"So now we have the connection that explains why Hank Dobbs is jamming up the investigation," said Marlene. "He's working for the man who saved his father, even though Blaine has to know that Richard Dobbs was really guilty."
"You think Blaine was blackmailing Dobbs? You think he said he'd spill the beans on the old man if Dobbs didn't help him protect Blaine's old CIA buddies?"
"No, that's not it," said Marlene definitively. "Blaine saved Richard Dobbs in 1951, in the teeth of the CIA. Why would he have pulled a switch at this late date? No, the Dobbs family was the core of his life: he loved the husband and he loved the wife. That wouldn't change, even if he pulled the trigger on JFK himself. No, he didn't need blackmail at all. Hank Dobbs was covering for Blaine from sheer gratitude."
"But what the hell was he covering?" asked Karp, his brows knotting in frustration. "Blaine's not directly tied to anyone we've turned up except Gaiilov, who's peripheral to the Oswald story, as far as we know. Like you said, Blaine retired from the CIA long before JFK became president. He was on the CIA shit list, in fact, because of the Dobbs thing, and we have no evidence that he knew the one guy we've identified as being central to the whole thing."
"Who?"
"Paul David, aka Maurice Bishop."
"Oh, yeah. But wait a minute-isn't Bishop in this film?"
"Yeah, but so're a hundred other people. Because Blaine took the film doesn't mean he was in bed with Bishop. Nobody we've talked to has ever mentioned Blaine."
Something tugged at Marlene's memory. She had an extraordinary memory for faces, the product of years of going through mug books, looking at the faces of sex criminals, of hours and hours spent with victims trying to tease a face out of violence-clouded memory.
"Bishop slash David is on the film, huh? Let me see if I can pick him out."
She started to wind the film, but Karp stopped her and got out the black loose-leaf book that V.T. had assembled, consulted it, and turned to a glossy blowup of the best David/Bishop shot on the film.
Marlene looked at it and cried "Yesss! It was nagging me. I knew I'd seen that guy before, and of course, I was thinking of Blaine when I watched the film, so I was ready for the connection. This guy, ten years younger, is in a picture with Harley Blaine that's hanging in the hallway behind Richard Dobbs's study. Blaine knew Bishop, all right, from way back. His protege, you might say."
Karp sat on his excitement and tried to argue against the most obvious conclusion. "Okay, great, Blaine knew David/Bishop way back when. He took home movies of a Bishop operation. He's still a retired guy, a lawyer, not an active spook like the rest of them."
"Okay," Marlene conceded, "then let's look at this joker you were talking about, this Kelly guy in Baton Rouge? We know he's connected because Guel was getting all that cash from PXK. Maybe we should check that out, if Blaine knows him too."
Karp sighed and told her about V.T.'s enlightenment concerning the meaning of PXK. He concluded the tale with, "So according to Newbury, Kelly's yet another of the ten million false trails generated by the assassination. Hell, maybe the chess names are a coincidence too. Nah, that's hard even for me to swallow, that on top of the two murders, and seeing Oswald number two in Miami. I think the killer is really it, the core of the conspiracy. And there's not a goddamn thing we can do about it."
He told her about Wilkey and the meeting that morning, about V.T. quitting.
"Well, a total disaster," Marlene said when he was finished. "What are you going to do?"
"Oh, I'll quit too, I guess. It gripes me, though. I can't make a case, but I'd just like to know who the queen was."
"Queen?"
"Yeah, that's what V.T. said. King, pawn, knight, rook, bishop. We're not sure about the rook, Turm, except that he was apparently an expert in organizing assassinations, among other things. But the guy behind it all-the master piece on the board-V.T. called him the queen." He laughed. "It'd be funny if it turned out to be Clay Shaw, considering."
"Yeah, but how's this for another fascinating coincidence. You know they have this King Ranch in Texas, supposed to be the largest ranch in the world? Well, when Harley Blaine went back to Texas, he added pieces to his parents' old property and set himself up as a gentleman rancher. And do you know what he called his ranch, the old funster?"
"Don't tell me."
"Yes. The Queen Ranch."
They were silent amid the noise from the radio and the TV. Karp reached for her hand. "Jesus, Marlene, what're we going to do?" It was a rhetorical question, but Marlene responded with scarcely a thought.
"Well, obviously, we have to go and see Blaine. We'll fly out to Texas, to the old Queen Ranch and have a little talk. About Dick Dobbs and John F. Kennedy."
Karp's wife had once again succeeded in amazing him. "Why would we want to do that, Marlene?" he asked weakly. "Why should Blaine talk to us? Because we found one of his home movies? He'll laugh in our faces."
"No he won't. He'll talk. Maybe not on a witness stand, but he'll tell us what we want to know, which is all that matters right now. Aren't you dying to know how he did it? Speaking of which, he's dying himself. Maybe he's just waiting to spill his guts."
"That I doubt, considering he's been working like crazy to kill the investigation, which he did. Not to mention killing people in the process. So why is he going to be such a sweetheart with you and me?"
"Because our hearts are pure and because we have a film of him screwing Selma Dobbs and proof that Richard Dobbs was a spy and a traitor. He's not going to want that to get out."
Karp stared at her. "Blackmail him? Are you serious?"
"Oh, silly, it won't come to blackmail," said Marlene lightly. "It'll be very civilized. I'll send him a copy of the film and tell him what we know about his involvement in Kennedy, and we'll go out there and talk."
Karp held his hands to his head. "I don't believe I'm hearing this!" he shrieked. "If we're right, this guy has already aced a couple dozen people, not to mention the president of the United States. How about if you're wrong and he sends three guys with machine guns? Did you ever think of that?"
They locked eyes for a full minute, tense and breathing hard. At the end of this, Marlene nodded curtly once and got up from her chair. "Fine, have it your way. I'll pack."
"What? Wait a minute, Marlene…"
"Why? Why wait? Just call the goddamn office and tell them you're quitting. We can be on the road tonight, running back to New York with our tails between our legs."
"Marlene…"
She stomped out of the room and he followed her up the stairs to their bedroom, where with violent motions she started flinging drawers open.
"Marlene, stop it!"
She turned to him, eye blazing. "Why? Hey, you were the one who wanted to find out who whacked JFK. It was no big thing for me. I was happy in New York, remember?"
"You're not being fair," he said, despising himself for saying it.
"Oh, for Chrissake, what does 'fair' have to do with it. What the problem is, is you still don't trust my judgment. Look-I know this guy. I studied him in films over thirty years. I read nearly everything he wrote. I know how his mind works. I know what the people who were most intimate with him thought about him. I read his fucking love letters. I'm telling you that this will work."
"And if it doesn't?"
She paused and her face lost some of its tension. He was going to roll on it. "If it doesn't," she said, "we'll both be dead. Which is why I'm going to call Harry Bello to come down here."
"Bello? Why? What does he have to do with it?"
"Simple. We'll tell him the whole story and leave the stuff in the envelope with him. If anything happens to us, he'll take care of Lucy, one, and two, he'll track them down and kill them all, all the goddamn chessmen, every one."