by Ed Gorman
He hesitated. ‘Everything is between us, of course. And I’m pretty sure you’re talking about Michael Hawkins. One of the best. I hope that makes you feel better.’
‘It does. And I apologize for calling. I just like to know who I’m dealing with. And Google doesn’t tell you if he’d leak things to the press or anything like that.’
‘Not Michael. On the contrary, he’s very competitive. Likes to take credit for everything. So he keeps everything close till he’s ready to attack.’
‘Good. He can have all the credit he wants if he can help us get the senator out of this disaster.’
‘Think it’s all over for Logan no matter what happens?’
‘Fifty-fifty.’
‘How about sixty-forty in favor of Empire News?’
‘I try not to watch those bastards but every once in a while I’ll catch a link and I can’t resist.’
‘This is like the biggest sexual thrill in recorded history for them. One of the bimbos hinted that Logan should do the honorable thing and eat a gun.’
‘Yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t offer to buy him the gun.’
‘That’ll be later tonight.’
‘Well, thanks, Tom. Good to know about Hawkins.’
‘I wish I was a praying man. I’d say a few for you and the senator. And let’s have that drink sometime.’
After the call I opened up all the computer material from the Sullivans.
Tracy Cabot – real name Louise Tracy Cabot. Daughter of noted fanatical right-wing New England newspaper publisher. In constant trouble at Smith for interrupting her professors to imply they were Communists. Became icon of campus conservative movement. After graduation – 3.1 grade point – went to work for a shadowy ultra-reactionary think tank. Then for a few years she was listed as a ‘political consultant.’ But there was no record of a client. Surfaced on her twenty-ninth birthday as the woman Senator Peter Boggs, Democrat, was videotaped leaving a motel room with. In a tight race Boggs lost. Two years later she was revealed to be the paramour of a Dem congressman who went on to lose a third term. At this point a left-wing blogger named Daniel Marlowe, who had been tracking her, learned she worked for a virtually invisible group called The Alliance for Liberty. It was during this time that she began working with Howie Ruskin for the other side on everything from voter suppression to funneling illegal money to candidates.
Her taste in men seemed limited to a roster of married conservative movers and shakers. If she and Ruskin had ever been lovers that part of their relationship had been short-lived, because both of them were linked to numerous partners during their tenure as political saboteurs.
There was a page of thumbnail photos of her. Babe-o-Rama. Not difficult to understand how she had her way with so many men. Not one of them showed her in any kind of reflective mood. The images left the impression that she was always at her alluring best even when she was – as in one shot – standing in some kind of religious shrine. But always upper crust. Nothing downscale about her. You knew she didn’t know how to sweat.
And Robert had gone for her.
All of it was useful information, but hardly the kind of bombshell we needed.
I had just about finished my beer – I’d been at it long enough for the bottle to be warm – when my cell phone rang. I was happy to hear Jane Tyler’s voice.
‘You missed the excitement.’
‘Do I want to hear this?’
She laughed. ‘Probably not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. James woke up and came back downstairs and started hassling Ben. And Ben knocked him out with one punch.’
Now I was the one laughing. ‘I was hoping I’d get first crack at him. Ben’s a pretty controlled guy. James must’ve pissed him off big time.’
‘Ben was very controlled. He just kind of blew off all the insults until James grabbed him and that was that. Ben didn’t even get a clear shot at him. But he knocked him out. Then Ben grabbed him and dragged him to the couch. He pulled over an ottoman and sat there until James came back and then he apologized for hitting him.’
‘How’d James take it?’
‘He was the perfect gentleman, of course. He started shouting that he was going to sue Ben for so much money Ben’d be declaring bankruptcy. I tried to help calm him down but then he started on me. He called me a whore and said that everybody knew that was why my husband beat me up.’
‘I’m sorry you had to put up with that.’
‘Robert had been on the phone the whole time. He came in on the end of it and got so mad that he tried to punch James himself. And then he said, “You can forget about me bailing you out this time.” I don’t know what he was talking about but it certainly calmed James down all of a sudden. He got all apologetic to everybody and begged – and I’m not exaggerating when I say begged – Robert to go to the study and talk to him.’
They must have been arguing about that damn loan, I thought. ‘I’ve wanted to tell Robert to dump his brother but that’s easy for me to say. Blood’s blood.’
‘I know. I still feel guilty about leaving my husband and I shouldn’t. I used to feel superior to all those women who put up with abusive spouses. I didn’t put up with it for long but I still think about the days when it was good.’
‘You have a history with him. That’ll be with you a long time. Maybe for life.’
‘You sound as if you know what you’re talking about.’
‘I do. I was a terrible husband. I didn’t abuse her physically or anything like that but I was always on the road as a consultant so in a real sense I deserted her. By the end she was a stranger to me. I’d forced her to be one. There’s a part of me that can’t let go of that. Can’t ever forgive myself.’
‘Are you in touch with her?’
‘We have a beautiful daughter in common who lives in Boston and is about to marry the intern she’s lived with the past few years.’
A yawn. ‘Sorry.’
‘Was that a comment on my life story?’
