Free Murder at the Kennedy Center by Margaret Truman Page A

came home last night. Lord knows where Janet would go, or what she would do.”
    Smith pondered it, then said, “The police will want to talk to her eventually.”
    “I know that. I suppose we’ll have to tell them. When Detective Riga called to arrange to see us, he asked that the four of us be present.”
    Smith forced a smile and slapped his hands on his knees. “Detective Riga could arrive at any moment, Leslie. I would like to talk to the three of you before he gets here. Could you have Ken and Paul come down?”
    “Yes, of course.” She called Marcia Mims and asked her to get them. “Not only is this an awful tragedy for that poor girl, and for us as a family, it could be a tragedy for the campaign. Ken had to cancel an appearance this afternoon. He’s flying to Philadelphia tonight.”
    “Are you going with him?”
    “Yes. You can imagine the questions the press will have for us at every step.”
    “Let’s not worry about the press now, Leslie. I’m more concerned that everyone here is in sync.”
    Ken and Paul Ewald came in, and Smith launched into a series of questions that he anticipated would be asked by Riga. He realized he was back in his old role as a defense attorney, preparing witnesses, trying to head off surprises: “Where did you keep the weapon that was used to kill Andrea Feldman?” “Who had access to it?” “When did you last see it?” “Where was it?” “Why wasn’t it secured?” “Where were each of you at the time she was killed?” “Can anyone verify your actions during that period of time?” “How well did you know the deceased?” “Was your relationship with her cordial, or had there been a recent strain?”
    The list went on. When he was done, he realized some of the answers did nothing to divert suspicion, not just from Ken or Paul but from any of them. No one had an alibi, but Paul had the biggest problem. He claimed he’d had afight with his wife and had taken a drive into Maryland for quiet time to think. Yes, he’d had an affair with Andrea Feldman, and, yes, Janet knew about it and had reacted vehemently and emotionally. No, he had no idea where she was. A suitcase was gone from her closet; her car was gone, too. He was very concerned about her, he said.
    “Has she often just disappeared like this, Paul?” Smith asked.
    “I wouldn’t say often, Mac, but it has happened before. Frankly, I’m worried about what she might do to herself.”
    “Is she suicidal?”
    “There have been threats, although I think they were just that, attention-getting outbursts. Still, I may as well level with you. Janet has some psychological problems.” He looked at his father, who said nothing. “She’s been under treatment for quite a while with Dr. Collins.”
    “Geoffrey Collins?” Smith said. “I know Geof.”
    Paul stood and walked the length of the room, came back halfway, and said, “Look, I’m so sorry about all of this. I know there’s absolutely nothing I can say to either of you to explain it away, or to make it better. I … I had an affair, and she’s dead now. I know you don’t need this kind of complication running for president, Dad, and I would give anything, including my life, if I could go back and make this not happen.”
    Smith looked at Ken Ewald. Although the senator gave his son a reassuring smile, he obviously did so with some effort.
    When Smith asked the senator what he had done following the gala, his answer was terse: “I went to my office across the street and worked until early in the morning. The gala took too much time out of my campaign schedule.”
    “And you say this Secret Service agent, Jeroldson, was with you the whole time.”
    “Yes. I mean, I wasn’t sitting with him. I was in my office with the door closed, and he was out in the waiting room, the way it always is.”
    “Riga will want to confirm that with Jeroldson,” Smith said.
    “Good. Let him. This whole thing is ridiculous. Obviously,no one in this family, or