Chapter Twenty-five
Alan Page looked at the illuminated digital display on his alarm clock as he groped for the phone in the dark. It was four-fifteen.
"Is this Alan Page, the district attorney for Multnomah County?" a man asked.
"It is, and I'll still be d.a. when the sun's up."
"Sorry about that, but we have a three-hour time difference here and my flight leaves in thirty minutes."
"Who is this?" Page asked, awake enough to be annoyed.
"My name is Wayne Turner. I'm Senator Raymond Colby's administrative assistant. I used to be a detective with the Hunter's Point Police Department. Nancy Gordon and I are good friends."
Page swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
"You've got my attention. What's this about?"
"I'll be at the Sheraton Airport Hotel by ten, your time. Senator Colby wants me to brief you."
"This concerns Darius?"
"We knew him as Peter Lake. The senator wants you fully informed about certain matters you may not know."
"Such as?"
"Not over the phone, Mr. Page."
"is this going to help my case against Darius?"
"My information will make a conviction certain."
"Can you give me a clue about what you're going to say?"
"Not over the phone," Turner repeated, "and not to anyone but you."
"Randy Highsmith is my chief criminal deputy. You talked to him. Can I bring him along?"
"Let me make myself clear, Mr. Page. Senator Colby is going as far out on a limb for you as someone in public life can go. My job is to see that the limb doesn't get sawed off. When Mr. Highsmith called, I gave him the runaround. You're going to hear the things I did not want Mr.
Highsmith to know. This is not by my choosing. It's the senator who insisted I fly to Portland. It's my job to do what he wants, but I'm going to protect him as much as I am able. So there will be no witnesses, no notes and you can expect to be patted down for a wire. You can also be assured that what you hear will be worth any inconvenience you suffered by being awakened before dawn.
Now, I've got to make my flight, if you still want me to."
"Come on down, Mr. Turner. I'll respect your wishes. See you at ten."
Page hung up and sat in the dark, wide-awake. What would Turner tell him? What possible connection was there between the President's nominee to the United States Supreme Court and Martin Darius? Whatever it was, Turner thought it would guarantee Darius's conviction, and that was what mattered. Darius would pay.
Since the first bail hearing, the case seemed to be slipping away from him. Not even Lisa Darius's tragic death had given the prosecution substance. Maybe Turner's information would save him.
Wayne Turner opened the door and let Alan Page into his hotel room.
Turner was impeccably dressed in a three piece suit. Page's suit was wrinkled, his shoes unpolished.
If anyone looked like he had just flown three thousand miles, it was Page.
"Let's get the striptease out of the way," Turner said when the door was closed. Page took off his jacket. Turner patted him down expertly.
"Satisfied?" Page asked.
"Not one bit, Mr. Page. If I had my druthers, I'd be back in D.C. You want some coffee?"
"Coffee would be nice."
There was a thermos on a coffee table and the remains of a sandwich.
Turner poured for both of them.
"Before I tell you a damn thing, we have to have some ground rules.
There is an excellent chance that Senator Colby will not be confirmed if what I tell you is made public. I want your word that you will not call the senator or me as a witness in any court proceeding or make what I tell you available to anyone else-even members of your staff-unless it is absolutely necessary to secure the conviction of Martin Darius."
"Mr. Turner, I respect the senator. I want to see him on the Court. The fact that he's willing to risk his nomination to give me this information reinforces the feelings I've had about his worth to this country. Believe me, I will do nothing to jeopardize his chances, if I can help it.
But I want you to know, up front, this prosecution is in a lot of trouble. If I had to bet, I'd pick Martin Darius to walk, based on what I've got now."
Kathy insisted on eating at the Spaghetti Factory again.
There was the usual forty-five-minute wait and the service was slow.
They were not back in Rick's apartment until after nine. Kathy was pooped, but she was so excited she did not want to go to bed. Rick spent half an hour reading to her. He was surprised how much he enjoyed reading to his daughter. That was something Betsy usually did. He enjoyed dinner too. In fact, he had enjoyed all the time they spent together.
The doorbell rang. Rick checked his watch. Who would be calling at nine forty-five? Rick looked through the peephole. It took him a moment to remember the Woman who was standing in the hall.
"Miss. Sloane, isn't it?" Rick asked, when the door was open.
"You have a good memory."
"What can I do for you?"
Sloane looked embarrassed. "I really shouldn't intrude like this, but I remembered your address. You told Betsy before you left the office. I was in the neighborhood. I know it's late, but I was going to arrange a meeting with you for background for my article, anyway, so I thought I'd take a chance. If you're busy, I can come some other time."
"Actually, that would be best. I've got Kathy with me and she just went to sleep. I don't want to disturb her, and I'm pretty beat myself."
"Say no more, Mr. Tannenbaum. Could we meet later in the week?"
"Do you really want to talk to me? Betsy and I are separated, you know."
"I do know, but I would like to talk to you about her.
She's a remarkable woman and your view of her would be very informative."
"I'm not sure I want to discuss our marriage for publication."
"will you think it over?"
Rick hesitated, then said, "Sure. Call me at the office."
"Thank you, Mr. Tannenbaum. Do you have a card?"
Rick patted his pockets and remembered his wallet was in the bedroom.
"Step in for a minute. I'll get you one."
Rick turned his back on Nora Sloane and started into the apartment. Nora was taller than Rick. She glided behind him and looped her left arm around his neck while she drew the knife out of her deep coat pocket with her right hand. Rick felt himself jerked up on his toes when Sloane leaned back and tilted his chin up. He did not feel anything when the knife slashed across his throat, because his body went into shock. There was a jolt when the knife slid into his back, then another jolt. Rick tried to struggle, but he lost control of his body. Blood spurted from his neck. He viewed the red fountain like a tourist staring at a landmark. The room wavered. Rick felt his energy drain out of him along with the blood that drenched the floor. Nora Sloane released her hold and Rick slid to the carpet. She closed the apartment door quietly and looked around. There was a living room at the end of the hall. Sloane walked through it, down another ball and stopped at the first door. She pushed it open gently and stared at Kathy. The darling little girl was asleep. She looked lovely.
Chapter Twenty-six
Betsy was finishing breakfast when the doorbell rang. A light rain had been falling — all morning and it was hard to see Nora Sloane through the streaked pane in the kitchen window. She was standing on the welcome mat holding in umbrella in one hand and a large shopping bag in the other.
Betsy carried her coffee cup to the front door.
Nora smiled when it opened.
"Can I come in?" Sloane asked.
"Sure," Betsy said, stepping aside. Sloane leaned her umbrella against the wall in the entryway and unbuttoned her raincoat. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans, a light blue work shirt and a dark blue sweater.