by Ann Ripley
“Oh, more than that. But let’s be clear on this: I give Jay McCormick full credit for the idea. He saw these men in action out in California during the fall Senatorial campaign…”
“Now, of which men do you speak? The ones mentioned in yesterday’s Sacramento Union story?”
“Yes. Franklin Rawlings, Willie Upchurch, Ted French—that whole crew of political operatives. When he learned they would orchestrate Goodrich’s political campaign, he left a ten-year speechwriting career and jumped back into investigative journalism”—his gaze dropped modestly to the interview table—“which of course I’ve been engaged in exclusively for several years at the Arlington Herald.”
“So he came here to Washington…” coaxed Lederle, trying to get the young reporter back on track.
“Yes. That’s when we teamed up. I did the leg work, traveling to many states—thirteen, in fact, including California—to turn up the facts of the case. I dictated my stuff back to Jay on a daily basis.”
“But wait, Mr. Hurd, surely Mr. McCormick also was turning up the facts of the case. We’re talking about a political plant here, aren’t we? Wasn’t jay McCormick clever enough to infiltrate Goodrich’s campaign, without even breaking any laws?” The news anchor gave a polite chuckle. “These days, that’s really accomplishing something.”
“Well, yes,” said Hurd, wiggling uncomfortably in his chair. “And Jay turned up some good stuff—which, after consulting with me, we were able to follow up on. Lannie Gordon’s setting up of a 501 (C) (3) charitable non-profit foundation, for instance, that funneled huge amounts of money to Congressman Goodrich.”
“I understood Mr. McCormick is the one who picked that information up straight out of the downtown Goodrich campaign headquarters.”
Hurd put up a hand. “Mr. Lederle, you have to understand how this worked. None of this was handed to us on a silver platter; there was no convenient leak like ‘Deep Throat,’ as there was in Watergate. We had to scramble for every fact—to work very covertly and very hard. I did the follow-up of every one of his leads. And then when he got made…”
Lederle raised a worldly-wise eyebrow. “That’s an odd way to put it isn’t it? He wasn’t a criminal, now, was he?”
“No, but he was recognized, and from then on, I essentially had to take over the story…”
Lederle’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But Mr. McCormick’s editor told me that Jay McCormick was the only one who had his finger on the whole story to the day of his death in that fishpond…”
Hurd, though a print guy, had mastered the politician’s art of interrupting and giving answers to questions Lederle had not asked. “The disks were temporarily lost, that’s true, but they were returned to the Sacramento Union. And then before publication, Al Kirkland asked me out there, and I was the one who was able to fill in and provide all those little extra details they needed. I guess you could just say it was a question of being in the right place at the right time.”
Lederle watched Charles Hurd smile at the camera, and knew just what he was up to: not too wide a smile because that would be smirking; just wide enough to show that besides being a damned good reporter, he was also a nice human being.
The news anchor thought, The little prick: he probably would have killed McCormick for the story himself, if someone hadn’t beaten him to it.
About the Author
A former newspaperwoman, ANN RIPLEY now spends her time organic gardening and writing mysteries. She lives with her husband, Tony, in Lyons, Colorado. Her first novel, Mulch, won the Top Hand Award from the Colorado Authors’ League. She is at work on her fifth gardening mystery.
Ann Ripley’s amateur gardening heroine Louise Eldridge is back—for the fourth book in her marvelous series, and another crop of tangled suspense and savvy gardening lore in a quick-growing new plot of lies, betrayal, and murder…
THE GARDEN TOUR AFFAIR
On a dream location shoot for her TV gardening show, Louise finds that the beauties of nature can be deadly. The Litchfield Falls Inn, a magnet for hikers and nature enthusiasts, is surely idyllic—but there, amid the pastel blossoms of verbena and love-in-a-mist, she finds a rampant overgrowth of the human species. Is someone playing Grim Reaper among the uneasy guests in this Connecticut paradise?
DEATH OF A POLITICAL PLANT
A Bantam Book
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1998 by Ami Ripley.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97–24545.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56941-7
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