He sighed, shook his head again, apparently overwhelmed. “Frank, like many of us, thought that our great country might be . . . beyond repair. Certainly America has been paralyzed by the extreme right and their equally feckless counterpart on the left. My guess is . . . Frank must have thought the only way to return this country to the people, the majority in the sane middle who have been so badly served by major-party loyalty to special interests . . . was to . . . start over. Tabula rasa, clean slate.”
Reeder said, “Sounds more like scorched earth.”
Another grand sigh was followed by a grander shrug. “I only mean to say, I understand his motivation. I abhor and condemn his methods . . . if indeed my theory about the ‘why’ of his actions is correct.”
“Let’s explore your theory further,” Reeder said.
“All right. If that’s really necessary.”
“Necessary or not, it might be . . . illuminating. Would you agree that Elmore and Barr hired Stanton in order to boost your popularity as a presidential candidate? By having you survive an assassination attempt?”
“That seems a bizarre reading of the facts. If they wanted me to become president, would they expose me to so terrible a risk?”
“Was it a risk?” Reeder asked. “Jay Akers was right there on stage, and for that matter, so was I, and Agent Rogers. Seems to me the person at risk was the man coming up out of the audience with a gun in his hand.”
Benjamin was shaking his head. “Improbable. I might say preposterous.”
“Well, maybe Elmore and Barr were fanatics. Assassinated, you become a martyr, and someone else from the Common Sense Movement steps forward.”
Benjamin frowned. “I . . . I suppose that’s possible. But there’s not really anyone else in the movement who could step in and effectively mount a campaign . . .”
“No, I guess there really isn’t,” Reeder said. “But of course, it wasn’t Elmore or even Barr who saw to it that I was on stage that night. That was your doing.”
“Was it? That’s kind of a blur at this point. I know I offered you a position on my staff.”
“It’s possible,” Reeder said, “that Elmore and Barr wanted you out of the way. If they were, as you say, embezzlers on a grand scale. Maybe they wanted to get rid of you before you got onto them.”
He nodded. “A possibility.”
“But there’s a problem with both interpretations of Elmore and Barr’s actions. Whether these failed assassinations were for monetary reasons, or were intended to boost your candidacy . . . you don’t hire an assassin to kill yourself. And for either theory to work, that’s exactly what Elmore and Barr would’ve had to do.”
He shifted in the swivel chair. “Not sure I follow.”
“Have you ever heard the name Evan Carpenter?”
“No.”
Rogers wondered if the people reader had picked up anything in the suddenly blank expression Benjamin presented them.
“Carpenter’s a mercenary,” Reeder said. “Hired to tie off loose ends. The one-man army who committed all that mayhem at the Holiday Inn Express. And the man I captured before he could use a cell phone to trigger the explosives in the scaffolding around the Capitol Building.”
Everybody wore a blank expression, including Rogers, who hoped she had in no way betrayed Reeder’s lie.
“Mr. Carpenter is an interesting man,” Reeder said, “with a strong sense of survival instinct. He appears to be waiting for just the right deal before giving up his employer.”
And Rogers saw it: the slight relief around Benjamin’s eyes.
“My only explanation for all of this,” Reeder said, “is that Frank Elmore really was a true, pass-the-Kool-Aid believer in the Common Sense Movement. So extreme that he did add himself to the list of the loose ends Carpenter was hired to tie off, and added Lynn Barr, too.”
“It’s incredible,” Benjamin said softly. “But Frank truly was dedicated to the movement . . . and to me . . . what a tragic outcome.”
Shaking his head, Reeder asked, “But whatever would possess Elmore to think blowing up the Capitol was in any way a good idea?”
Benjamin thought about that, staring into nothing again. “I suppose . . . he must have thought that, had the Capitol been destroyed, the people who stand in the way of progress would be gone. The country would be . . . would have to be . . . reborn.”
“With you as the new father of the country.”
He waved that off. “I would give of myself in whatever way my country needed.”
“Think you’ll still run?”
“Too early to say. Not an appropriate time to even consider it. But—whatever my country needs.”
Reeder smiled. “Well, we’ll see what your country needs from you, when that report comes out tomorrow.”
Benjamin frowned. “You really believe that will have an impact on their decision, and mine?”
“Yeah, I do. One thing I forgot to mention. Carpenter hasn’t talked yet, but before you reach out and find some way to silence him, don’t bother. Seems he recorded all the cell phone calls between you two. I’m guessing he doesn’t know who hired him, and you didn’t contact him directly until after Elmore was dead. See, killing off your insulation was not smart. The techs have already done voice comparisons between the man on Carpenter’s cell phone and you. Perfect match.”
