by Bill Eidson
Teri Wheeler said, “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce the two of you to Alexander Goodhue. When I explained to him your concerns, he asked to join us for this interview.”
Goodhue focused his attention on Lucien. With the easy shift of a man long accustomed to authority, his features hardened. “We all have our jobs to do in life, and I realize you have yours. Nevertheless, what I understand you’re about now is a damaging, unnecessary, and entirely erroneous little mission. And I’d like to talk with you about it before it goes any further. Your office, Teri?”
“Please,” she said, gesturing him forward.
As she lead them past her receptionist to her office, Lucien wiped his mouth nervously. Ben remembered him doing that before the meeting with Cheever, and he sighed internally. If intimidation was what Teri Wheeler had in mind by pulling Goodhue out of a hat, it was working.
She gestured for both of them to sit on the couch, and sat in the chair across from them. “Mr. Harris, I must admit I didn’t know that you would be joining us today. You’re welcome, of course, but I ask that you don’t take any pictures.”
“Certainly not,” Goodhue said. He pulled up a chair and leaned forward. “And, in fact, I must take exception to Teri’s earlier reference to this as an ‘interview.’ “
She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment.
He continued. “What I’d like to have here is a conservation. Off the record.”
Lucien appeared troubled, but after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “That’s fine.”
Ben looked at him. “Really?”
Lucien’s face flushed. “That’s what I said. Off the record.”
Goodhue smiled, benevolently. “I see we’ll be taking questions from both quarters. That’s fine. I’m here for two reasons. One, to protect the interests of an employee who I trust and admire. And …” Here he smiled apologetically at Teri Wheeler. “… perhaps more importantly, our affiliation with Senator Cheever. Ms. Wheeler is our link with him, and she’s done a tremendous job. She came to me because she was concerned about the damage a scandal could do to both us and him—and, perhaps it sounds grandiose—and to the country at large if his position is weakened.’’
Teri said, “It would be one thing if there was any truth to your supposition. But there simply is not. May I see the photographs you showed the senator? He and I have of course talked about this … situation.”
Although she chose her words carefully, Ben didn’t get the feeling she was particularly nervous.
Lucien pulled out his manila envelope and laid out the shots. Goodhue looked over them as well.
He said, “What’s the harm here?”
“Lucien said to Teri, “Can you could tell us about your relationship with the senator?”
“I’ll be delighted,” she said, glancing quickly at Goodhue. She held her palm out to reveal her office, a big, conservatively decorated room with a beautiful wooden desk and windows that looked out onto a small rose garden. “This is my relationship with him. The NESF.”
“You have no other feelings for him?”
“Actually, I do.” Her smile was brilliant. “I think the senator is a wonderful man, a committed statesman, and a force for Massachusetts. He broke the Democratic stranglehold on Massachusetts against Senator Kennedy …”
“And you know how hard that was to achieve,” Goodhue said.
Teri continued. “The senator did that based upon keeping his word. The public is crying out for someone they can trust, and he is that man. I believe that if he continues on track, he could well be the next GOP candidate for president.”
Lucien nodded.
Ben said, “Ms. Wheeler, what can you tell us about your personal relationship?”
She turned her attention to him. “I believe I answered that. However, I will say that I’m pleased to call him my friend. A married friend. That means something to him and it means something to me.’’ She looked at Lucien and then Ben. “And it means what you are chasing here can ruin the ambitions of one man who is doing his life’s work, embarrass and hurt his family, and damage my career as well. For what? Me doing my job.” She gestured to the pictures. “There’s no evidence of a romantic liaison here for a simple reason—we’re not having one.”
Lucien made a feeble comeback. That she and Cheever were alone together in the town house, that they were drinking …
She was too polite to laugh at him, but Goodhue wasn’t.
“For God’s sake, gentlemen. So what if she was alone with him in his town house? I’ve been his visitor, too, am I suspected of having an affair with him?” He laughed at his own comment and then said, “Isn’t she being accused of impropriety simply because she is an attractive young woman?”
Lucien glanced at Ben and gave a slight shrug. He shifted, getting ready to leave. “I really don’t have any more questions.”
Ben asked her, “How much does NESF provide to Senator Cheever’s campaigns?”
“The legal limit,” she said. “It’s a matter of public record.”
“All from Goodhue Industries?”
“Not at all,” she said. “We also raise funds from individuals and corporations.”
“And influence others to make contributions independent of you?”
She smiled, as if to a child. “I am guilty of participating in politics in America, yes.”
“Some of those others going through you … do any of them include Johansen’s Free America organization?”
“They do not,” Goodhue snapped. “While we are a more conservative organization than is perhaps typical for the software industry overall, we avoid extremist organizations. They would only be damaging to us.”
“And what do you ask the senator for in return for these contributions?”
“What anyone in our position asks,” Teri said. “That he be true to the vision for which he was elected. That he understands the issues in our industry and makes well-informed decisions.”
“You feel he keeps his promises?”
“He makes no promises to us,” Teri said. “However, I share the public’s enthusiasm for the man. He’s committed to his ideals. Go read his speeches—and then look at his voting record, Mr. Harris.”
