by Mimi Johnson
“And if he doesn’t?” she asked.
Sam shrugged, “I’ll probably end up running the fucking Facebook page when I get out of jail.” Tess winced, and he added almost as an afterthought, “If I still have a job.”
“Well then,” Jack picked up his empty mug from the rail, “you better get on it. If you hit on something, you can probably be on your way tonight. I’d better get to the Journal. I guess I’ve got to write the story on Erickson’s acceptance speech. Looks like we’re both in for a great day.” He shook his head as he went for the door.
“I’ll go in with you.” Tess stood up, and picked up her laptop. “I need to use the darkroom anyway. I’ve got to get moving on stuff for the Boston show.”
“Boston?” Sam looked at her with a huge smile. “No kidding?” She blushed and smiled, as Jack looked over. “That’s great. Tell me about it.” Jack turned away.
“Maybe later. I …”
But Sam grabbed her arm, the strange look coming back to his face and he muttered, “Wait.”
She jerked free as she looked back toward the door with concern, but Jack hadn’t noticed and went on through the house. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice was an angry whisper. “This is awkward enough without you staring and grabbing me …”
“You’re pregnant?” he broke in, his voice very low. Her jaw dropped, as her eyes dipped down toward her own belly. “No, of course it doesn’t show.” When she looked back up, her eyes were wide, and his were soft with concern. “Tess, does he know?”
She shook her head. “I, I went to the doctor in Des Moines yesterday just to be sure. That’s where I was when Pete ... ” The way he was looking at her, with a mixture of gentleness and regret, made her flush more deeply, and she looked down. “What gave it away?”
He grinned. “I told you once before, we’re not meant to have secrets. It was the coffee. Jesus, it’s your chemical dependency. You must be dying without it.”
She rolled her eyes with a little groan. “Like you don’t even know. I’ve had a blasting headache for a week. This is the first morning it’s been a little bit bearable.”
He took her arm again and pushed her back onto the swing. “My God, you with a kid. He’s probably been waiting for this since the day he put the ring on your finger.”
“Not really,” she squinted up at him, her mouth curled down. “Actually, this is pretty bad timing. This thing with Erickson, it’s tearing him up. And he … it’s going to be a surprise.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How ... I mean, you were always so damned careful.”
She looked at him, at the tenderness in his eyes, and she suddenly remembered that even before they were lovers, he’d been her friend. There was a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him anything. So she said, “It was a little rough, right after you were here the last time.” She raised her eyebrows with significance. He grimaced with a nod. “I didn’t know he was struggling with everything he was learning about Swede and Carl. I thought he was still upset about …” She waved her hand at Sam, and he nodded again. “When it all came out, and I saw how devastated he was … he really needed … and I just didn’t …” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Sam leaned back with surprise, “You got caught by the make-up sex?” She blushed to her hairline, and he laughed, low and quiet. When she reluctantly looked back up at him, he reached out to take her hand. “How many times did we fight and make up? Shit, I’m eating my heart out, and I’m not even the paternal type.”
“I’m not sure I want him to know, Sam.”
“Why?” His face suddenly sobered. “What? You think you might not want to …”
“Of course I want to.” It was a whisper. “But he’s worried enough as it is about the Journal and how this is all going to play out. I don’t want to get in his way. You saw how he reacted just knowing I was out here alone after Pete was in the house. How do you think he would have felt if he’d known I’m,” her voice dropped even more, “pregnant. I don’t want him blindsided by a baby.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not the person to tell him the stork’s on the way.” Sam couldn’t help one more soft laugh, but his eyes were serious as he looked down at her. “But like I said, the man can connect the dots. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he’d have put it together already. I gave you lousy advice the last time we talked about whether or not to tell him something. Maybe you’d better fill him in before he figures it out for himself.” He took her full cup of cold coffee off the porch railing, and held it up. “It won’t take him long.”
They left while Sam showered and dressed. Alone, he walked through the bright, high-ceiling rooms, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off a quiet so profound he understood why Westphal put in such an elaborate stereo system. Much as he wanted to break the yawning silence, Sam couldn’t bring himself to touch the equipment. He had the creepy feeling the house itself resented his presence just as much as its owner. He didn’t want to disturb a thing.
He sat at the desk in the study, determined to find something, anything that would get him on the road. One thing was clear after the morning. His being here was not a good thing for any of them, especially Tess. He called Johnson’s direct line at the newsroom but Steve wasn’t at his desk. Maybe he was getting paranoid, but Sam didn’t want to involve anyone else at Politifix, so he left an email asking Johnson to request the itineraries. Then Sam started scanning the online stories he could find on Erickson, hoping to find a gap, just a chink, in the well-constructed image that neither he nor Westphal had delved. When the cell phone at his elbow beeped, he’d become so absorbed he jumped. Looking at the screen, he was surprised that it was already nearly noon, and answered with a “Yeah, Steve.”
“I got your voicemail,” Johnson’s voice was hushed. “I made the requests and just got the travel itineraries of a certain governor. I’m still waiting for the flight plans. Want to fill me in on what’s going on?”
