They were at Senator Rothman’s office by 9:30. Mrs. Mazer raised an eyebrow when she saw the two of them.
“Where are the big boys?”
“They’re out playing with other big boys,” Sherlock said.
Nick smiled, shook Mrs. Mazer’s hand. “It’s just us this morning. I’m here to see John, Mrs. Mazer.”
“He’ll be back in just a bit, maybe twenty minutes or so. I’m sure he’ll want to see you, Dr. Campion. I hope you managed to avoid the media.”
Nick nodded. “Yes, we came in through the back delivery entrance.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t found it by now,” said Mrs. Mazer, and Nick didn’t tell her that the media already had. “Oh dear, all this grief from the media. Senator Rothman is a very fine man, and now there are all these questions about the former Mrs. Rothman.”
“The fact is, Mrs. Mazer,” Nick said, “I’m really not sure about much of anything. But hopefully everything will become clear soon. Do you mind if I wait in his office?”
Mrs. Mazer wondered whether Dr. Campion wanted a few minutes to search the senator’s desk. Who was she to say no? She’d left Dr. Campion alone in the senator’s office many times. She said after a moment, “Why not?”
“Agent Sherlock, would you like to go with Dr. Campion or would you like a magazine?”
“What I would really like is to speak to any staff who might be here.”
“Did Senator Rothman okay it?”
“I’m sure it will be all right,” Sherlock said.
Mrs. Mazer pressed an extension on her phone. She spoke quietly, then raised her head. “Matt Stout is the senator’s senior aide. He’ll be out shortly to speak to you.” She nodded to Nick, pressing a buzzer just beneath her desk. “Dr. Campion, it shouldn’t be long.” Was there a warning in her voice? Nick didn’t know. A few minutes would be enough.
She said as she opened the office door, “Thank you, Mrs. Mazer.” Nick stepped into the big office, knowing exactly where she was going to start looking. Not in his desk. One day she’d seen him kneeling in front of the drink cart, seen a flash of papers disappear through a small opening in the bottom of the cart. She walked straight to it.
“Hello, Nicola. I’m very surprised to see you here. In the camp of the enemy.”
Nick nearly dropped in her tracks she was so startled. She jerked about, nearly losing her balance, to see Albia Rothman standing by the huge windows, dressed in one of her power suits, a rich charcoal gray wool with a soft white silk blouse. She looked quite elegant, rich, intimidating.
“Albia! Oh my heavens, you scared me. What are you doing here?”
“I think the more significant question is what are you doing here, Nicola? I spend a great deal of time here, but you? You ran away, left John without a word, just ran. And now you’re back to try to hang him. He is a good man, a man this country needs. He is a visionary, a man of ideas, and here you are, trying to ruin him. I really won’t have it, Nicola. I won’t.”
“No one wants to hang John,” Nick said, facing the woman Savich, Sherlock, and Dane believed to be a killer. She wasn’t afraid simply because she wasn’t alone, not really. Sherlock was outside, as were a dozen people. All she had to do was yell and people would come running. No reason to be afraid of Albia. She could take Albia, all sleek in her three-inch high heels and tight skirt. She didn’t have much maneuvering room, but she was in better shape than Albia.
Most important, there was Sherlock, her biggest weapon. She said, “But it’s clear to everyone that since Cleo’s body was found, and she’d been struck with something on the back of the head—there are questions that have to be answered. Cleo was John’s wife. All of us have to face that reality. People think John would have had to know. Some people think John may have killed Cleo, Albia.”
“How did you get in here without the media attacking you?”
“I slipped in through the delivery entrance. It was real close going, but I was lucky. The media guy who was supposed to keep his eye on it was having a coffee break. I saw him go into the deli across the street. John told me about that entrance a long time ago.” Actually, both she and Sherlock had come in through the delivery entrance, but Nick didn’t want to tell Albia about Sherlock just yet. She wanted to make Albia feel safe, make her feel in control. Just maybe she’d say something, admit to something.
Albia said with a shrug of her elegant shoulders, “Vultures, aren’t they? But why did Mrs. Mazer let you in here?”