I counted fourteen articles from various Internet sources about Senator Robert Logan. Long articles that went into his entire life; one article was an interview with some friends of his from high school. Then there were overviews of his time as a wealthy businessman and finally his decision to enter politics and how this led all the way to the United States Senate. She had taken her masters in the subject of Senator Logan.
In the manila envelope I found a dozen photos of her and the senator. All but one of them was staged at his rallies. Each of them gave the unmistakable impression that she and the senator were more than what you might call mere acquaintances. She made sure of that by looking as though she was about to go down on him. She knew what she was doing. And he stood there looking smitten like a horny tenth-grader.
In another drawer I found a white number-ten envelope with photographs of Tracy Cabot at various ages. The photos spanned maybe twenty years from her teens — fourteen or fifteen — to the present. She’d always been a heartbreaker.
Male voices in the hall. They startled me even more than the phone had. If the cops were going to search the room they’d come up in a team of some kind.
I stood absolutely still. Listening as they got nearer, louder, until they started laughing and passed on down the hall. Flop sweat in my armpits and on my back. I took a deep, deep breath and went back to work.
By my watch I’d been in here six minutes. Way too long. When I eventually reached the elevator, my old buddy Earl Leonard appeared from around the corner. ‘How’d it go, man?’
‘Pretty good.’
‘I won’t rat you out, man.’
‘No more money, Earl.’
‘I wasn’t asking for any more.’ He sounded hurt.
‘I know how bad you want to keep your job, Earl, so you won’t rat me out, because if you do I’ll say that this was your idea and then you’ll not only lose your job, you’ll be doing time in the same joint I am.’
‘This is pretty bad shit, huh?’
‘Real bad shit.’ I stepped into the elevator and faced him. ‘And you’re right in the middle of it, Earl. Just like me.’
The doors closed. I actually liked Earl all right; I just didn’t want him confiding anything to any of his friends after he’d had a few drinks. I had to scare him a little.
Seven
I spent the next half hour in my room with my laptop. Despite the world of Senator Logan collapsing into scandal, I had to check with my various campaign runners to see how their own work was doing. They filed email reports constantly through the days. Every internal poll I saw looked decent; even the ones that had been lagging were now closing slightly. There was still time to win the election.
Then I went to the websites of all the networks and cable news shows. As expected, the Logan story was getting the kind of play that Jack the Ripper would have gotten following those bloody long-ago nights in Whitechapel. All the sites except for Empire News showed at least some restraint. Not enough was known yet to come right out and say that Senator Logan had smashed the skull of his bimbo honey. Empire News had already placed him on the gurney where he would receive the injection that would take him to the depths of hell. They went heavy on his liberal politics and quoted one of their familiar talking heads, a so-called professor at a Christian college that had a white supremacist on the staff. He said, ‘If you want to understand how liberalism corrupts all those who promote it, look at Senator Logan. He might have been a decent man at one time in his life. But if these charges are true — and I must say, things don’t look good for the man — then his decadence speaks for itself.’ This was the same man who reported sightings of Jesus even more often than a certain type of person reports seeing Big Foot eating French fries at McDonald’s.
I had no doubt that if a polling company started questioning people the results would show that the majority would be certain that the senator was guilty. And the story was only a few hours old.
I found the number for the police station and called it.
‘Police station.’
‘My name is Dev Conrad. I’m Senator Logan’s campaign consultant. I’d like to know if the senator is still there?’
‘I’m going to connect you with Detective Roberts.’
‘Thank you.’
A minute-long wait. ‘Detective Roberts.’
I went through my introduction again.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Conrad?’
‘I’d like to know if Senator Logan is still there and if so when you expect him to be released.’
‘He’s still here but I can’t tell you anything about when he’ll be leaving. Detective Hammell is in charge of the investigation. That’ll be up to him.’
‘So I assume Jane Tyler is still there, too.’
‘She’s with Detective Hammell and Senator Logan, yes.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you could give her my phone number and ask her to call me.’
‘I’ll do what I can. I’m plenty busy myself.’
‘I understand.’ I gave him the number of my cell. ‘I appreciate your help, Detective.’
‘If you’re thinking of coming here, I’d recommend against it. The place is a zoo. We’ve never seen this many reporters.’
‘I appreciate the tip. And I won’t be coming. Thanks again.’
Just as I was hanging up my room phone rang. I was sure I knew who it would be. Somebody from Washington. I wondered why they hadn’t called sooner. They were past masters at panicking and for once this was a time for it.
‘Our phone here might be bugged. We haven’t swept this room for two days. I just ducked in here because I don’t want anybody eavesdropping.’
Both parties have what functions as a headquarters. Ours is a conduit for everything from gossip about an opponent to getting emergency campaign cash. The man on the line had been a congressman many years earlier but had stayed in Washington because he liked the nightlife there, as all of his wives would attest to. Some people disintegrate when they panic; he was the type who just got real pissed off when things went bad all of a sudden. The way he was clipping his words off I could tell he was pissed right now. I should also mention that we weren’t what you call fond of each other. I thought he was smug and he thought I was ungrateful. We’d never actually met and that was, I suspected, a good thing.
‘Did he or didn’t he?’
‘No.’
‘A setup?’
‘Yes. Howie Ruskin’s out here.’
A pause. ‘You sure of that?’
‘Yes. As soon as we hang up I’m going to start looking for him.’
‘We’ve probably lost the seat no matter what now.’
‘Maybe.’
He had a nice, mellow whiskey laugh. A Jack Daniel’s black label laugh. ‘For such a cynical bastard, Dev, you’re always surprisingly optimistic.’ Then, ‘This is such a mess I can’t believe it.’ He’d controlled his rage and now had let it dissipate. ‘I’m getting calls from campaigns all over the country. They’re afraid this’ll hurt their candidates.’
‘Poor babies.’
‘It just might.’
‘Maybe. But since we’re still not four hours out I’d give it a little time.’
‘There’s supposed to be a big fundraiser tonight. This’ll put a pall on it.’
‘I wish you could see the tears in my eyes. I’m sorry but I couldn’t give a shit about a fundraiser right now. I’ve got other things to worry about.’
‘You think you and I will ever like each other?’
‘Probably not.’
This time the Jack-blacked throat emitted a laugh. ‘Me neither.’
I called Lee Sullivan in Chicago. He’d been a homicide detective who’d gone private and then started doing a lot of work for me and our candidates. He had a computer-wizard son who was also excellent at opposition research. Jason had picked up two opponent scandals that a big opposition firm had missed.