Free Murder on Embassy Row by Margaret Truman

“which is why I’m partial to the establishment. I’d avoid the seafood, with the exception of oysters, and the quiches are uniformly satisfying.”
    “Enjoy yourselves,” Morizio said, barely able to hide his annoyance that Connie decided to stay. “I’ll call you later,” he told her as he slipped into his coat.
    “Okay, Captain.”
    Morizio pondered her playful use of his title, let it pass and said to Thorpe, “Maybe you’ll have a chanceto explain to Connie why someone who’s spent his life as a trade representative ends up in charge of an ambassador’s murder, George.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Thorpe said. “Enjoy your chief’s wife’s cooking.”
    “I’m sure I will.”
    Morizio wanted to sit down, remove his coat, and ask the questions that were really on his mind. Instead, he shook Thorpe’s hand, nodded at Connie and left Timberlake’s.
    ***
    He didn’t leave Chief Trottier’s house until eleven. Dinner was excellent, and Trottier’s wife, Maureen, was as plain and straightforward as her husband was pompous. Throughout dinner Trottier claimed the reason he’d invited Morizio was to get to know his key men better. “There’s a tendency for a gap to exist between a chief and his captains, Sal,” he said. “I’ve been impressed with the way you’ve handled this Geoffrey James matter and wanted you to know it on a more personal level than’s possible at headquarters.”
    “More pie?” Maureen asked.
    “No, ma’am,” Morizio said. “I’m stuffed. It was very good.”
    Morizio had hoped to find time alone with Trottier to clear up some of his confusion over the handling of the James murder. That chance never materialized. As he stood at the front door and Trottier helped him on with his coat, he asked, “Can we catch some time together, Chief? I’ve got questions about the James case that are bothering me.”
    “Nine?”
    “Sure thing.”
    “I’d intended to hold a briefing on it anyway. There’sstill protocol to be followed, even though we’re out of it.”
    “Out of it? What about finding Hafez?”
    “I’m sure he’s long gone from D.C. by now. It’s an international matter. We’ll let them know what we know, which isn’t much, and get on with things. See you at nine.”
    “Yes, sir. A wonderful meal, Mrs. Trottier. Thank you.”
    “Come again, Captain. I enjoy meeting the men my husband works with.”
    ***
    Morizio considered stopping by Connie’s apartment on his way home but decided not to. He didn’t call her either because he didn’t want to wake her. She called him at midnight. He was playing chess with Rasputin. “How was dinner?” she asked.
    “She’s a good cook. You?”
    “I’ve had better food, I’ve had worse.”
    “I don’t care about the food. Anything come out of Thorpe?”
    “It’s all on tape. He’s a charmer. I wish his stomach were under better control but aside from that, I enjoyed his company.”
    “Well, I didn’t. I don’t like him.”
    “Neither do I.”
    “You sound as though you do.”
    “Oh, Sal, that little vestige of jealousy peeks through now and then and I love you for it.”
    “Jealous, hell. Thorpe’s not what you’d call a threat to a relationship.”
    “He’s not
that
bad. But do you know what, Sal?”
    “What?”
    “One, I love you very much. Two, I’m anxious to listen to the tape with you and discuss it. And three, Isense a side of Mr. George Thorpe that would allow him to blow up his own mother if there were something in it for him.”
    Morizio laughed. “He’s not
that
bad.”
    “I think he could be. Sleep tight. See you in the office, Captain.”
    Morizio had just climbed into bed at two when the phone rang. An overseas operator told him to wait. A few seconds later Paul Pringle came on the line.
    “Paul, I was looking for you today at the embassy. They said you’d gone home on some special assignment.”
    “Call it what you will, Sal. I didn’t want to just leave without saying