Death of a Washington Madame (10 page)

Fiona and Gail spoke little on their way out to William
Shipley's horse farm in Middleburg, although it was clear that the center of
gravity of their relationship had changed. They drove through a road that led
through fenced pastures just beginning to turn emerald green. Grazing horses
paid little attention as their car passed them on their way to the main house.

Shipley and his wife were waiting in the den. Madeline
Newton was wearing jodhpurs and a green plaid shirt buttoned low to display her
ample bosoms. The green set off her violet eyes and the afternoon light washed
away any after forty flaws. She wore no make-up and looked quite beautiful.
Shipley wore brown corduroy's and a beige flannel shirt. His complexion was
ashen and his expression was sullen and mournful, perfectly appropriate for a
man who had just put his mother to rest that morning.

A fire had been lit to take the chill out of the April air.
It was Clayton, the massive bodyguard, who led them into the room. He stood
waiting for orders.

"It's alright Clayton," Madeline said once again
revealing who called the shots as far as he was concerned. He nodded and left.

The room itself with its polished oak paneling and English
style furnishings had the flavor of high dedication to the horse culture. It
was cluttered with paintings of horses, bronzes of horses, authentic whips and
blue ribbons galore signifying winning entries. There were also numerous
pictures of Madeline in her Hollywood heydays and William at the high moments
of his political life.

A framed picture of the tomb of the Unknown Soldier sat in
a silver frame on a polished table. It struck Fiona as out of context, but she
did remember a vague reference to it in the Post article on Deb Shipley,
something about fantasizing that the Unknown Soldier was none other than her
dead husband. Apparently Shipley had bought into the fantasy.

Shipley and his wife sat in matching leather wing chairs
while Gail and Fiona took seats opposite them on a leather couch.

Between them was a large polished table on which was a
setting of English bone china cups. Beside the cups was a silver carafe. Madeline
Newton poured a cup of black coffee for Fiona, one for her husband and one for
herself. Gail had declined.

"May we record, Governor?" Fiona asked holding up
a small tape recorder. It was a routine request almost always engendering full
cooperation.

"I'd prefer not," the Governor said shooting a
glance at Madeline who nodded her agreement to his decision. Fiona shrugged and
returned the tape recorder into her pocketbook.

"We're sorry to have to.... "Fiona began.

"Never mind," Madeline Newton interrupted.
"In the interest of getting to the bottom of this awful tragedy as fast as
possible, we've agreed to this interview. This has been an appalling event
which both us believe was exacerbated by your Captain for his own agenda. We
still believe it could have been downplayed."

"He did the best he could. The media can be
persistent?" Fiona said, put off by the woman's superior arrogance.

"He could have handled it a lot better," Madeline
said.

"Is everything public relations?" Gail suddenly
interjected. "We have a murder here...."

"Please," Madeline Newton said, raising her palm
imperiously. "We know what we have here."

"Someone paid this boy five hundred dollars to....
"Fiona began.

"It's too painful at this juncture to go over old
ground," Madeline said. "My husband is fully aware of every aspect of
this situation. Your wonderful Captain has been painfully detailed in his
explanation to us ... and, regretfully.... the media."

"It's alright, darling," Shipley said after a sip
of coffee. He balanced the saucer on his knee. "We can't continue to worry
about how it plays. Above all, we need to know the truth. Why was that little
monster hired to murder my mother?" He paused and shook his head.
"It's so incredibly awful."

"Sick little rat bastard," Madeline Newton said.
"It makes me cringe."

Peripherally, Fiona could see Gail's eyes flash with anger.
Thankfully, she did not react vocally.

"Did your mother have any enemies?" Fiona asked
William Shipley. It was a homicide detective's traditional opener.

"That's the first question that must jump into
everyone's mind. I've thought about that since ... well since. She did have an
acerbic wit and could be quite outspoken about people. There was an interview
in the Post a few months back that was a good indication of the way she
expressed herself."

"I read it," Fiona said. "But if I recall
correctly the people she insulted were all dead."