It took a long time for Sam to fill him in on what had happened. If Johnson found the fact that he was camped at Westphal’s house odd, it was overrun by his awe at the story.
“Jesus, Sam. Bear down and get Westphal on the record. You need him …”
“I know, I know. But he’s not budging. And as wrapped up as he is in his town and his business, I gotta say he’s got a lot on the line.” He thought about Tess, and added, “More than he even knows. Besides, even if he stepped up, it’d be his word against Erickson’s. There’s no hard evidence. Yet.”
“Keep working it, and work it fast. Sam, you have got to bring this in.”
This last was said with more than just a desire for the story. There was a warning in his voice, and Sam asked, “You could have just forwarded the email. Why did you call?”
Johnson sighed. “We’ve got a situation developing here. I don’t suppose you happened to read ‘Informed Sources?’”
Sam was relieved. If it had something to do with the Politifix gossip blog, it couldn’t be that bad. “I took a quick glance through the site this morning, but somehow that got past me. Why? Who’s been spotted having frites at Citronelle now?”
“Funny.” Johnson wasn’t going to be laughed out of his dour mood. “It was actually a squib about your wife.”
The sarcastic grin faded from Sam’s face, “Ex-wife.”
“Yeah, I know, the lawyers are working on it.”
“No, the lawyers are done. It’s final.”
“Oh, well, it’s not like it wasn’t a long time coming. And it still doesn’t get you off the hook.”
Sam set his jaw, and swiveled the desk chair to look out at the cherry tree he’d noticed so many months ago in Tess’s pictures at Westphal’s office. “And what hook is that?”
“I’ll read it to you: “The halls of the Russell Senate Office Building are buzzing with the latest rumors of investigations to come. No one there is particularly fond of campaign laws, but when a careless Hill-person opens the door of impropriety, it lea
ves everyone trying to avoid the draft, especially when it was a lawyer who set it ajar. Insiders are casting shaming glances at Judith Sampson these days. The majority counsel for Fredrick Morton’s Finance Committee is trying to keep a low profile as RNC staffers field queries of just how involved she was in her boss’s late, less-than-great, run at the top office. Rules are rules, and committee staff shall not help the chairman up the ladder during office hours, especially when the pay they’re drawing is not from campaign source, even if the lady in question is rumored to be extraordinarily close to his campaign manager. Of course, the big question mark in the mix is Politifix's own top political reporter Sam Waterman, who’s been the barrister’s more-or-less husband for at least a decade. Oddly, they separated about the time the race for the nomination was heating up. Coincidence? Just like a certain grand jury, we’d love to have Sam answer our questions. But we can’t find him either.’”
Sam rubbed his eyes. “OK, I warned her this kind of thing might happen. But why am I on the hook?”
“Well, the FEC is picking up steam. Judith’s going to be called on to explain what she's been up to, and Dodson’s fuming over the idea that Politifix is going to come off looking like it was used as a political chit. He keeps barking about what the Times went through with Judy Miller, and he wants to head off that kind of trouble by being the first to run a story on it.”
“So? I’m not that involved. She gave me a few ideas on where to look for dirt on Erickson. Any politically savvy wife might have done the same.”
“Come on, Sam. You and Dodson and I all know that’s not exactly the way it played. She was a conduit between you and Morton, and you knew it at the time.”
“So what does Dodson want me to do? Go on the record with the reporter doing the story?” Sam almost laughed at the absurdity.
But Johnson’s voice stayed grim. “That seems to be the general idea. He says he wants it all out in the open.”
“Bloody fuck,” Sam muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Steve, however bad we were together, she was my wife. I don't want to be the one to put a knife in her. What if I won’t comment? Will he shit-can my ass? Because I really need corporate backing me up when that grand jury catches up with me.”
Johnson sighed, and after a moment’s hesitation, bluntly said, “He feels like you’re a whole lot more trouble than you’re worth. If this story exposing Erickson had jelled, but … Sam, you can't know how bad I feel about this.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam actually felt dizzy. He'd watched colleague after colleague, men and women, face it. Now he realized it was finally his turn. He was losing his job. There was a low buzzing in his ears. If he wasn't a newsman, then who the hell was he? The firmness of his tone belied the crawling panic, “This story is going to come together, I guarantee it. But Steve, I need a little time. Please. Just buy me more time. Tell him you can’t find me. Come on, it’s not like I usually have my fucking cell phone charged. He’ll believe that you just can’t raise me. Get me two, three days, and I’ll lay the Republican candidate at his feet.”
“Sam,” Johnson sounded doubtful, and Sam braced himself, knowing there was only so much Steve could do without jeopardizing his own position. But then, as he always had before, his friend came through. “OK, I’ll try to stall. He promised you Politifix would have your back with the HIPAA investigation. I guess I’ll have to help him keep that promise. But I don’t know how long I can song-and-dance the guy, so you have got to move your ass and nail this thing.”
When Sam ended the call, he sat back and closed his eyes. He had been lying to Johnson. The only thing he could guarantee with any certainty was that the story was slipping through his fingers.