“I have,” Ben said. Which was true. He had suspected Lucien wouldn’t come prepared and so Ben had waded through Insider’s fat clippings folder on Cheever while keeping up his surveillance on McGuire. Ben had also tried, unsuccessfully, to chase down who might have tipped off Peter about the senator’s supposed infidelity in the first place.
The file showed that Cheever voted a straight right-wing ticket pretty much down the line. Anti-abortion, anti-gay rights, active welfare reform agenda. He was a strong campaigner for federal funding for Massachusetts as well as recruiting new businesses to the state. The only step out of line was that he voted for a ban on assault rifles and a waiting period for handguns—a stand that had drawn considerable heat from his own party, faint praise from the Democrats, and the widespread public impression that he was a man who was truthful to his ideals. By and large Ben shared that opinion, even if he disagreed with many of Cheever’s political views.
“Guys,” Teri said, “You really have nothing here. Don’t damage us without cause.”
Goodhue turned back to Ben and Lucien. He said, “Understand something. Maybe the rest of the country has turned to the media and Hollywood for their values. But people like Senator Cheever, and like me, and Miss Wheeler here, care deeply about how we are presented to the outside world. Can I assume this business is settled or do we need to take a more formal route?”
Lucien cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve got to talk to my editor again. But I think from my earlier conversations with him and from what you said today, this is probably the end of it. Unless some other evidence comes to light.”
Teri Wheeler sat back. “Good. There’s nothing else to come to light, so there’s no story.”
Goodhue looked at Teri. “I believe you’re all set here?�
�
Ben watched the two of them carefully. Wondering what there was between them exactly.
“Thank you for your support, Alex,” she said.
Goodhue stood and put out his hand to Lucien. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Lucien. And Ben.” Goodhue put his hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Now, will you call the senator and tell him just what you told us? I’m sure it’ll be a relief.”
Lucien was smiling now, apparently looking forward to a friendly conversation with the senator. “I’ll be happy to.”
CHAPTER 18
BOTH BEN AND LUCIEN WERE QUIET ON THE DRIVE BACK TO THE magazine. They pulled into the parking garage, and headed up the stairway to the office.
“So that’s what you’re going to tell Kurt?” Ben asked.
Lucien shrugged. “We’ve got shit.”
“You don’t think it was interesting that a CEO was acting like some sort of corporate legal counsel?”
“I think it means Goodhue is boffing her himself and wanted to see what the pictures showed.”
“There was something between them, but I didn’t necessarily catch that,” Ben said. “Why would she say anything to him at all until she saw the photos herself?”
“Don’t know. Still means we’ve got shit as far as Cheever’s concerned.” Lucien continued to jog up the stairs. Ben shook his head. Lucien, the tough guy—now that he wasn’t face to face with somebody who might hurt his career.
As they walked into the office, Lucien said, “I’ll brief with Kurt myself.’’ He hurried away, not waiting for an answer.
Ben was considering following him in anyhow, when Sarah came out of her office. “Turn yourself around, partner.” She slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “We’re headed out.”
“What’s up?” Ben asked.
“An interview with McGuire,” Sarah said. “Interested?”
The receptionist, Suzanne, let them into the office waiting room. McGuire was on the phone inside his office, and he looked at them, but didn’t acknowledge them.
Suzanne looked at Ben curiously. “Do I know you?”
He smiled. “Don’t think so.”
She looked at his hands. “No ring. Maybe I’ve seen you at the clubs.”
“That must be it.”
“Come say hi next time.” She looked in at McGuire. “He’s gonna be a minute. And you gotta get checked out by Warren anyhow.”
A thick-bodied man wearing a Hawaiian shirt came out of the inside door. He asked them for ID and to open their bags.
“What’s your name?” Sarah asked.
“Warren Reynolds.” His inflection was flat. A faint smile touched his lips. “Head of security.”
“And what does that entail beyond checking ID?”
“Have a seat, Miss,” he said, and returned to the back room. Ben saw there was a mirror on the wall that he presumed was one-way glass.
He and Sarah sat watching Jimbo McGuire talk on the phone for almost twenty minutes. He made no effort to hide his conversation, a booming dialogue with someone named Gary about the number and size of the fish he had caught and his best bets in the stock market. He did this with his feet up on the desk, fingering his silk tie. Gucci loafers, tailored linen pants, a dazzling white shirt.
Ben had the feeling that somewhere in McGuire’s home there was a stack of GQ back issues.
Finally, McGuire put the phone down and gave them a wave to come into his office.
Ben had taken enough distant portraits to know McGuire was handsome, but the shots didn’t begin to convey his cockiness. As Ben and Sarah walked in, McGuire stood behind his desk, undoing his shirt cuffs to display rippling forearm muscles. “I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, waving them to the chairs. Ben held Sarah’s chair out for her, and then stepped back against the wall to give himself some shooting room.
McGuire said, “I’d like to put this nonsense to rest. I don’t even read your rag, but I’ve got the cops pestering me with questions about you people. First off, tell me who this Peter Gallagher is.”
