Walter Grusin’s business card from my purse, and dialed his number.
“Mr. Grusin? Jessica Fletcher.”
“I was hoping to hear from you.”
“I decided to take you up on your offer to fill me in on the nuclear power plant. The more I know about it, from all sides, the better.”
“An enlightened view, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m at your disposal. How about dinner?”
“Dinner?” Spending an evening having dinner with him wasn’t high on my priority list. But if that was when he was available, it would have to be.
“I happen to be free this evening,” I said, wishing that weren’t the case.
“Any druthers about a restaurant?” he asked.
“I’m a visitor,” I said. “This is your town.”
“I’ll do my best to make this visitor happy. Where can I meet you?”
“The Willard? I’m staying there and need some time to freshen up.”
“Two hours?”
“I look forward to it.”
Chapter Fourteen
I turned on the television in my suite at the Willard the moment I walked in and saw what George was dealing with, an unconscionable terrorist attack at a bus stop in central London. The footage of the aftermath was sickening; no terrorist group had yet claimed responsibility for the cowardly act.
The newspaper reporter Natalie Mumford and Senator Nebel’s press secretary, Sandy Teller, had called. I returned Teller’s call first and reached him at his office in the senator’s Dirksen Building suite.
“Thanks for getting back to me,” he said. “I’d mentioned to you that I’ve been urging the senator to hold a press conference about Nikki’s death. I think he’s finally agreed with me.”
“I’m sure that pleases you,” I said.
“I just know it’s the right thing to do. The problem is that his lawyer, Hal Duncan, is against it.”
Of course he is,
I thought. Nebel was obviously a prime suspect in Nikki’s murder, and every attorney knows that in a criminal case, the less said by a client, the better.
“Why are you telling
me
this?” I asked.
“I was hoping you could persuade the senator to follow my advice and override Duncan.”
“Mr. Teller,” I said, “I’m afraid you have a mistaken notion of my relationship with Senator Nebel. I’m a friend of his wife’s, not his. He wouldn’t have reason to heed any advice I might give.”
“You underestimate yourself, Mrs. Fletcher. He’s been expressing his admiration for you every chance he gets.”
“That’s all very flattering, but I’m not in a position to give counsel to anyone when it comes to press conferences, especially since the senator’s attorney—who, I might add, seems extremely capable—feels otherwise.”
“Well, Mrs. Fletcher, I had nothing to lose by asking, and I understand why you feel the way you do. How did your meeting with Detective Moody go this afternoon out at the house?”
Another attempt by this press secretary to a United States senator to find out through me what’s going on.
I suppose I couldn’t blame him. His responsibility, besides putting a positive spin on his boss’s agenda in the senate, included keeping tabs on things that could prove detrimental.
“It went fine,” I said, wondering how much he knew about the alleged blackmail attempt by Nikki, and the revelation that her sexual orientation rendered an affair with the senator unlikely. My assumption was that while he might have been brought into the loop where the blackmail was involved, I doubted he knew of Nikki’s lesbianism. If he did, I couldn’t imagine his not leaking it to media confidants.
I didn’t have to return Natalie Mumford’s call, because she called immediately after I’d hung up with Teller.
“Hope I’m not intruding on anything special,” she said.
“Not at all,” I said.
“I saw you when you arrived at Senator Nebel’s house this afternoon. You were there at the same time as Detective Moody.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“And Nebel’s attorney, Hal Duncan.”
“Right again.”
“Mind if I ask what’s new with the investigation?”
“I don’t mind your asking,” I said, “but I’m sure you know a great deal more than I do.”
“You may think that, Mrs. Fletcher, but you’re probably wrong. Let me ask you a direct question. You know, of course, about Nikki Farlow’s supposed affair with the senator.”
Her use of the word
supposed
surprised me. When we’d met for that brief time at the restaurant, she’d presented the affair as a fait accompli, a fact.
“I’ve heard the rumor,” I replied.
“Here’s another . . . rumor.”
I waited.
“Would it surprise you that Nikki was gay?”
This time my silence was because I was dumbfounded. I’d been told this by Nikki’s parents just an hour earlier, and here was a reporter demonstrating the same knowledge.
“What do you base that on?” I asked.
“A call to a friend in the Midwest, who did some digging for me. I’d heard something along those lines here in D.C.”
“I see.”
“I thought you might have some information to help me corroborate it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Ms. Mumford.”
“But if in your time with the Nebels you come up with something, you will let me know—won’t you?”
“Certainly not,” I said, working to keep the indignation out of my voice.
She laughed. “I know, I’m pushy. But that goes with the territory. Actually, if it’s true, it would be good for the senator, put to rest the rumor that he and Nikki were having an affair.”
But not especially good for Nikki Farlow.
She’d wanted to keep her sexual life private from others in Washington, and deserved that respect in death. So did her parents.
I ended the conversation and spruced up for dinner with Walter Grusin. He called from the lobby, and I was almost out the door when the phone rang. I debated letting the answering system pick it up, but succumbed to my need to respond to a ringing telephone.
“Jessica? It’s Seth.”
“Oh, hello, Seth. How are you?”
“I’m more interested in your welfare at the moment.”
“My welfare? Why do you say that?”
“Seems like a silly question to be askin’ me, Jessica, considering all that’s happened to you in the few days you’ve been in Washington. First Oscar Brophy shows up wavin’ a gun around like the demented old fool that he is, and you end up in his sights. Then—and you never mentioned it to me last time we talked—then this aide to Senator Nebel is found murdered, and Jessica Fletcher happens to be the one who discovers the body—in the company of your Scotland Yard friend, I might add.”
“Actually, the aide’s murder—her name was Nikki Farlow—her murder happened before Oscar showed up with his gun.”
“Doesn’t matter what order they came in, Jessica. Point is, you’ve found yourself in one dangerous situation after another. Not the first time. Maybe you should consider writin’ romance novels or kids’ books ’stead of murder mysteries.”
“I don’t think the books I write have anything to do with what’s happened since I got here.”