Gathering itineraries was an exercise in futility. He wasn’t going to be able to prove anything from them. Even if they showed Erickson had returned somewhere again and again in the early months of his first term, how would Sam prove he’d been going to the facility where Carl Erickson was being treated? The drunk probably wasn't admitted under his real name. And even if Sam did stumble on the right place, how could he gain access to those records? It wasn’t likely he’d find another doctor willing to risk his medical license to hand them over. No, Sam knew he was a long way from nailing down this story. All he had was Johnson’s gift of a little more time.
Chapter 41
Strange as the day started, it only became more surreal for Jack. He had the sensation that he was standing on the outside, watching himself move through the day. He watched himself explain to his surprised employees why he was back early. He watched as he introduced the new reporter to the school superintendent who dropped by to meet her. He watched as he returned phone calls, signed off on the payroll, and edited copy. He watched himself take the emailed copy of Swede’s speech and write the centerpiece story on his acceptance. He watched as he posted it to the website and then laid out the front page of the evening paper and sent it to the press. He did it all while his mind’s eye insisted on drifting back to the same disturbing image.
Sam Waterman was in his house, working at his desk or wandering around the other rooms. And, sickening as that picture was, it didn’t stop Jack from desperately hoping Sam would find something. Something that would bring Swede Erickson down, something that would get Sam the hell out of the farmhouse and end the nightmare that had become Jack's life.
The press had just started to rumble when the phone on Jack’s desk rang. The caller ID screen read “Rolf Carlsen,” and with a frown, Jack leaned forward, wondering what the dunderhead wanted.
“Jackie?”
The sound of Swede’s voice made Jack catch his breath, and his jaw clamped with a rippling of muscles so rigid they hurt. He responded softly, “What do you want?”
“Just to make sure you got the email. You did, didn’t you?” The matter-of-factness of Swede’s voice made Jack close his eyes.
“Yes.”
“So? What did you think? Pretty good stuff, huh? It should get the crowd roaring. I especially like the line about the ‘heroes of the greatest generation, saluting our mission from afar.’”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Jack’s voice shook with the effort to stay low, his anger nearly blinding as he gripped the phone. “You really expect me to talk about this?”
“Why not? We always do.” Swede’s voice was light enough, but there was a subtle, colder edge that Jack was fast coming to recognize.
Jack hunched forward, the receiver dipped low toward his chest, “Because, you sent your psychotic brother out to my house. And when he came, he brought a gun.”
“He would never hurt Tess.” Swede’s swift reassurance nearly brought Jack out of his chair.
“He shot the dog, Swede! And he left its body right by the front door. What if Tess had been … ”
“She wasn’t. He watched her leave before he went in.”
Jack looked at the phone in wonder. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I just meant to make sure you’d play ball, buddy, and hustle you on home. Pete’s a little high-strung, that’s all. It goes all the way back to him and Pop …”
“I don’t want to hear it. If you think I, we, can still …”
“Of course we can,” Swede’s voice hardened a bit more. “People will notice if we aren’t still close, and I can’t have that. Families have falling-outs all the time. We’ve always been each other’s family, Jackie, however pissed off we might be with each other. Now look, I’m sorry about Pete and the dog. I guess the mutt got a little noisy when Pete was letting himself in. God knows, I only wanted him to rearrange things a little, just enough to goose you on home and keep you there.”
“Well, I’m here,” Jack snapped.
“Right. And Pete just got back to Kansas City for my speech tonight, so don’t worry. I’ve set him straight and took your house key away from him. Like I said, I feel bad as hell about the dog. And I lit into him about what he did in her studio too.” At this last, the flush of anger dr
ained from Jack’s face, leaving it white. “Just stick to our bargain, Jack, and I’ll never, ever have any reason to give him back that key.” There was a slight pause, and the deep voice sharpened, “OK?”
“Yes,” Jack came back thinly, “I understand.”
“Good. Look, email me a copy of your story, OK? I know Mama will want to read it. She’s your biggest fan.” Then he hung up.
For a few minutes Jack stared straight ahead, his heart hammering. Then he pulled Sam’s card from his pocket, and called the cell phone number.
“Yeah?” Sam answered on the first ring.
“Have you been up in Tess’s studio?”
Jack could hear papers shuffling before Sam said, “Look man, I’m not violating the sanctity of your precious home, OK? I’ve kept myself confined to the study, the head and the kitchen. I’ve been searching these itineraries …”
“Shut up and go take a look.”
“I’m busy. Why?”
At the belligerent tone, Jack snapped, “Because I think something might be wrong up there.”
“Why?” This came a little more cautiously.
“I just got a call, from the Governor,” Jack’s voice arched with significance.
“Jesus!” Jack heard the desk chair squeak as Sam must have stood. “That guy has balls as big as grapefruits. What’d he say?”
“He said he wanted to make sure I’m playing ball.”
“Good thing you were there to answer the phone.”
“Uh-huh. He told me Pete is back in Kansas City, and he’s hoping he won’t have to send him out to the home place again.”
“Christ!” Jack could hear Sam’s feet on the stairs. “Well, I just got the flight plans. Johnson nagged the hell of them to get them today. I’ll start comparing them to the itineraries …” he paused, and then said, “Did Tess say anything was wrong in here?”