The host delivered them to the corner farthest from the bar, where the large format portrait of Grace Ludlow, matriarch of the political clan, stood in grand judgment of all she surveyed. Under that portrait, the once-great hope, now the errant son, Chester, read the Financial Times by window light.
After they greeted each other, Rook sat beside Ludlow in a wing chair. Nikki settled opposite him on a Louis XV canapé sofa and thought this sure wasn’t the office at the car wash.
Chester Ludlow neatly folded the pale salmon pages of his newspaper and picked up Heat’s business card from the silver plate tray on the coffee table. “Detective Nikki Heat. That has a ring of excitement.”
What do you say to that? Thank you? So, instead, she said, “And this is my associate, Jameson Rook.”
“Oh, the writer. That explains the tie.”
Rook ran the flat of his palm down the borrowed neckwear. “Wouldn’t you know? The one day you don’t dress for the club.”
“Funny thing about this place, you can get in without pants but not without a tie.”
Considering the disgraced politician’s undoing by sex scandals, Nikki was surprised by his comment and the size of his laugh. She looked to see if any of the members were annoyed, but the few sprinkled about the spacious, vaulted room didn’t seem to even notice.
“Mr. Ludlow,” she began, “I have some questions I’d like to ask you concerning an investigation we’re conducting. Would you like to go someplace more private?”
“Doesn’t get any more private than the Milmar. Besides, after the fairly public year that I’ve just had, I don’t believe I have any more secrets.”
We shall see, thought the detective. “This brings me to what I’d like to talk to you about. I suppose you’ve heard that Cassidy Towne has been murdered.”
“Yes. Please tell me it was painful and unpleasant.”
Rook cleared his throat. “You do realize you’re talking to a cop.”
“Yes,” he said, and then flipped Nikki’s card to read again. “And a homicide detective.” He placed the card neatly on the sterling tray. “Do I look worried?”
“Do you have a reason to be?” she asked.
The politician waited, more for the effect of working an audience, and then said, “No.” He reclined in his chair and smiled. He was going to let her do the work.
“You had a history with Cassidy Towne.”
“I think it’s more accurate to say that she had one with me. I’m not the one with the daily muckraking column. I’m not the one who aired my sex life in public. I’m not the parasite leeching off the misfortune and misadventures of others without so much as a care for the damage I might be doing.”
Rook jumped in. “Oh, please. Do you know how many times people get caught at something and then blame the media for reporting it?” Nikki tried to catch his eye to back off, but this pushed a button on his panel and he couldn’t stay out of it. “A journalist might say she just did the raking. You were the one doing the . . . mucking.”
“And what about the days when there was nothing to report, Mr. Rook? The days upon days when there was no news, nothing new to the scandal, but that bottom-feeder printed speculation and innuendo, unearthed from ‘unnamed sources’ and ‘insiders who overheard.’ And when that wasn’t enough, why not rehash events to keep my pain in the public spotlight?” Now Nikki was glad for Rook’s intervening. Ludlow was coming off his cool. Maybe he would get sloppy. “Yes, so I had some sexual adventures.”
“You got caught visiting S and M parlors in Dungeon Alley.”
Ludlow was dismissive. “Look around. Is this 2010, or 1910?”