Benjamin didn’t say anything, although in a way he did, since all the blood was draining from his face.
Rogers, rather stunned by the enormity of Reeder’s bluff, did her best not to show it.
Reeder was saying, “We’re only here, Adam . . . I’m only here . . . because I was once a fan. And I think you started out meaning well. But you’ve pushed this ends-justify-the-means thing over the line. Your middle-of-the-road followers are not going to take to your brand of megalomaniacal extremism.”
The voice that emanated deep from Benjamin’s chest was one neither Rogers nor Reeder had heard before, as if it came up from dark depths within the man.
“Why did you come, Mr. Reeder?”
“Out of respect for who you were. Of how you started. On the assumption you once were who you’ve come to pretend you still are. And if you’re thinking that your money will bail you out? Well, keep watching the financial news, and the little scrolling down below, and see just how far and fast your stock drops after the report comes out. Think of this as a courtesy call.”
Behind the black-framed glasses, the dark eyes were cold and unblinking. “Courtesy?”
“Yes. Advance warning. For you to get your affairs in order. Ducks in a row kind of thing. Your next visit from the FBI will not be unofficial. They will bring warrants and disgrace. You may still have enough money to fight this for a while, Adam. But it’s over. I hope you have the common sense to know it.”
They were almost to the car when they heard the gunshot.
“The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dream shall never die.”
Edward “Ted” Kennedy
TWENTY-TWO
Joe Reeder sat at the head of a table in the Verdict Chophouse dining room, his daughter Amy to his left, her boyfriend Bobby next to her—the kid wearing a suit for the first time in Reeder’s memory.
But then everybody was dressed up tonight, including Patti Rogers, looking very feminine in a silky-looking dark-blue dress with some neckline and pearls, in the seat to Reeder’s right. An empty chair was between her and Melanie at the far end—they were waiting for Patti’s date.
Melanie’s husband, Donald Graham, couldn’t make it because he’d been called out of town on business. Reeder had tried to sound sincere telling Mel he was disappointed, but she clearly didn’t buy it. If he could have read people half as easily as she did him, he’d have deserved his reputation.
Mel looked fashion-model lovely, as usual, in an emerald designer dress, all of that long brown hair up in a currently fashionable tower. Kind of silly looking, but he wouldn’t tell her that under torture.
> His ex sipped her martini, then said, “You just never know about people.”
Reeder said, “You don’t, huh?”
“That Adam Benjamin. You really admired him, didn’t you, Joe? He seemed so strong. So warm. Always made such good sense.”
“Agree to disagree,” Bobby mumbled, and gulped his own beer.
Mel was saying, “Here he was at the head of an entire grassroots movement, richest man in America, and yet . . . What could make him take his own life?”
Looking like a younger version of her mother, minus the towering hairdo and in a white silk blouse and black skirt, Amy said, “I don’t think that’s so hard to figure out. So many of his friends and associates, wiped out in a crazy shooting spree. At a Holiday Inn Express? What’s that about?”
Eyes narrowing, Bobby—who could really use a haircut, in Reeder’s opinion—said, “I’m telling you, there was something going on there. I bet Benjamin was murdered. I mean, do you survive two assassination attempts and then kill yourself?”
Amy, sipping her sparkling water, shook her head. “Honey, you see conspiracies everywhere.”
“He was a real threat to the left and right both. There’s a very interesting website that suggests elements of both parties came together to get rid of him.”
Reeder said, “It would be one thing they agreed on, anyway.”
Bobby said, “Ms. Rogers, you’re in the FBI, right?”
Rogers smiled a little. “Right.”
“Do you buy what happened to that guy?”
“What guy? Benjamin?”
“No, that Carpenter character. Goes all Manson Family at the Holiday Inn, then days later shows up suddenly a suicide himself. Doesn’t it seem like an awful lot of convenient suicides to you?”
She sipped Chablis. “Not my case, Bob. Sorry.”
He smirked. “And if it was, you still wouldn’t tell me.”
Amy said, “Bobby . . . be good.”
Holding up a surrender palm, Melanie said, “My fault. I brought up a topic not suitable for friendly discourse at an evening out of fine dining . . . at my ex-husband’s expense.”
“Hear hear,” they all said, and Rogers lifted her glass to him and everybody followed suit.
Reeder tasted his beer and shrugged. “I’m with Bobby.”
Bobby blinked. “You are?”
“Yeah. I’m a big believer in conspiracies. I mean, hell, it’s only been, what? Five years since they finally cleared Oswald?”
