Whiplash

29

Hoffman jerked his fingers through his hair, and looked both ashamed and embarrassed. "Here I am thinking about myself, and how all this will affect me. That poor woman is dead because I called her to ask her to lunch.

"All right. When she arrived, we chatted about things in general, you know, nothing important, one doesn't discuss business right away. . . ." He paused a moment. "Then we ordered. I had just begun telling her why I'd asked her to lunch, when she became ill and-died."

Ruth asked, "Did your office call her office?"

"Yes, Corliss usually makes my calls."

"Did Corliss tell her the reason for the lunch invitation?"

Hoffman frowned down at his clasped hands. "No, I don't think so. Corliss was after me about an upcoming vote, and I needed some more information, and so I don't think we did. She accepted my invitation, and that was that."

Savich said, "Did your office make the reservations, Senator? And when?"

"Yes, my staffer, Al Pope, always gives them a heads-up even though I'm there like clockwork every single week, usually with a colleague. It's only polite to let them know how many people will be coming. I believe he made the reservation five, maybe six days ago."

"Which of you arrived first, Senator?"

"I did. I always arrange to get there first, say hello to everyone, shake hands with the diners I know. Dana Frobisher arrived some ten minutes later, if I remember correctly. My waiter-the same waiter I've had for years, Mr. Graves-he would know for sure."

"Did you order something to drink while you waited for her?"

"Yes, mineral water, lemon slice. Mr. Graves always brings it without my even asking."

Savich said, "Did you suggest she order the shrimp, Senator?"

Again, Hoffman paused, looked over at the draperies covering the long windows at the front of the house. "Maybe I did, or maybe Mr. Graves did. Isn't it odd? I don't remember Mr. Graves's first name, never used it. In any case, Mr. Graves might have mentioned to her that it was excellent, that it was the dish I always ordered, or I might have. She told me this was her first visit to the Foggy Bottom Grill.

"As I said, I always order the fried shrimp. It's my one dietary sin for the week. Everyone who works there knows that, it's sort of a joke, you know, they batter up the shrimp extra thick for me, fry it in a skillet with two inches of hot oil. But I wanted something light, as my weight was up this morning, so Mr. Graves suggested I order the small Cobb salad. Can you believe that? I overindulge at dinner last night and that saves my life? Something so insignificant, so arbitrary. It's hard to deal with this, Agent Savich."

Ruth asked, "You're sure Mr. Graves told her you always ordered that dish, Senator?"

"Yes, I think so. I remember how I also told her it was the best thing on the menu. And we laughed about fried food and how delicious it was. I really can't remember anything else, my brain feels a bit scrambled right now.

"I remember the look on her face when she ate that first fried shrimp-sheer bliss. I think she said something about having a spiritual moment. I remember I laughed, and wished I'd ordered it too, I could diet the next day." He paused a moment, swallowed, then he rubbed his hand over his throat.

"What?" Savich asked.

"She was doing that, rubbing her hand over her throat. I didn't know why, really didn't think about it, but now of course I realize it had to do with the poison beginning to act, she must have been having trouble swallowing.

"I reminded her she'd worked with Nikki, easing into what I wanted to ask of her-now that I think about it, she didn't say anything. Listen, Agent Savich, it all happened so very fast. One minute she was eating shrimp and we were talking and then she turned silent, working her hands against her throat, then she fell out of her chair and onto the floor, and she vomited, and went into seizures." Again, he shuddered, seeing it clearly, Savich thought, knowing it could easily have been him on the floor, wracked by seizures, spurting out foam as he lay dying.

"And then she was dead. Just dead, gone."

Ruth said, "So she never knew why you'd asked her to lunch?"

He drew back a bit, looked impatiently at Ruth. "No, I don't suppose so." He fanned his hands in front of him. "Who cares?"

Savich said, "Mr. Graves initially set down the shrimp plate in front of you, didn't he, sir?"

"Yes, he did, and I told him it wasn't for me today, and he apologized, moved the plate in front of Dana. I don't remember if he said anything else. Obviously you've spoken to him. What did he say?"

Savich merely smiled. "Did you have time to eat any of your salad before she became obviously ill?"

"Maybe a bite or two. As I said, it all happened very fast."

Ruth said, "The M.E. said she'd eaten five shrimp, and yet you only ate a couple of bites of salad?" Her voice was a bit sharp, a bit disbelieving. Savich never changed expression. For a moment he thought Senator Hoffman looked at Ruth like he'd just as soon she jumped out the front window. But when he spoke, his voice was deep, disarming, his words self-deprecating. "It was probably because I didn't have time-I was doing most of the talking." He gave both of them a tired smile. "Agent Savich knows how much I like to talk," he added to Ruth. He rubbed his forehead. "Maybe I ate more than a couple of bites, it's hard to remember. I close my eyes and see her lying dead on the floor, everyone standing over her, horrified, and all I can think of is that it should have been me eating that fried shrimp, not Dana Frobisher. It should have been me lying dead on the floor. I should have listened to you, Agent Savich, when you told me about Nikki."

Savich was on the verge of asking him about the work Dana Frobisher and Nikki shared, when there was a knock on the study door, and Corliss Rydle stuck her head in. "Gabe is here, sir."

"Show him in, Corliss." Hoffman rose to walk around his desk. "Gabe, thank you for coming."

Savich and Ruth watched the man squeeze Corliss's hand, then he walked to Hoffman and the two men embraced. Hilliard stepped back. "I was scared out of my mind, Dave, are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, just rattled."

"No wonder." Gabe Hilliard turned his attention to Savich, who'd slowly risen from his chair.

He was a block, Savich thought, nearly as wide as he was tall. He was about Hoffman's age, and perfectly bald. His features were as blunt as Hoffman's were refined.

"Gabe, these are two FBI agents. Agent Savich, Agent Warnecki, this is Gabe Hilliard, a very longtime friend. Incidentally, his son, Derek, knows Corliss."

Gabe Hilliard grinned. "Maybe there'll be an announcement from those two pretty soon."

They all shook hands. Ruth had to admit she was impressed when Hilliard offered her his hand as well. She gave it a good shake. He was shorter than she was.

"Sit down, sit down, Gabe. We were talking about what happened today and that poor woman's death."

Gabe Hilliard pulled up a chair beside Ruth's, sat down and crossed one leg over his knee. "If you want to, tell me everything. I've got a brain, maybe I can help."

"From your lips to God's ear," Hoffman said.