A giggle this time. ‘Hardly. But aren’t you as exhausted as I am?’
‘Yeah. In fact, I’m probably going to hit the bed as soon as we hang up. And as soon as you agree to have dinner with me tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that. Thanks. And by the way, Ben’s press conference will be in front of the county courthouse at nine tomorrow. He said he likes early ones because the reporters are hungover and not as sharp as they’ll be later in the day.’
‘Ben’s a genius.’
‘And a very nice man. I like him.’ Another yawn. ‘God. Sorry.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
For once the demons didn’t come to wake me up. Usually I go through a list of those I’d done wrong and a list of those who’d wronged me. Sleep is at a premium on those nights.
Tonight I dropped off quickly.
ELEVEN
Ben Zuckerman appeared on TV promptly at nine a.m. looking well-rested, relaxed and well turned out in a boardroom gray suit. He wore a stony expression. Don’t fuck with me, buddy, or you’ll regret it. He stood in front of the courthouse without notes of any kind.
There were at least fifteen upright microphones in front of him and at least twice as many hand mikes being pointed at him. As the camera panned the press, familiar faces were seen. Network faces and recognizable ones. This was the big time. A US senator involved in the murder of a beautiful woman.
‘I know we’re all busy here so I’ll keep my remarks brief and allow only five minutes for questions. I would ask you to remember that this situation is less than twenty-four hours old so despite all the rampant speculation nobody – and I repeat – nobody knows anything for certain yet. With one exception. Senator Robert Logan, my client, categorically denies having anything to do with the death of Tracy Cabot. And I emphasize the word “categorically.” He is innocent of the charges some of the media have accused him of. I would ask the press to do their job responsibly. The senator and I are well aware of why this story has dominated every news cycle. B
ut we do ask for you to be fair and wait for solid facts before making any implications about his role in this tragic event. Now I’ll take questions.’
Then came the deluge.
Was Tracy Cabot his mistress? How long had the senator known her? Why would she be at his cabin if the senator didn’t know about it? Did the senator have an alibi for the time of her death? How about the reports that the senator had a long-standing reputation as a womanizer? Had the senator taken a lie detector test? Would the senator step down in light of the suspicions the press had about him?
Ben answered each question forcefully but quickly. Yes and no were his favorite responses but when he had to go into detail, as in his answer to the query about the senator’s rep as a chaser, he used his words to chide the press. ‘I’ve known Senator Logan for ten years, going back to the time he was in the state legislature. In all that time I never once heard anyone refer to him as being any kind of ladies’ man – which he definitely is not. This charge surfaced last night on the network whose sole purpose is to destroy every single member of my party. And their weapon of choice is always character assassination. When you make a habit of cheating on your spouse – and this goes for men and women both – people eventually know about it. And talk about it. Ask anybody who’s known Senator Logan for any length of time and they’ll tell you that that charge is ludicrous and false.’
He’d needed to vent and by God he’d vented.
‘Now let’s let the police do their work and I’m confident that they’ll find that Senator Logan is innocent of all these suspicions. Thank you very much for your time.’
‘He’s really good,’ Jane Tyler said.
We were sitting in the small conference room of her small office building that had room for Jane and three other lawyers. The walls were covered with historical photos of the area at the turn of the last century and the walnut conference table itself also seemed to be historical. Only the chairs and the dark blue carpeting and the plasma TV mounted on the east wall were recent. She aimed the remote dagger-like at the screen and it died.
‘He’s very good but he knows that what he said won’t make any difference to most people. If you polled across the country now at least fifty percent of people would say he was guilty.’
‘Have you ever considered the possibility that he is guilty?’
‘Of course. But it’s extremely unlikely.’
‘He was definitely involved with her.’
‘That we can’t deny.’
‘I mean, maybe more than he’s letting on.’
She wore a burnished-yellow silk blouse and a black skirt revealing fetching legs and ankles. Her dark hair was slightly mussed from the rush we’d made from the car into the Hardee’s where we’d grabbed our breakfast and dragged it to her office. I’d called her from my hotel room and asked if we could have breakfast and watch Ben together.
Now, the Hardee’s sacks in front of us, she said, ‘I called a friend of mine at the police department.’
‘Hammell will probably fire whoever it is if he finds out you’ve got a confidant inside.’
‘It’s the one and only female patrol officer who’s unhappy with how the boys’ network treats her.’
‘And she says what?’
‘She says that when she signed in this morning the county attorney was just pulling into the lot and Hammell and his number one were standing outside to meet him. And then they all shook hands and hurried into the building. She said it was like watching a TV show. You know, everything so urgent and everything.’
‘But she doesn’t know what it’s all about?’
‘No. She says it always takes a while for news to filter down to her level. It doesn’t sound good.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
She sat down, finally, across the table from me. ‘I need to get hold of Ben and tell him about this.’
A knock on the door. A middle-aged man peeked in and said, ‘I just saw Mrs Havers’ car in the parking lot.’
‘Bob Raimi, this is Dev Conrad.’
‘Nice to meet you, Dev. Want me to cover it for you?’