"All I'm saying is that she might have given offense,
perhaps years ago. Sometimes people harbor animosities for years that grow into
obsessions, which in turn are activated by some mysterious circumstances. I'm
reaching at straws, I know. But I just can't conceive of her having the kind of
enemies that would pay to have her killed."

"Could it have been some kind of dare?" Madeline
Newton asked. "You know ... a gang initiation, a rite of passage kind of
thing. These people..." Fiona could see what was coming. She could feel
Gail tense beside her. "A gang maybe. You know something like: Go kill
someone and bring home evidence of the death, hence the cross."

"We've found no evidence to support such a
theory," Gail said tartly, shaken out of her silence and putting Fiona
instantly on alert. "The boy was not a gang member per se. The District of Columbia is not like Los Angeles where the Cripps and the Bloods are
dominant."

"It was a thought," Madeline sighed. "Are
you absolutely certain someone put him up to it? He could be lying to save his
own skin."

"We've found what was left of the money," Fiona
said. "And so far we have no reason to doubt the boy's story."

"He could be trying to shift blame," Madeline
persisted. "You know what I mean. Like the debil made me do it."

Gail blew out air between her teeth, an unmistakably
sneering gesture of disdain.

"We've discounted both the gang theory and the possibility
that this was a compulsive act on the part of one individual," Fiona said,
hoping that stiff official language might disarm Gail. "We are following
one line ... that the boy was put up to it by unknown persons for unknown
reasons. But it is obvious that whoever it was knew the household routine
either from the inside or through careful observation."

"Is Roy a suspect?" the Governor asked.

"That is still an open question," Fiona said.

"What will happen to him?" the Governor asked.

"He deserves a medal," Madeline said, sucking in
a deep breath. "May come to that someday if this keeps up. Citizens taking
matters in their own hands. He was absolutely justified."

"We do not condone vigilante justice in this
country," Gail sneered. "He was his own private lynch party."

"You needn't lecture us on such matters,
officer," Madeline said imperiously. "You are in the presence of the
Governor of the Capital of the Old Dominion. We do not need history lessons
about the horrors of lynching."

"The boy's confession was beaten out of him,"
Gail pressed, her agitation accelerating. Fiona shot her a look of rebuke.

"Are you saying you doubt his confession?"
Madeline said with biting sarcasm. "The evidence is indisputable."

"Only the means by which it was obtained. He was
tortured and beaten," Gail shot back.

"So much the better," Madeline said, her anger
controlled, deliberately baiting Gail. "It certainly accelerated the
investigation."

"This is America," Gail shot back. "We have
due process here."

"And if this boy is an example of what we are raising
in America. God help us. Due process be damned if it doesn't result in due
justice."

"Justice dispensed by whom. Movie stars?"

Madeline again turned to her husband.

"We have here a runaway mouth. Is this woman exceeding
her authority?"

"Really, Officer..." Shipley began, addressing
Gail.

"Prentiss," Gail blurted belligerently.

"Your remarks are beyond the pale," the Governor
said calmly, turning to Fiona for confirmation. Fiona, embarrassed by Gail's
words, averted her eyes.

"And actionable," Madeline threatened. "I
wouldn't be so self righteous Officer Prentiss. There is such a thing as
abusing police powers. And frankly, I think you're approaching the
limits."

Her words seemed to have penetrated Gail's anger. She
appeared to be attempting to get herself under control. Pouting, she lapsed
into silence.

But the exchange also gave Fiona some insight into Madeline
Newton. She was feisty and outspoken, an endearing trait in a first lady,
especially someone so articulate and decorative. She certainly had style, Fiona
acknowledged, and knew how to wield words and body language as weapons of
intimidation.

"In answer to your question about Roy, Governor,"
Fiona said, in an attempt to get the interview back on track. "He is
clearly indictable, but that would be a decision for the higher powers."

"I trust they will be compassionate," he sighed,
avoiding any eye contact with Gail, who glared at him. "He was very loyal
to mother."

"For a very long time," Fiona said.

"Has Gloria been helpful?" Shipley asked,
elegantly attempting to defuse any further confrontation.

