but professionally friendly… not personally friendly, if you understand the distinction.”
Put that way, yes, I did understand. Martin moved in a rarefied world, and, really, why would he befriend a guy like Morrison? Indeed, in any world, why would anyone… but, I digress.
Katrina said to him, “Didn’t you help Morrison get a job on the NSC staff?”
“Yes, that’s true. When the investigators came by, they even showed me copies of the letters I sent to the National Security Advisor recommending him. But Bill worked under me for four years, and frankly, I tend to be loyal to people who work for me. It can be a fault, but there it is. And truthfully, I was, well… relieved to see him go.”
I asked, “And why’s that?”
“He was becoming, um, what’s the right way to couch this? He was telling people around town how important he was to me. The word kept filtering back. He was exaggerating our relationship and his importance in our government. From your questions, it sounds like he’s still doing it.”
Indeed, it did. I asked, “Did you trust him?”
“Yes, actually. His exaggerations bothered me, but it’s an unfortunate trait of many people in Washington. I never suspected him of something like this.” He paused and gave me a rueful grimace. “I probably should have, shouldn’t I? I feel so stupid now. I was a fool.”
“One more question.” I tried to look endearing, friendly, whatever, and asked, “Would you agree to testify to his character?”
“I, uh… well, I don’t think I can do that.”
“I don’t mean to be difficult, but when he stopped working for you, you sent letters of recommendation to the National Security Advisor. You thought highly enough of him to believe he should work in the White House. Assume he’s innocent of these charges. Assume it’s all some big foul-up. Would you still refuse to testify?”
He looked confused. “I, I don’t think I can. I’ve already agreed to testify for the prosecution. I don’t think I can testify for both sides.”
I traded quick glances with Katrina, who was obviously thinking the same thing I was. I said, “I see.”
He held up both hands in helpless acknowledgment. “They approached me weeks ago. I told them I don’t have any knowledge of Bill’s treachery. They said that’s fine. They want me to testify on his tendency to exaggerate.”
Katrina asked, “And when was that?”
He looked at the ceiling. “Two weeks ago. A Wednesday, I believe. If it’s important I can have Nancy pinpoint it exactly.”
There was no need. We knew enough. Eddie hadn’t missed a beat. Aware that once they arrested Morrison he’d get a lawyer, and that that lawyer would root around for friendly character witnesses, they’d swept up as many as they could before the defense ever had a chance, before the arrest even happened.
I suppose I looked deflated. Martin peered at me and said, “Look, if there’s anything else I can do to help you, please let me know. My position in this whole affair is embarrassing. If Bill is vindicated, I’ll be elated. He worked for me… I helped him get his job in the White House. You understand?”
“I understand.”
He was shaking his head. “I still find it hard to believe Bill did this. He certainly never struck me as the type.”
On our way out, a flock of guys in turbans and robes were waiting by Nancy’s desk. She was busy saying, “… to have caught him in. He’s really a very busy man…” And so on.
As soon as we climbed into a cab for the ride to La Guardia, Katrina said, “Nice guy. That nose, though. If he could carry a musical note, he’d be rich.”
I chuckled. “He is rich. A smart guy, too. You never read any of his books?”
She shook her head.
“I never did, either. He wrote a few best-sellers that caused a big stir in conservative circles.”
“And would you happen to know what the stir was about?”
“If I recall, one revealed a bunch of dirty CIA operations in Vietnam, and another poked holes at our cold war strategy. Anyway, he speaks Russian, has lots of prestigious degrees, and was held in very high esteem in Russia. They say he could twist their arms to do things even the President couldn’t deliver.”
“He impressed me.” Katrina then said, “But was he telling the truth, or just trying to get his distance from Morrison? Which one speaks with forked tongue?”
I reminded myself to quit underestimating her. Without prompting she’d figured out the purpose of the interview.
I replied, “You heard what he said. Morrison’s at the very least an exaggerator.”
“But who wouldn’t want to crawl as many miles from him as they possibly could?”
“There’s that. He must feel like the elephant that got raped by the butterfly.”
So what was the truth? Was Morrison his indispensable right hand or a distant groom with an inflated title? Truthfully, the exaggerations fit with my view of Morrison. However, I didn’t want to be swayed by my prejudices and I knew how to find out.
The moment we landed back at Ronald Reagan Airport, we rushed back to the office. I called Mary, but of course, Homer answered, and I said, “I need to talk with your daughter, the girl I tell everybody in Washington I used to sleep with.”
I heard the gagging sound in his throat as he threw the receiver down and fled. I couldn’t believe I was getting paid for this.
Mary finally came on and started with, “Hi, Sean. Listen, please, you’ve got to stop taunting my father. He said he thinks you’re putting dents in his car, but I insisted it couldn’t be you. I told him you’re not that immature or vindictive. He’s not as young as he used to be.”
I chuckled. “All I do is say my name and he gets all red and puffy. Between you and me… I don’t think he likes me.”
I could hear her sigh.
“Listen,” I said, “I just got back from New York, where I met with Milton Martin.”
“Bill’s old boss.”
“Right. A most delightful guy. Now, Bill told me he used to be Martin’s Cato. He said the two of them were inseparable, the Siamese twins of the State Department. Martin said that’s a big, nasty lie. He said your husband was a bag handler, a factotum with an inflated title, who went around exaggerating his value to his boss and blowing so much hot air it eventually got embarrassing. He said that’s why he kicked him upstairs to the White House. I’m just trying to see which one’s the dirty rotten liar.”
The line was quiet so long, I finally said, “Mary, you still there?”
“Sean, I don’t know what the truth is.”
“You don’t?”
A pained, even resentful tone crept into her voice. “Bill has a few flaws. Everybody does. I have to be frank with you about this, though, because I brought you in, and I don’t want you having illusions. Bill wasn’t always truthful about things. He’s very ambitious. He wasn’t above taking credit for things he had little to do with.”
“Isn’t everybody like that?”
“Bill is… more like that than others. I used to warn him about it, and he always insisted that’s how the game’s played in Washington. The meek never inherit the earth, not in D.C., he would always respond. He even took credit for some of my work. It was maddening, but what could I do? He was my husband.”
“So he wasn’t close with Martin?”
“He told everybody he was. I really don’t know, Sean. It’s, uh, well, it’s possible Bill thought it was truer than it was. He’s very vain. He could fool himself about his own importance.”
Note how tactfully she couched it. She was his wife, and therefore wasn’t going to blurt out the obvious-the man was a lousy, lying, self-inflated weasel.
“Okay.” I paused, and then said, “One other question. Your 1996 tax form listed an inheritance of nine hundred grand. Where’d that come from?”
“That was the year Bill’s mother died. She and her husband were well-to-do. His father died back in 1994 and everything passed to her. When she died, the estate passed to Bill.”
“His father was a Pepsi exec, right?”