‘No. She’s eighty-two years old. She has her grandson drive her into town. That’s a forty-mile trip one way. She’s used to seeing me.’
‘All right, then. Nice to meet you, Dev.’
When the door closed, she said, ‘He’s the first partner. A very nice guy.’ Then, ‘I hate to chase you out, Dev, but I need to get ready for this client. She’s an old sweetie and I’m really trying to help her.’
As I was getting out of my chair she said, ‘I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything from my friend in the department. This has me worried.’
‘Me, too. I just wish that Robert had been honest with us.’
A wry smile. ‘You’re trying to help them and they still lie. I’ve never understood that. Sometimes I feel that I’m the prosecutor when I talk to clients. I have to drag every bit of information out of them kicking and screaming. A few of them, anyway. Thank God most of them come in and lay everything out for you.’
I was on my feet and bagging up the debris from our breakfasts. ‘You mean I forgot to mention running over those three nuns that time? I guess I thought you already knew about that.’
‘God, you probably get it much worse than we do. All the lies.’ She swooped up her papers, her glasses and her coffee cup. ‘I’m sure we’ll talk sometime today. Thanks again for breakfast.’
She was gone before I got to the door.
The day was Midwestern gorgeous and cold as hell. Maybe high thirties. As I was climbing into my Jeep my cell phone rang and as I slid behind the wheel I punched in the call.
‘Dev, this is Jackie.’
Our office receptionist. She only called when it was important.
‘We watched Ben. Everybody in the office. He did a great job but that isn’t why I’m calling. A woman who won’t identify herself has called here twice this morning insisting that she needs to contact you right away.’
‘Did she say what she wants?’
‘She says she can put you in contact with Howard Ruskin.’
‘It could be some kind of a prank.’
‘I don’t think so. And I don’t think you would either if you heard her voice. She sounds terrified of something.’
‘Is she going to call back?’
‘No, the second time she called I asked for her number so you could call her.’
‘All right.’
‘But it isn’t really her number.’
‘What?’
‘You’re supposed to call this number and leave your number and whoever answers will call her with your number.’
‘This is crazy.’
‘She may be crazy, Dev, but I think she really believes she can put you in touch with Ruskin. That would be a pretty strange delusion for a crazy person to have.’
‘I guess. You may as well give me her number.’
‘I hope this amounts to something.’
‘So do I.’
I wrote down the number she gave me.
‘How is the senator holding up? It must be terrible for his family.’
‘It is.’
‘His wife is so … fragile.’
‘She is at that.’ But I didn’t have time to go on like this. ‘Thanks, Jackie.’
I sat in the parking lot staring at my cell phone as if it might explode and envelop me in a glow that would imbue me with peace of mind and ultimate truth and more youthful stamina when younger ladies allowed me into their boudoirs.
Then I punched in the number and began what turned out to be the complicated process of talking to Howie Ruskin’s lover.
TWELVE
The call I made to the mystery number where I was to leave my number turned out to be an auto repair shop. The man who answered had one of those cigarette rasps that should have scared the hell out of him but probably didn’t.
‘My name is Dev Conrad. I’m supposed to leave my cell phone number with a guy named Pop.’
‘Pop ain’t here. He had to step out. I’m Pop, Junior. But he told me to take the number.’
‘I’d like to know something about who I’m dealing with.’
‘My real name’s Verne Andrews, Junior at Andrews’ Auto Repair.’
‘Sorry, I meant I’d like to know something about the woman who wants my number.’
‘Pop said I wasn’t to answer any questions in case you asked some. I’m just supposed to take the number down. And look, we’re really stacked up here. I gotta go.’
I’d been in enough auto repair shops to know that when they were busy – or just working at all – there was considerable noise. Except for a muffled conversation somewhere behind him the place was quiet.
The too-busy-to-talk always worked. You couldn’t call him a liar because you couldn’t prove he wasn’t busy. I’d once seen a woman who was not unduly fond of me in a supermarket. When I approached her and started a conversation she said, ‘I hate to run, Dev, but I left a repairman at my house working on my sink. You know how it is with them. You can’t trust them. Sorry I can’t talk more.’ Really stunning bullshit and completely successful. He wasn’t in her league but he did get my number so he was the winner of our little game.
Twenty minutes later I was on the road leading to Robert’s cabin. I hadn’t spent any time scouting the area itself. Autumn was having its way with the woods, the colors vivid in the cold sunlight. In a few places you could even see morning frost still bearding the ground. Frantic squirrels were everywhere shopping for the winter that would be here all too soon.
I was doing what the police would normally have done if they hadn’t already decided that Robert was their man. They would say otherwise, of course – that they were considering all the possibilities – but we all knew that was just a press release to satisfy the public.
A bungalow of the Craftsman style was partially hidden by pine trees. I pulled into the gravel drive. The house was wood and stone with a low-pitched roof and stone porch supports. Vines crawled over much of the house, lending it both a venerable aspect and to my eye a somewhat sinister one, as if the house itself held a terrible secret. It stood no more than thirty yards from the turn-off to Robert’s cabin.