"We've spoken to her," Fiona said cautiously.
"She's not very forthcoming. I don't think she's reached a comfortable
level of reality about this. Your mother was her life's work."

"I love Gloria," Shipley said. "Like Roy, I've known her my entire life." He shook his head. "Poor woman."

"Poor woman?" Fiona asked. "In what
sense?"

"Gloria Carpenter," the Governor mused, "is
one of those women cursed with demanding relatives that play on her guilt.
She's got this sister, whose life has been a shambles. Four children by three
men. One an addict. A teenager who is pregnant. Another child sick. And a
wastrel brother. Gloria has been a saint." He shook his head in despair.

"Does she support them?"

"I'm sure they've sucked her dry financially."

"Did she ever call upon your mother to help her
out?" Fiona asked.

"You can be certain that Mother was quite good to
her." He looked toward Gail. "She treated her with great
respect."

"Has your mother provided for them in her will?"

"After all those years of loyal service. I would
assume so. Mother always did the right thing," the Governor said.

"You don't know what's in her will?"

"No I don't. I'm not her executor."

"Isn't that odd?"

"My mother kept her personal financial matters a
closed book."

"I just assumed that as her only child..."

"Is there something sinister in that?" Madeline
Newton said, suddenly coming alive again.

The Governor and Madeline exchanged cryptic glances.

"Chester ... Chester Brewer, her lawyer, handled these
matters. Been her attorney for many years."

"Is he her executor?"

"He's quite old. I don't even think he practices any
more. I really don't know. Mother kept these matters very close to the
vest." He looked briefly toward Madeline, then turned away.

"I guess then we'll have to check with him. Do you
know if she was in good financial straits, Governor?" Fiona asked.

"You've seen her house, Fiona. It reflects a certain
lifestyle." Shipley said. Fiona noted the political intimacy implied by
his using her first name. But then, they did have a passing social
acquaintance. She wondered suddenly if it would be appropriate to call him
Billy. "She never asked us for help."

"I think she would have died first," Madeline
said. Her husband frowned.

"Why?" Fiona asked.

"Mother was fiercely independent. That was not her
way," Shipley said.

"If she were starving she would never ask us for a
crust of bread," Madeline interjected suddenly, again telescoping the
tension between her and her mother-in-law.

"Or ask anyone else," Shipley said in an obvious
attempt to leaven her remark.

"Nor would it have been a strain to help her
out," Madeline said, lifting her hand and gesturing around the room.

"Obviously, she wasn't starving," Fiona said.
"She seemed to have been quite comfortable. I assume there is an
estate."

"It would have no relevance to us," Madeline
said.

"Oh I'm sure of that Mrs. Shipley," Fiona said.
"But we do have to consider who might benefit materially from her
death."

"I hope you're not suggesting that Roy or Gloria, who
I feel certain have been provided for, had anything to do with this?"
Shipley asked.

"There's no evidence to suggest that," Fiona
said. "But the possibility can't be ignored."

The Governor shrugged and exchanged troubled glances with
Madeline.

"In my opinion, a highly unlikely possibility,"
he said.

"Unthinkable," Madeline agreed.

"They both would have died for her," Shipley
said. "They loved her."

He nodded to himself, becoming reflective, his eyes glazing
for a moment.

"Did you know that both he and Gloria were paid in
cash?"

"No. I told you. When it came to finances, Mother held
her own counsel. But I wouldn't be surprised."

"Did your mother ever have any.... well ...
lovers?" Fiona asked.

"Lovers!" Madeline exclaimed. "Buzzwords.
More lurid food for the tabloids."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Shipley." Fiona said calmly.
"It can't be avoided."

"I've heard that before."

"It's alright, darling. Just stay calm," Shipley
said, turning back to Fiona.

"Mother had no interest in men. Besides, she would
never be unfaithful to father. Never. It was a mark of pride with her. There
were, of course, escorts. Many of those. Not that she didn't have suitors. I
begged her to remarry. She became indignant. Lovers, indeed. You didn't know my
mother. I think you can dispense with such curiosity."