Melanie, brightening, said to Reeder, “Say, I heard from Beth Bryson! She and Christopher just got back from Florida. Said they had a lovely vacation down there.” She shook her head, turned to Reeder. “Too bad you weren’t able to help her out, Joe, where, uh, her husband . . . you know.”
Reeder nodded, flashed her a sad smile, had more beer.
Unfortunately the real reason behind Chris Bryson’s “suicide” was buried in the general cover-up of the Capitol bombing plot. Nonetheless, Reeder had privately assured Beth and her son that Chris had not taken his life, and that Reeder had personally settled the score.
Not entirely true, because Carpenter’s cronies were still out there. Some day.
Mel said to Rogers, “So, Patti—where’s this guy of yours?”
“He’s just a friend.”
“Sure he is,” Amy said with a wicked little smile.
“Anyway, he marches to his own drummer.”
Reeder said, “Even when a free meal is in the offing?”
Rogers, looking behind her, said, “Here he is . . .”
A slender, dark-haired, very handsome guy in his early thirties—his suit a sharp gray number over a blue dress shirt, open at the neck—stood poised at the door between the bar area and the dining room.
Rogers waved him their way. He came over and stood shyly behind the empty chair beside her and she smiled up at him, squeezing his elbow.
“Everybody, this is Kevin Lockwood. Kevin . . .”
And she made the rest of the introductions.
Frowning in confusion as he shook hands with Kevin, Reeder asked, “Haven’t we met?”
Rogers glanced at Reeder with an impish smile. “Joe,” she said, “it’ll come to you.”
STATE OF THANKS
The following books were of help in the creation of this novel: The Definitive Book of Body Language (2006), Allan and Barbara Pease; Images of America: Arlington National Cemetery (2006), George W. Dodge; Reading People: How to Understand People and Predict Their Behavior—Anytime, Anyplace (1998), Jo-Ellen Dimitrius and Mark Mazzarella.
Thank you to Eleanor Cawood Jones and Aimee and Eric Hix for helping make Matt’s research trip to Washington, DC, so productive.
As usual, thanks to Chris Kauffman, Van Buren County Sheriff’s Office (ret.), and Paul Van Steenhuyse for their expertise with weapons and computers, respectively.
We wish to thank our in-house editors, Barbara Collins and Pam Clemens, for improving our work with patience and skill.
Thanks also to our agent, Dominick Abel, and everyone at Thomas & Mercer, with special nods to Jacque Ben-Zekry, Kjersti Egerdahl, and Alan Turkus.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Photo © John Deason
MAX ALLAN COLLINS has earned an unprecedented twenty-one Private Eye Writers of America “Shamus” nominations, winning twice for best novel and once for best short story. In 2007 he received the “Eye,” the PWA life achievement award, and in 2012 his Nathan Heller saga was honored with their “Hammer” award for its major contribution to the private eye genre.
His graphic novel Road to Perdition (1998) is the basis of the Academy Award–winning Tom Hanks film, and his innovative “Quarry” novels are now a Cinemax TV series. He has completed a number of “Mike Hammer” novels begun by the late Mickey Spillane, his full-cast Hammer audio novel, The Little Death (with Stacy Keach), winning a 2011 Audie.
Collins has written and directed four feature films, including the Lifetime movie Mommy (1996), and two documentaries, including Mike Hammer’s Mickey Spillane (1998), which appears on the Criterion Collection’s Kiss Me Deadly video. His many comics credits include the syndicated strip Dick Tracy; his own Ms. Tree; and Batman. His movie novels include Saving Private Ryan, Air Force One, and American Gangster (IAMTW Best Novel “Scribe” Award, 2008).
Collins lives in Muscatine, Iowa, with his wife, writer Barbara Collins; as “Barbara Allan,” they have collaborated on twelve novels, including the successful “Trash ’n’ Treasures” mysteries, including Antiques Flee Market (2008), winner of the Romantic Times Best Humorous Mystery Novel award in 2009. Their son, Nathan, is a Japanese-to-English translator, working on video games, manga, and novels.
MATTHEW V. CLEMENS is a longtime coconspirator with Max Allan Collins, the pair having collaborated on over twenty novels, fifteen short stories, several comic books, four graphic novels, a computer game, and a dozen mystery jigsaw puzzles, for such famous TV properties as CSI, Bones, Dark Angel, NCIS, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Criminal Minds. Matt also worked with Max on the bestselling “Reeder and Rogers” debut thriller, Supreme Justice, published by Thomas & Mercer in 2014. He has published a number of solo short stories and worked on numerous book projects with other authors, both nonfiction and fiction, collaborating a number of times with Karl Largent on the late author’s bestselling techno-thrillers.
Matt lives in Davenport, Iowa, with his wife, Pam, a retired teacher.
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