“You’re saying you have no idea?” Sarah’s voice remained neutral.
“Never met the man.” Suddenly McGuire called out to the receptionist. “Suzanne, did I ever have an appointment with a Peter Gallagher?”
“No,” she said, immediately. “Never did.”
McGuire put his hands out, palms up. “There you go.”
“I didn’t ask if he interviewed you. I asked if you knew of him.”
“Not until I read about his car troubles in the Globe. But that’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Car troubles,” Sarah said. “That’s your idea of a joke?”
McGuire leaned into her, turning on the aggression as if with a switch. “Don’t piss me off, lady.”
“Or what?” Sarah observed him calmly, pen poised over her pad.
Ben released the shutter, taking a fast set of shots of McGuire’s handsome face turning hard. It was clear to Ben as he looked through the viewfinder that McGuire was still a kid. A dangerous kid, perhaps, but a kid nonetheless.
“Put that goddamn camera down,” McGuire snapped.
“How about me?” Ben said. “When Dawson tried to kill me in my apartment—was that one of your little jokes, too?”
McGuire pulled back, smiling coolly. “I barely caught your name, much less have reason or the ability to send people to your house to murder you.”
“I believe the police may have shown you the photos that Peter took.” Sarah laid the prints on the table. She didn’t include any of the recent shots Ben had taken.
“No,” McGuire said, shuffling through them carelessly. “This is the first I’ve seen of them … Crappy shot of Suzanne, but she leads with her body, so I guess that’s not so bad …” He shuffled through the other shots. “OK, you see what a nut Dawson was. Started chasing your guy soon as he saw him. I had to call him off.”
McGuire’s face colored slightly when they came to the shot of him with the old man outside the candy store. “Big shit, you’ve got me talking to Red Donnelly. He may’ve been a wild guy in his time, but he’s an old man, runs a candy store now.”
McGuire tossed the sheaf of photos back to Sarah.
He said to Ben, “You people are lucky I don’t go after you for invasion of privacy. Maybe I would if this Gallagher were still alive. As for Dawson, he was an unstable guy. I let him go earlier this week myself. Maybe he was distraught, turned to burglary. I believe he may have had drug problems.”
“That’s your story?” Sarah asked.
McGuire’s smile widened. “No, that’s just my attempt to guess at what could’ve been motivating a troubled former employee. I’ve got no real clue as to what happened. But seeing as you’ve come to me, I’ve tried to help you as best I can.”
Sarah said, “I’ll be frank. We know that Peter was looking at you as an up and coming crime figure on the Boston scene—”
“It’s flattering to be seen as up and coming in any field, but …”
“And we know the police are looking at you hard as the individual behind Dawson,” she continued.
Ben spoke before McGuire could continue his banter. “What were you looking for in my studio? Peter took those shots, not me.”
McGuire put his palms out. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about this. I’m just a young guy trying to do something new here.” He seemed calmer now, less hostile than before. As if he were enjoying himself.
“And what is that?” Sarah asked.
“I’m a consultant.”
“Consulting who? About what?”
“Real estate development,” he said. “As for my clients, that’s confidential. But the point is that my family has been attacked like this for years, and it breaks my uncle’s heart the things people say about him. And because they say it about him, they say it about me.”
Here McGuire’s voice dropped a notch and he leaned forward slightly. “And that’s the tough thing about families.” He pointed
to Sarah and then to Ben, his voice growing softer. “You do something, or you do something … and somebody’s blaming your families next. Not just you. It’s a shame, it’s not fair—but there it is. We’re all connected to the people we love, and they take the heat right along with us.”
“You get that?” Ben said to Sarah. “He just threatened our families.”
“Got it,” she said.
McGuire sat back, shaking his head. “That’s why I rarely talk to the press. You say one thing, they twist it to mean another.”
Behind them, the door opened.
A tall, older man with a shock of white hair strode into the office.
“What’s up?” McGuire said.
Ben was interested to see that McGuire’s ease of a moment before vanished. He looked like a kid caught outside peeing in the flower bushes.
McGuire said, “I’ll be done in a second, Uncle Pat. These folks were on their way out.’’
Ben saw Warren Reynolds step into the waiting room behind them.
An ugly flush crept up McGuire’s neck. “You made a call, Warren?”
“I was driving by, thought I’d stop in,” his uncle said.
Sarah and Ben stood, and she put her hand out to Clooney and introduced herself and Ben. She said, “Mr. Clooney, your nephew just finished threatening our families. Do you have any comment on that?”
McGuire laughed.
But the look his uncle gave him showed no trace of humor. “That’s nonsense,” Clooney said, looking with cold eyes first to Sarah, and then to Ben. “Absolute nonsense.” The older man looked at McGuire. He turned his attention back to Sarah and Ben. “This interview is over.”
“Uncle Pat, I’ve got this handled,” McGuire said.
“Shut up,” Clooney said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a business card and put it in Sarah’s hand. “In the future, you got a question that involves my family, you talk to me.”
“And how about my family?” she said. “I already lost Peter Gallagher, my ex-husband.”