‘Sounds like you really checked him out,’ Ben said.
‘On Google. Didn’t Cosmo Kramer on the old Seinfeld show say something about it being true if it’s on the Internet?’
Ben had a laugh like a bark; Jane’s was a half-giggle.
‘Well, if a guy named Cosmo is satisfied then so am I,’ Ben said.
The gag relaxed us briefly.
Ben put his arm along the top of the couch. ‘When I woke up this morning I was thinking that today I’d start to get everything under control. So the first thing I hear is about this kitchen worker who saw Robert and the Cabot woman arguing in the parking lot. I wanted to call a news conference and have Robert speak this afternoon but that’s out of the question now. I’ll have to do it alone but that’ll be suspicious.’ Ben was cracking his knuckles. The sound was sharp in the library-like room. ‘Left field. Totally unexpected. This is the kind of stuff that can kill you. The kitchen worker makes you wonder who else is out there.’
‘Maybe that’s what he was hiding from us,’ Jane said. ‘That he saw Tracy Cabot more than he let on.’
‘Did you get anywhere with him telling you everything?’ I asked Ben.
‘His story is still the same — he didn’t kill her and that’s all that matters. A part of me wants to dump his ass. I won’t, of course, but when you’ve got a client who won’t help you—’ He didn’t have to finish his thought. ‘I need to get back to the hotel and set up a press conference for later this afternoon. The media is killing us.’
He was on his feet, a prowling animal. To Jane, he said, ‘Have you heard anything from your friend in the police department?’
‘Nothing new.’
He prowled some more then turned back and said, ‘Dev, have you thought about telling Detective Hammell about the call you got from Ruskin’s lady friend or whoever the hell she is?’
‘Crossed my mind but I doubt it would do much good at this point. He’s focused on Robert and I can’t say I blame him.’
Ben’s smile was grim. ‘You didn’t have to say that, did you?’
On our way back to the city Jane was quiet. Her fine, small hands were crossed on her lap and with her window partly open her hair was mussed most sweetly. I thought about going to bed with her, of course, but I was also interested in her as a cohort. I sensed a melancholy in her that was not unlike my own.
The kiss on the cheek surprised me and I appreciated the hell out of it. Sweet flesh, perfume, breath and intention. ‘I hope I see you tonight. We deserve a good dinner.’
‘You’re on. I’ll call you after a while.’
I watched her walk into her building. Been a while since I’d connected this way and I liked the feeling. In the past, one-night stands had been able to assuage my loneliness, but as I got older loneliness became preferable to a succession of strange, cold beds.
Twenty minutes later I walked into my hotel room. Three calls waiting on the hotel phone, all from Chicago reporters I knew were here now and hoping for favors. I didn’t return any of the calls.
As much as I didn’t want to, I turned on the big plasma screen, grabbed a diet Pepsi from the refrigerator and sat down to watch the boys and girls of cable news — just as I’d told Tom Neil I wouldn’t — finish off the career of Senator Robert Logan.
Our network wasn’t much better than the right-wing one. A couple of our senators managed to look embarrassed to say even a few supportive words about Robert, even though they were his long-time friends. They were up for re-election, too. And the so-called liberal journalists were saying there was no chance that Robert could win now, however this turned out. Thanks, guys.
Of course, the Empire News channel was unmatched in its virulence. As always they seemed to be parodying themselves with their innuendo, piety and outright lies. This particular panel contained a Southern minister to whom the others had ceded all moral authority. When he suggested that our party was one of ‘atheists and whoremongers’ they nodded in solemn television agreement despite the fact that their side was about eighty percent ahead of us in sex scandals.
But my favorite was a robotic blonde woman whose flesh seemed as lacquered as her hair and whose pitiless gaze would cause a Harlem pimp to wet himself in terror. ‘I’m probably getting ahead of myself a little here but it does look as if Senator Logan is guilty of something. So I’d like to know if anybody on this panel knows if this is the first time in American history that a sitting senator might be found guilty of first-degree murder and possibly be executed?’
‘That’s a very interesting question, Poppy,’ God’s man at the table responded.
‘Extremely interesting,’ said a beefy pontificator. ‘And his party would always be remembered for having a killer sitting in the Senate.’
I turned it off and went to work on my laptop. I checked out the internals on the various races my firm was involved in. There wasn’t much change from yesterday, except for the race where we’d had so much trouble with white working-class men. In American politics that was the greatest of all mysteries. Our party had always championed their various causes and needs yet they voted against us. It’s difficult to respect people who respect people who consider them little more than vermin.
My cell phone burred.
‘Afternoon, Dev. This is Michael Hawkins. You have a few minutes to talk?’
‘Sure. What’s going on?’
‘I managed to get hold of Ruskin’s sister in Cheyenne. At first she told me to talk to her lawyer but I finally managed to convince her that her brother could be in serious trouble and we need to talk to him. I told her about Tracy Cabot being murdered but she already knew about it. I pushed her on that and she admitted that Ruskin had called her last night. She said that he was scared and that that was not like him; that he usually laughed things off. She said that he said, “I’m in over my head this time; I don’t know what to do.” There are a couple ways to interpret that.’
‘That she wasn’t supposed to die and he didn’t have anything to do with her death or—’
‘Or that he killed her.’
‘You leaning one way or another on it?’
‘I’ve been an investigator of one sort or another for a long time and I’ve learned that every time I make a wild guess it’s wrong. So I keep my guesses to myself.’
‘She didn’t know where he was calling from?’
‘If she did I couldn’t get it from her.’
‘I’ve got something, too.’ Then I told him about the call from Ruskin’s lover.
‘You’re thinking it’s for real?’
‘Now that you’ve told me what his sister said — about him being so desperate and everything — yeah, I think it’s for real. He’s in panic mode and scaring the hell out of her — she may be thinking about bailing out.’
‘No offense, Dev. But why would she turn to you?’
‘No idea.’ Then, ‘Hey, Ben Zuckerman’s on TV. I need to watch this, Michael.’
‘I’ll catch a little of it myself. I’ll be in touch later.’
‘Great.’
Fourteen
The suit was a solid blue today. Gray button-down shirt. Dark blue tie. The narrowed eyes showed the stress. If the reporters had been hurling stones instead of questions, Ben would have been dead by now. He held up a hand for silence and did not take it down until most of the questions had stopped. ‘This will be a brief one, ladies and gentlemen.’