Heat did look around. In that room, it could have been either. “If I may,” she said, deciding to keep the pressure on, “you were a congressman who got elected on a family values platform and were exposed for doing everything from pony play to torture games. Your nickname on Capitol Hill was the Minority Whipped. I’m sure it didn’t sit so well that it was Cassidy Towne who blew the whistle on you.”
“Unrelentingly,” he hissed. “And with her, it wasn’t even politically motivated. How could it be? Look at the joker they put in there to succeed me when I resigned. I had a legislative agenda. He has lunches and listening tours. No, with that bitch it was all for the ink. All for selling papers and advancing her sleazy career.”
“Makes you glad she’s dead, doesn’t it?” said Nikki.
“Detective, I haven’t had a drink in sixty-four days, but I may open a bottle of champagne tonight.” He reached for the glass of ice water on the coffee table and took a long drink, emptying it to the cubes. He replaced it, getting his feet under him again. “But as I’m sure you know from your experience, the fact that I have a strong motivation in no way implicates me in her murder.”
“Clearly, you hated her.” Rook was trying to restart him, but Chester Ludlow was back in full command.
“Past tense. It’s all behind me now. I did the sex rehab. I did the alcohol rehab. I did the anger management. And so you know? I not only won’t have that champagne tonight, I didn’t need to satisfy my anger at that woman by acting upon it.”
“You didn’t need to.” Heat went for it. “Not when you can farm out your violence to other people. Like, say, taking out a mob hit on Cassidy Towne?”
Ludlow was smooth. He reacted but not much. It was as if someone had told him his linen blazer was out of season. “I did no such thing.”
Rook said, “We have other information.”
“Oh, I see. I never figured you to be the unnamed sources type, Mr. Rook.”
“I protect them. That’s how I’m sure to get credible information.”
Ludlow stared at Rook. “It’s Fat Tommy, isn’t it?”
Rook only gave him a blank stare, not about to give up a source, and especially not about to throw in Fat Tommy.
Nikki Heat reloaded. “So I take it you are admitting you contacted Tomasso Nicolosi in your solicitation for a hit?”
“All right,” Ludlow said. “OK, I did make an inquiry. It was a relapse in my therapy. I started to fantasize and toyed with what it would take, that’s all. I may not write laws anymore, but I do know there isn’t one against asking a question.”
“And you want me to believe that just because Fat Tommy didn’t set you up, you didn’t take your business to someone else?”
Chester Ludlow smiled. “I decided there was a better way to get revenge. I hired a private investigator from a top security firm to do a little dirt digging on Cassidy Towne. Turnabout, you see?” Or hypocrisy, she wanted to say, but she thought better than to break his flow. “Look into a certain Holly Flanders.” He spelled the last name for her, but Nikki didn’t write it down, didn’t want to take dictation from this man.
“And why should I look into her?”
“I’m not going to do your work for you. But you will find her intriguing in light of this case. And, Detective? Be careful. She bought a handgun ten days ago. Unlicensed, of course.”
After the trust-fund politician alibied himself at home with his wife all night, Heat and Rook left him. As they crossed to the lobby, a wisp of an old woman perched on a love seat looked up from her daiquiri. “Congratulations on your lovely magazine profile, young lady.” Even with her smile, Grace Ludlow looked more fearsome than she did in her painting.
While Rook undid his borrowed tie at the coat check, he said, “Ludlow’s family has so many resources and is so well connected, he could have easily made all of this happen.” The tie tangled on him and Nikki stepped in to help with the knot.